Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy. Curses.
Hmm, the genre is a bit different from my previous story, as is the writing style, but let me know what you think. Reviewers get cookies.
Vampire= Person sleeping in coffin
Vincent= Person sleeping in coffin
Therefore, Vincent= Vampire
Vampire= Immortal
Vincent= Vampire
Therefore, Vincent= Immortal
The transitive property works.
White are the Winter Nights
The First Night
Snowflakes fall down from the clouds above. They swirl against the inky sky, like little white fairies, dancing on the edges of dreams. She stretches her hands out tentatively, trying to catch one in her palm. Just to make it real, just for a moment.
One lands in her outstretched palm. It melts as soon as it touches her warm hand, leaving a silver sheen of water on the pink flesh. She purses her lips petulantly. She had wanted one to keep forever, one to make this night everlasting.
Permanence. Immortality. Vindictive mistresses, whose sweet words and promises are as meaningless as a kiss under the green mistletoe.
'Marlene,' I say quietly. 'Step away from the window.'
She wordlessly acquiesces. Her dark eyes shine with a mixture of curiosity and fear. I can't blame her. I am a rarity, unlike this ordinary winter night. Unlike those snowflakes, I am permanent. I am immortal; I am an abomination.
Around me, my companions are lounging on comfortable armchairs, drinking ale and talking heartily. They know this can't last, none of it. The baby growing in Tifa will age and wither, like the rest of them. Barret's powerful body will atrophy, leaving behind nothing but a cadaverous shadow of the man he was. Everything will waste away, like this ordinary winter night.
I want to be a part of it. I want my share of this lack of permanence. I want to wither and die, like them. Is that too much to ask for?
But I will never be a part of that world. I will outlive them, and their children, and their children's children. I alone will remain constant, while the world around me crumbles and rebuilds itself in a never-ending cycle.
Gifts and curses. Can we ever tell them apart?
It was an ordinary winter night. Many more would come, many more would pass. And I would live to see them all.
The Twelfth Night
Snowflakes fall down from the clouds above. They swirl against the inky sky, like little white fairies, dancing on the edges of dreams. This time, she does not stretch her arms out. Adult cynicism has taught her much: it too shall pass away, like her father.
Barret died three years ago. He got into a brawl with someone in the tavern, and the next thing you knew, the man had shot him in the head. At least he died fighting, I tell myself. At least it was the death he deserved.
The lies are so painful, it hurts to say them.
Marlene was all of eighteen when it happened. She took it hard: her childish naivety had deluded her into believing that everything was permanent. Nothing could be taken away from her that quickly.
Sometimes I see her staring at me. I wonder: does she think it fair that I live while everyone else withers and dies? Why should I be granted immortal existence, while her father was killed in a tavern brawl?
Or does she see think of me as a monster?
She's an avid photographer, and she prints and hoards every single photograph she takes. Mounds and mounds of them litter her house: photos of Cloud, Tifa, and their bouncing baby, photos of Cid and Shera, photos of Yuffie, Red…everyone. So she can hold that little piece of them, just for a little while.
She has never taken a photograph of me. And why should she? I'm not going anywhere.
This winter night, we remember Aeris. Remember her sacrifice; remember her the way she was. We mourn her passing, and we light candles in her honour. But we accept this loss and move on.
Many, many years from now, I will be doing the same for every person seated in this room. On a winter night, much like this one, I will light a candle for every one of them. I will lament their passing, and I will weep till my eyes run dry.
But I will never move on.
A thousand candles. I will light no more than a thousand candles.
The Last Night
Snowflakes fall down from the clouds above. They swirl against the inky sky, like little white fairies, dancing on the edges of dreams. She stretches her arms out to catch them, not with the innocence of youth, but the wisdom of age. One dances into her palm, like a moth drawn to fire, and melts on the warm skin. She smiles softly: she has learnt to appreciate its temporary beauty. Like all things natural, it too exists only for a moment. And that's what makes it so special.
I never wanted to see her like this. I wanted to remember her the way she was, all of four-feet-nothing, with a cherubic face glowing with youth and vitality. I don't want to remember this wan, emaciated, white-haired shadow of the child that was Marlene. She makes my curse seem all the more real.
It happened to the others, too. I saw Tifa grow fat and wrinkly, saw her bones degenerate. I saw Cloud battling the tumour in his brain, saw him succumb to it. I saw Cid dying of the lung cancer caused by his damned cigars.
I saw them all die. I buried all of them.
I can't see it happen to Marlene.
'Vincent,' she says happily. 'You came.'
'Of course I came,' I say gently. I wonder if it's foolish, to let people into my life. Every one that dies takes a little piece of my heart with them. How much can I handle?
The moments pass by quickly, and I cherish every last one of them, knowing that this is the last time I will see her. But it's not enough. How can it be?
'Sometimes I envy you,' she says wistfully. 'No osteoporosis. No white hair.' She grins, and I smile a little. But the smile fades quickly.
'You shouldn't,' I say bitterly. 'The price for it makes it all worthless.'
She squeezes my hand reassuringly. 'Vincent, what we've had once, you can have eternally.'
I laugh mirthlessly. 'I have nothing.'
She said nothing after that, and we watched the snowflakes fall in silence.
When she died, I would bury her. And I would do the same for her children. And her children's children. I would bury them all. In the earth, in my memories.
Life goes on, perhaps. But not for me.
It was an ordinary winter night. Many more would come, many more would pass. And I would live to see them all.