~Stave Two: The First of the Three Spirits~
Cloud tossed and turned for hours. Try as he may, he couldn't shake off the memory of Zack's visit. Could the dead SOLDIER have truly ventured from the Lifestream to relay a message to him? He shifted onto his back, ignoring the dull throb in his arm brought about by the sudden movement, and looked up at the arched ceiling as if the answer to all his problems would appear if he gazed hard enough.
Common sense finally won out. He sighed. Zack was dead. There was no hope for him to find a way to defeat geostigma. And besides, the church bell had been taken down decades ago.
No toll of the bell, no ghosts.
At long last his mind calmed enough for him to slip into a light doze. He was nearly asleep when a startling sound boomed through the still night air. Snore clipped short he bolted to his feet, stumbling as the blanket ensnared his ankles. It was a bell, deep and resounding. To Cloud it sounded more like a dirge than a wondrous peal to celebrate the arrival of Christmas Day.
He stared up at the lone tower. There was no motion in the dark alcove. There shouldn't even be a bell, yet the hollow foreboding dongs still resonated through the church with a slow, regular tempo. All the while the swordsman stood there, feeling uncharacteristically nervous.
The bell finally stopped, the melancholy sound tapering off until it was dead silent throughout the church once more. Cloud took in a deep breath, willing his heart to return to resting rate. That done he turned back to his bed roll. Only a shape on his peripherals caught his attention.
He spun around, calling himself a fool for not wanting to bring any weapons inside this peaceful place while quickly scanning the church for anything he could use to fight. Then his higher mental processes finally caught up and he registered what he saw.
"Vincent," Cloud called in relief. He hadn't heard him come in, but Vincent Valentine was better than any mysterious ghost from his imagination. "I wasn't expecting to see you around here." Come to think of it, hadn't he last heard that Vincent was wandering about somewhere on the western continent?
The gunman was leaning against the wall in the front of the church, arms crossed and eyes closed. In its own odd way that familiar pose comforted the spooked Cloud, who had far too many supernatural scares for one night.
"Vincent?"
"No."
Cloud looked at his friend in confusion. And then his eyes widened. It looked like Vincent… but there was a subtle difference, an otherworldliness that was rather difficult to pinpoint. Something in his facial features, yes. Strangely the man appeared both young and ancient at the same time, or maybe neither at all. The figure itself fluctuated in and out of focus. A hand, a leg, then the entire red cloak seemed to dissolve into the shadows. Even his gauntlet seemed to diminish until the bright gold vanished from sight, reappearing the next instant. All throughout the inspection the figure stood there, neither making a sound nor physically moving.
"Who are you?" Cloud spoke in a hushed, awed tone. He couldn't help but be a bit fearful of this being who was even more peculiar than his old teammate.
"I am the Ghost of Christmas Past," it spoke in Vincent's deep, gruff monotone. Even though the two were a few paces apart the words came to him as if they were traveling from a great distance.
"So Zack really did come see me," murmured Cloud. Unless he was still dreaming. Another deception created from his not-quite stable mind.
At last the specter opened its eyes. The luminescent red orbs were the only thing that seemed constant on its ever-shifting form. It strode forward, armor plated boots not making a whisper on the wooden floorboards, before stopping a short distance away. The way he had walked, the way he stood there now -hand never far from the gun handle sticking out of its holster- the way he watched Cloud through the dark locks that covered his expressionless face, his entire presence screamed Vincent Valentine. Yet there was no way that was possible.
"Why are you here?" Cloud asked, watching his visitor carefully. He tried to focus on one part of the Ghost but it seemed to vanish, only to reappear once his gaze travelled elsewhere. He settled on the eyes, which stared back at him with the same if not greater intensity than the real Vincent had.
"Your welfare."
Definitely not Vincent. He didn't think Vincent would ever be that forthcoming about a companion's health. Cloud looked again upon his strange visitor. He rather doubted this being could cure geostigma, much less give him the knowledge to do the same with others.
"Your reclamation, then."
Cloud blinked in surprise. He hadn't spoken the thought aloud, yet the Spirit seemed to know what had gone through his head.
"Reclamation? From what?" he asked.
The Ghost Who Wasn't Vincent strode forward and before Cloud could react it grabbed hold of his arm. He gasped at the pain and then gasped again as the church wobbled like ripples in a pool of water. A soft light began to glow all around him, though he was unable to see where it originated.
"Come with me and you shall see."
Without warning they were airborne. Through the roof they flew, over Midgar and quickly passing the inhabited areas. Edge was out of sight in the blink of an eye. Up and up they went, faster and higher than even an airship was capable. Cloud closed his eyes, feeling sick. All the while the Spirit held fast to his arm, pulling him towards some unknown destination.
He was caught off guard when he found solid ground under his boots once more. He opened his eyes and looked around, wondering where this Vincent had taken him. To his surprise they were standing in the center square of Nibelheim, a tiny out-of-the-way town built at the foot of the perilous, jagged crags of Mt. Nibel. It was midmorning and the ground was dusted in a fine coat of frost.
"This is my hometown," Cloud said aloud. He had returned last year with his team, expecting to find piles of cinder and charcoaled remains. Instead he discovered Nibelheim exactly as it had been in his youth, as if Sephiroth's rage and displaced wrath against the town had never occurred. Yet the longer he looked, the more he noticed something was different than a year ago.
A nearby door opened and a man came out, his arms laden with a heavy axe. He tromped over to a large pile of logs along the side of the house which he proceeded to chop into smaller pieces for tinder. Two very young children, one of which was still mastering how to walk, came out as well, giggling as they toddled about playing some silly game. Cloud recognized the family. Those children had been only a few years younger than him when he lived here.
"How is this possible?"
"These are but shadows of the things that have been," spoke the Ghost. The reply was unexpected; Cloud had forgotten about his companion, so enthralled was he with observing the children.
"You mean…" Images of what else had been found in the rebuilt town flashed in his mind. Huddled shapes swathed in black, muttering incoherently about a Reunion.
"No. They are just memories. Your past is being replayed for you." The Ghost turned, his red cape fluttering despite the lack of breeze and dissolving into nothingness before returning at irregular intervals.
"Come."
They walked through the small, poor town, watching the even poorer people going about their daily routine and not seeming to notice their passing. Every face Cloud knew and named, though it had been years since he saw them last. When two or more villagers met they exchanged greetings of well-wishing and cheery smiles. It took a while but the overly warm words finally registered to Cloud.
"It's Christmas, isn't it." Now that he looked, the town had been decorated with diligent care. Wreaths decked with holly hung from doors and fern branches lay atop windowsills. Red bows were tied to each fence post in sight, a pop of bright color in the mellow surroundings. And by nightfall every candle that could be spared would illuminate the darkness, making the town seem to sparkle with holiday magic. Despite himself, Cloud felt wonder and excitement take hold of him, forgetting in that moment the reasons for his previous lack of Christmas spirit.
The door which the Ghost now led him was as familiar as the rest. A wreath made of pine fronds and tiny wild berries clung to the center of the door.
Cloud turned to the Spirit. "Are we going inside?"
"Wait." The Ghost of Christmas Past watched the door patiently and Cloud took the cue to do the same.
The door opened, revealing two children three or four years older than the first pair. Cloud's stomach did an odd flutter when he saw who they were.
"I don't know…" said the young girl, looking rather uncertain. "Maybe we should try tomorrow."
"No way! We're going sledding today," asserted the boy. He jumped off the step and Cloud, who was still recovering from shock and not prepared, found the boy flying straight at him. At the last moment the swordsman flexed his knees and planted his feet for impact -a mechanical reaction from Shinra infantry training- but none came. Disconcertingly, the boy sailed straight through him.
"Woo!" happily crowed the boy, stomping his boots to make crunching sounds in the thick snow. The erratic movements were causing his messy blond hair to become even more disheveled. "It's perfect!"
Cloud looked around in confusion. What had been a bare covering of frost was now a good five inches of snow, the perfect compact kind for making snowballs. He raised an eyebrow at the Ghost but received no explanation as to why time had passed without his notice.
The girl still hadn't moved from the safety of the threshold, though she was watching the boy with a torn expression. The boy noticed she hadn't yet joined him and returned to the doorstep.
"You aren't scared, are you?" he asked, his blue eyes widening.
"N-no," she replied, trying to sound brave as she shook her head. The girl painstakingly readjusted the wool cap over her long dark brown hair and then secured her handmade scarf. It was obvious she was trying to delay.
"Then let's go!" The boy grabbed the wooden sled that was leaning against the house and then grabbed the girl's hand, tugging her off the doorstep. Together the friends made their way down the street. By now Cloud had become so captivated that he mechanically began to follow, watching them from a distance.
A light snow began to drift down from the grey sky. Cloud raised a hand, but the snowflakes drifted through his proffered palm. That reminded him of his companion. Cloud turned his head and saw the Vincent impersonator close behind him, moving so silently and fluidly it could have been floating instead of walking. The Spirit caught his gaze and nodded, signaling it was alright to proceed.
"We should climb Mt. Nibel," Cloud heard the boy say.
"We're not allowed to go there!" exclaimed the girl, looking truly scared now.
"Well, since it's your first time sledding and you aren't a pro like me, I guess we should stick with the hill," the boy replied, glancing wistfully up at the pointed mountain that towered above the town.
The hill of which the boy spoke was just on the outskirts of Nibelheim, a slope that appeared much steeper when Cloud was little. Vaguely he wondered why the kids had been allowed out unsupervised, especially when this was the time of year zuu venture close to the village. He wasn't afraid for the children's safety, however; they would make it home without incident.
The two made it to the top. The boy plopped the sled into the snow and immediately mounted it, leaving a space behind him which he patted with a mittened hand. "Come on, Tif," he called. "It's fun, you'll see."
The girl hesitantly situated herself on the back of the sled and peered over her friend's shoulder, gulping as she viewed their precarious position. It looked like she was second-guessing her decision, but before she had the chance to get off the boy dug his feet into the ground and pushed off. The wooden sled sped down the hill, the girl's screams echoing after it. In a few seconds they had reached the bottom and the sled coasted to a stop.
The boy let out a whoop and turned back to look at his friend. Now the girl's big brown eyes were shining with excitement. "Let's go again, Cloud!" she called, already racing up the hill. Her friend laughed along with her, dragging the sled behind him.
"Why am I seeing this?" the older Cloud asked, turning away from the kids who were the reflections of himself and his best childhood friend. It was nice, remembering how he and Tifa used to go sledding after the first decent snowfall, but he didn't want to be sentimental. What was the point?
The Ghost gave him a searching look, red eyes piercing into blue. "Let's continue. Perhaps you will understand soon."
Abruptly they were standing outside the same wreathed door as before. This time the children were entering the dwelling, wet and frozen to the core yet deliriously exhilarated.
"My mom made hot chocolate," Tifa was telling her friend as they stepped up the step. "Want to come in?"
"Nah… I have things to do," Cloud said evasively. The older Cloud winced, recalling how nervous he felt being around Tifa. The sad thing was he was just as socially awkward now than he was back then, perhaps even more so. He was best at doing things, like sled riding or fighting mako-spawned beasts; sitting around and holding a conversation were beyond his abilities, even when only in the company of friends.
Tifa looked disappointed, but quickly regrouped. "Then stay here and I'll go get your present."
"I get a present?" Cloud responded in surprise and alarm. They had never exchanged gifts before.
"Yeah, it's Christmas. Wait here, I'll be right back." Tifa dashed into the house, leaving the boy to stew in anxiety for a few moments.
"Here," she said breathlessly when she returned, shoving into his hands a messily-wrapped, blue-bowed package that looked as if it had been jammed into her piano for storage. Both Clouds, the one now holding the gift and the other standing a few paces away, stared at the item. Only the elder knew what was hidden inside.
It was a tiny box the width of his thumb, and on each face the symbol for luck had been painted. You were to write down your life's desire on a minuscule bit of paper, place it inside the box and wear it on a leather thong around your neck. Supposedly as long as you kept it with you, your dream would become reality.
"Don't open it until tomorrow," Tifa reminded him, a shy smile on her face.
The boy nodded in agreement, though he was handling the present as if it were a time bomb he didn't know what to do with. He left, the girl calling out "Merry Christmas" before heading back inside to warm up.
Cloud let out a long sigh as he watched his younger self stomp through the snow toward home. He would open the present on Christmas and carry out the instructions that same day. His hope to join SOLDIER and become the greatest warrior in the world would be carried with him even years afterwards.
Perhaps he should have brought the wishbox to Midgar with him. Maybe a bit of luck would have been enough to tip the scales, and his life could have ended up differently. But should, would and could don't cut it, not in this world. 'If wishes were chocobos,' his mother used to say. He sighed again. I'd be the wealthiest choco-breeder on the Planet.
Suddenly they were inside Cloud's house. A lump formed in his throat as he gazed around at the familiar furnishings. It was one of the smallest homes in the town, yet his mother always made sure it retained a warm, cozy atmosphere. And there she was, sewing in the rocking chair next to the fireplace. Fan had always been a vibrant woman, full of love and kindness and creativity. She was a great artist, and they were her own paintings that covered nearly every inch on the walls. Those nimble hands had been forced into the work of the town seamstress when her husband departed this world, leaving her to care for their infant child. Yet despite the tough life she never once lost her faith and her tranquil optimism.
"Cloud, please sit down," the woman in the rocking chair requested, not taking her eyes off her work. For a moment the swordsman thought his mother was talking to him until she added, "The snow's not going to stop any sooner because you're watching it, dear."
The boy peering through the window in the kitchen was a year or two older than the version Cloud had last seen. A little taller, untidy hair a little longer, but the child still retained that same limitless energy. And that energy he now seemed to be struggling to contain.
"Mom, there's nothing to do," he complained, glancing wistfully out the window. A blizzard had been roaring for over twenty-four hours now, depositing over three feet of snow and effectively trapping the villagers of Nibelheim inside their houses.
"Why don't you pick a book to read, or draw something?" Fan responded patiently as she continued her stitching.
The young Cloud made a face. He was never patient enough for books and he certainly hadn't inherited his mother's artistic ability; besides, both activities required the person to sit down! The boy was ready to bounce off the walls.
Finally Fan looked up at her son and gave a tired smile. "Have I ever showed you how to make paper snowflakes?" she asked, setting down her needle and thread.
"No," answered the boy. He knew what paper snowflakes were and thought it was a stupid thing to make, but at least it would be doing something. And as a plus he'd get to cut stuff.
"Well, it's certainly time I taught you then." His mother went to a drawer and found a stack of paper and two pairs of scissors. Soon after she and the boy were busy cutting nicks and slices out of folded paper at the kitchen table.
Cloud silently watched the pair work. His mother had always been a constant source of comfort, though admittedly she had babied him a little too much. That had been one of the reasons he ended up leaving Nibelheim to seek adventure and action. He sure as hell found it.
I wonder how Mom would feel about my life now, Cloud thought to himself. No doubt she would tell him she was proud no matter what. Fan never said so, but he had hurt her badly, leaving. He was only fifteen years old when he went to join SOLDIER, ready to make a name for himself and not considering the consequences of his departure. He wished she was still alive so he could tell her he was sorry.
"If you thought this was going to make me feel better, it's not," he told the Spirit numbly. Had Vincent been here, Cloud was sure he would have given him the same reproachful stare. The swordsman felt a little affronted. The Ghost wasn't even trying to be helpful or explain why they were here!
"You seem to have a lot of caring women in your life," it finally commented.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
The Ghost did not respond further. Instead it raised its left hand and wiggled its fingers. Instead of grating metal there was the sound of a harsh gale. The scene immediately switched, though Cloud hadn't felt like he physically moved. Now they were standing in front of the Nibelheim Inn on the other side of town. Though it had been noon on a overcast day a second ago, the last glow of light was now fading over the cloudless horizon. The same amount of snow covered the ground, but to Cloud it felt like a different day.
The chatter of a few dozen voices could be heard coming from inside the building, and Cloud could guess exactly where: the inn's dining room, which was the largest space in the whole town, apart from Shinra Manor. It was here that the whole town assembled every year for the communal Christmas Eve Feast.
Most of the families in the small town could not afford to have their own, private Christmas meal. Instead, every home was responsible for one particular dish, which they brought to the table to share along with the happiness of the season and the hope for the next year's prosperity. By joining together there was a bountiful amount of food and people could simply relax and enjoy themselves. This tradition was older than living memory.
Cloud wanted to enter, but when he reached toward the door handle his hand passed straight through. A few more attempts yielded the same results. The Ghost gave a low Vincent-like grunt and swept past him. Without a pause it walked straight through the solid door. Cloud followed after, his teeth set and back rigid as he entered. It was just like walking through empty air.
Once inside he oriented himself and walked down the hall to the dining room. The celebration had already begun, and merriment and feasting were evident all along the line of conjoined tables that had been packed into the space.
The Spirit was leaning against the far wall and not looking like it was about to move anytime soon, so Cloud began to wander around, taking in the revelry. It had always been a little overwhelming for him, but he could see why people looked forward to this social gathering every year.
Halfway down the long line of villagers Cloud recognized himself, probably fourteen or fifteen by now, seated between his mother and the baker, Mr. Ceresota. Across from him sat Tifa, whom he admitted looked rather lovely in her festive red dress. The young woman looked up and smiled at his younger self. He noticed she was wearing silver teardrop earrings… the ones he had given her the Christmas before he left.
The warm feeling he had hereby accumulated dulled dramatically. This was the very last Christmas Feast he was ever to have in Nibelheim. Indeed, the very next day he would need to leave if he wanted to make it to Midgar by the first of the new year, when the Shinra Corporation enlisted new recruits.
"A toast!" someone shouted and the words were heartily taken up by others until the chant was echoing through the tightly-packed room.
The innkeeper, a stout, ruddy-faced man called Fezziwig, stood and raised his hands for silence. "My friends," he began, gazing about the room with a fond smile, "it is an honor to have you all back under my roof to share in this most wondrous occasion."
Everyone applauded and called thanks to their host. A humble, honest man he was, and he took the expressions with good grace before continuing.
"We come together as a community to celebrate Christmas Day, a day where we must be thankful. This year was undoubtedly hard on many of us, dealing with the summer drought and the flock of skeeskee that migrated up from Cosmo Canyon. But let's forget our trials and be merry. Look at the wonderful meal before us, which everyone helped to make possible. Look at the smiling families and friends and neighbors all around this room! I consider myself blessed for being here to celebrate with each and every one of you."
More cheering, more people extending genuine smiles and kind words to everyone in their vicinity, especially towards the good innkeeper. Cloud had to actually stop himself from joining in as well, so contagious was the festive mood in the room.
"May this next year be blessed and prosperous," finished Fezziwig. "My friends, Merry Christmas to you all!"
"Hear, hear!" Glasses were raised simultaneously as the townsfolk of Nibelheim toasted the innkeeper and his great speech. The Christmas dinner then continued on with redoubled joyful clatter.
Without warning Cloud was back outside. The sky was decked with a million bright, twinkling stars and the moon was full, its illumination being reflected in turn by the snow and making the town glow. The Ghost turned and peered solemnly down the street.
A couple was walking towards them, their eyes averted and their coats drawn close to their bodies to protect from the night's chill.
"Do you really have to go?" Tifa asked, her voice low but the soft snow carrying her words over to where Cloud and the Spirit stood.
"I have to get out of here, Tif," the younger Cloud responded with the same hushed volume. "There's nothing for me here."
The young woman sighed. "I understand." She did too; Tifa Lockhart had always been an understanding person.
They continued walking, silence settling over them. "Will you write?" she asked in a tinier voice.
He was startled by the question. "I'll try," was his eventual response.
"Just make sure… make sure you always remember our promise. Okay, Cloud?" Tifa slowed to a stop, finally looking over at her companion. "Once you're a famous SOLDIER you have to come rescue me whenever I need help."
He nodded. "I promise."
That was the last time they spoke, the last time the two friends saw each other until Cloud returned to Nibelheim years later on a mission for Shinra. But back then he had been too embarrassed by his rejection from SOLDIER and being a mere infantryman to reveal himself.
The swordsman watched as the two broke apart, separating on their way back to their own homes. Cloud knew that boy would leave at the crack of dawn before most of the town even woke up. Before then he would take off the wishbox Tifa had given him years earlier and tuck it away in a drawer in his bedroom so it would not be discovered that he hadn't taken it. Cloud remembered what he had been thinking back then. He hated to hurt Tifa's feelings, but at the same time he wasn't a child anymore and didn't want to pretend otherwise. The swordsman sighed. How arrogant of his abilities, how naïve about the world he had been back then.
"It's time for some answers," he said, turning to his companion. "What's this all about?"
This time the Ghost answered with a bluntness that surprised Cloud. "You have given up on the world, have you not? You're waiting to die. What else is there to do but dwell in memories? Your childhood seems to have been pleasant enough."
Cloud dropped his gaze in shame. That was true. But what use were these memories? They had sentimental value, but that was all. He had expected this otherworldly being would show him something more dramatic for his troubles.
"Is this something more to your liking?"
The scene changed so turbulently Cloud let out a shout of alarm. After an assault of sound and light he was standing upon an elevated platform within an elegant cavernlike building partially submerged in crystal clear water. But Cloud didn't spare a glance for the architecture. Aerith was kneeling right in front of him, head bowed and hands folded in prayer.
"Aerith…" he whispered, his voice cracking. There she was, right in front of him, much more than a shadowy fragment of his memories. He called her name again, but she was too engrossed to respond. Then suddenly the significance of this place crushed him.
"No… No, not again." Cloud forced himself to move, though his boots suddenly felt heavier than lead. He squatted next to Aerith, unsure how to get her attention.
"Aerith. Aerith, we need to go." The flower girl didn't reply. He reached to shake her shoulder, yet his hand traveled straight through her. "Aerith, please! I won't let you-" His voice gave out but he continued to physically encourage her, nearly pleading with the oblivious woman to leave while it was still possible.
But he ran out of time.
Cloud sensed more than heard the other's arrival. He glanced up in time to see a black and silver figure descend. Cloud screamed Aerith's name and tried with all his might to push her aside. All he succeeded in doing was losing his balance. He looked up in time to see a pale blade jut out of her slim figure, the force sending a spout of blood. Specks of bright red flecked Cloud. Slowly he looked up into the villain's face, the echo of the rage and horror and sorrow filling his core. Those luminescent green eyes stared straight at him above a gloating smirk. Then Sephiroth yanked his masamune free.
Aerith's body seemed to fall in slow motion. Cloud extended his arms to catch her, but right as she connected everything faded like mist, abandoning him to a black, formless void.
How many times had that scene haunted his nightmares, so vivid he woke in a cold sweat? Every so often -even while the current biohazardous calamity was suffocating the world- his mind still reverted back to that older, pinnacle moment of failure.
Suddenly a fiery sensation shot up the length of his arm. The pain became so intense he lost all awareness of himself and the outside world. It zapped and burned as it coursed down his nerves, feeding on his very lifeforce. He could do nothing more than endure for an everlasting, merciless amount of time.
Seconds or hours later the pain ebbed, and for a moment he was unable to do more than blink. He was laying in a snow back, his body curled into a fetal position. The geostigma attack had ceased for now, but it left him weak and out of breath.
"You still tried to save her."
The voice pulled Cloud back to the present, or wherever they were in this pseudo-past reproduction. Vincent's unconcerned face peered down at him, observing as the swordsman tried to compose himself. Cloud eventually pushed himself to his feet, unable to look his companion in the eye as he straightened his clothing. He had never allowed another person to see this weakness. It was one of the reasons why he stopped returning to Seventh Heaven.
The Ghost was patiently waiting for an answer. Well, if it was going to ignore the awkward pain attack then so could Cloud. It took a moment to remember the context of the question. Pushing the thoughts of geostigma away, he returned to the not-much-lighter topic of the reenacted murder.
"I… I couldn't help myself," he uncomfortably replied. It had been stupid, trying to stop that moment from ending differently. Aerith wasn't coming back. But he was sure to act the same way, trying to atone for his ineffectuality as a bodyguard, had it been replayed a thousand times. Please don't, he thought, knowing the Spirit was likely following his silent musings.
"You acted regardless of not having the ability to affect the outcome. How is this any different than your current mission, one with an ending that has yet to be written?"
Slowly Cloud shook his head. "It's more complicated than that… it's hard to explain," he said. Explaining it to another person hurt even more than admitting it to himself.
"The past hurts. Try anyway," the Ghost prompted. Did it want Cloud to feel miserable, showing him the history of all his mistakes and character flaws? Dredge up the ugly muck he wanted to forget and make him stare it in the eye?
Fine, he thought in resignation. If that was what this cynical spirit wanted, then he should just get it over with.
"I haven't given up, it's just… There's nothing I can do. I want to help my family, but I can't even help myself. I'm useless." Nothing but an insignificant puppet, unable to accomplish anything without someone pulling his strings. The words pierced like a sword in the gut.
Everything was still around them. In fact, the town seemed to be less real than it was a moment ago. Shadows encroached upon the open spaces and the moon shone dimmer. Stars disappeared until the sky was blank. Even the snow had taken on darker shades, becoming dull gray instead of glittering white. All the while the Spirit watched him, like it was waiting for something. His confession made him feel hollow and tired. He didn't know what it wanted from him.
At last the Ghost sighed. "It appears you have not yet learned. And it's become rather obvious you cannot discover things on your own," it said, an irritable overlay to its monotone.
The lighting dimmed until Cloud felt he was standing within a shadow, naught but dark nothingness on all sides. Then quite suddenly they were back at the Church in the Slums. Everything looked normal except for the otherworldly being next to him, who seemed less corporeal than ever.
"Redemption is a process that requires active participation," stated the Ghost of Christmas Past. "You'd do well to remember that. I have done all I can. Expect the Second when the bell tolls one." It then gave Cloud a critical look, no doubt frowning behind the tall brim of its cloak. "Let's not make a habit of this."
Without further farewell it vanished in its entirety.
**CONTEST** "Which characters do you think will be the ghosts of Christmas Present and Yet To Come?" (I've already wrote all of next week's chapter and half of the one after, so the answers are engraved in stone as it were.) Just summit your guesses as a review. Winners get a shoutout and maybe something more. And this is for fun: "What characters would you select for the major roles?" I'm very curious, so please give it some thought and share =)
Author's Note: I must admit that I had fun with Vinnie as the Ghost of Christmas Past. "Let's not make a habit of this." Slight bit of dry humor there. No such luck, Vincent- you'll be saving his butt from Kadaj and filling the clueless chocobohead in on the plot a few months from now (I just watched Advent Children Complete and it always makes me laugh how Vincent basically is there to explain everything to Cloud.)