Vincent is holding his hand out to me and I am reaching for it eagerly since my long, cumbersome skirt is threatening to strangle my ankles as I make my way out of the trolley. His deep, friendly eyes search my own and I can feel a blush cross my face...

Alas, that is an uncomfortable memory of Lucrecia-the-scientist-Crescent. And it is my memory as well, sentimentality be blasted.

Since I have had the pleasure of meeting the members of AVALANCHE, I have been particularly close to Yuffie, of all people.

Her bubbly enthusiasm is a direct contrast to my stoic facade of monotone indifference; she calls it my "scare-people-away-glare" or my "creepy-to-the-nth-degree-glare."

Thank-you, Yuffie. I beg to differentiate the concepts of 'expressionless face' and 'expressionless heart.'

Lucrecia's memories cause me to, at times, regard Vincent Valentine as...how does Yuffie express it?—ah— as "a woman perceives a drop-dead-steamin'-hot hunk of man."

Yes. That is Yuffie's opinion. My feelings on the opposite gender are more reserved.

At first, I had thought that Yuffie disliked me because I rarely spoke and showed little enthusiasm for her crazy pranks and devious plans on dyeing Vincent's hair electric blue.

I soon realized that she was jealous of my camaraderie with Vincent.

Yes, plotting compass-points and re-basing references on a detailed grid of a dilapidated gang town induces tremendous bonding. (I suppose that you could call that sarcasm, yes?)

Yuffie envies my knowledge of Lucrecia and her and Vincent's former relationship back in his old Turk days. She tries her best to be kind and friendly to me, knowing that I never wanted to bear Lucrecia's memories within my head.

Vincent's serious eyes were alight with tender warmth as he plucked a mariposa lily from the

flowerbed...

I prefer to dwell on the present times. My past as a Tsviet was and is dark and convoluted; my memories of Vincent as observed thought her besotted eyes...mush and nonsense. The present is the most bearable for myself.

"But does he like any colors besides red and black?" Yuffie asks me as we sit in her kitchen, shelling peas. I shrug. "Deep blue, possibly," I state.

My dress was a deep royal blue in a simple, strapless style, reaching my knees, decorated with a broad black leather belt. My hair was pulled back loosely into a golden-brown bun. His eyes leaped to mine as he smiled in appreciation of the dress that he liked best to see me wear. It was our favorite dress...

I prim up my mouth in annoyance at the memory. I reach for another pea pod. Yuffie sighs.

"Sometimes I hope that he will notice me as, well, you know, a grown-up, as a woman." Her eyes are unusually solemn as she empties the empty pods into the trash bin. Her face is flushed pink.

I, for one, know little of the matters of the heart. I know that Lucrecia fell for Hojo (nasty) and lost Vincent. Vincent fell for Lucrecia and lost his heart. Yuffie is his heart, or will be, when he wakes up and opens his eyes.

Yuffie's deep brown eyes are mysterious and pensive. I lean over and tap her shoulder lightly.

"His favorite scents are the dewdrops upon the spring narcissi and the spray of citrus oil from a crushed tangerine. And," I smile encouragingly, "he adores your smile."

Her eyes brighten and she hugs me.