Night falls. Or has fallen. Why is it that night falls, instead of rising, like the dawn? Yet if you look east, really look, you can see the darkness rising, not falling; darkness lifting its claws up into the sky, up from the horizon, like a black sun that hangs below cloud cover. It's like someone has lit a huge fire and the smoke rises, a line of fire just below the horizon, brushfire or a burning city. Maybe night falls because it's heavy, weighty I mean, the darkness is heavy like a thick curtain pulled over the eyes. Wool blanket. I wish I could see better in the dark than I do. Sephiroth seems not to notice.
Night has fallen, then. We parked our ship outside the borders of Traverse Town not a half an hour ago, and had already entered the city. No breeze, here. Everything is stone and wood and dirty golden light that pours from lamps placed periodically along the streets. I have a lot of adrenaline. We spend some time just walking the almost endless streets, my mind adjusting to the bustle and commotion of the town. Still, almost as one we keep to the shadows, to the back roads, the alleys. We wish to be left alone. A rat in a maze is free to go anywhere, after all, as long as it stays in the maze. That's what I feel like. A rat in a maze. Now I had my freedom- now what? The truth is, all my goals had been so mixed up in my mind that I no longer knew where to begin. Only Sephiroth was as stoic as ever, walking tight with his shoulders tense, as though expecting a knife through them at any moment.
You know what I wish? I wish there were dandelions. Isn't that absurd? There's not a dandelion in sight here, all cobbled roads and packed streets. I long for one, just one, a weed defying its nature, rubbishly and insolently yellow as the sun. Cheerful and for everyone to enjoy, shining for everyone. Sephiroth doesn't seem to care much about this, either.
Dammit, isn't that guy affected by anything?
I am, though. I am tired.
"Sephiroth... we need to find a place to rest." I say, more of a command than a request, although he still looks as though he can go like this forever. Perhaps he can. I cannot. He eyes me coldly, but finally gives a tiny nod to his head, and we head deeper into the shadows.
It wasn't much, just a makeshift pocket of space between alleys that had a roof over its head and was filled with empty wooden crates and darkness.
I have been trying in vain to get a fire going; it is cold, but finally content myself with the pile of glowing embers that stubbornly refuse to bend to my will. So I take Sephiroth's example and sit, leaning my back against one of the wooden crates. He has found one and leans aginst it with the grace of some large panther, all flowing lines and muscle. I have to admit I am glad he is here. I am afraid. I do not want to be alone. Is he afriad? He does not look it. I must emulate that then, I must look as though I am in control. I am not in control, I feel torn up and weak. But I must look it.
All at once he shifts, leans forward. There is a sickening cruch and a popping sound like joints snapping, and then a burst of black feathers exploded from his back, a single, great black wing with feathers like ebony daggers jutting out of his left shoulderblade. He cries out once in pain, but it is over just as quickly as it has happened.
"What- you have a...what are you?"
He lifts one eyebrow. "I already told you. I am the child of Jenova. I am-"
"Yeah yeah yeah, I know all that. How come you've never mentioned you had wings before?"
"Wing." he corrects.
"Did you used to have two? Have you always had wings? Oh...is that what you were talking about when you said you could fly?" The questions leave my mouth in a rush. I am transfixed.
"Only the one. No. And no."
"Does it...does it hurt when it...rips from your back like that?" I ask.
It takes him a long time to answer. When he does, I can barely understand. "Every time."
"How can you...fly without wings?" I ask, curious.
"I tire of talking to you, human."
"Alexiel, thank you. And do you have anything better to do?" I am cranky. I underestimate that he may not feel so alone and afraid as I do. It was a risk, but it was one that paid off. I recieve a hrmph and shrugged shoulders in reply.
But I am tired of being alone, tired of this melodrama. I'm tired of keeping silent. There are two of us here. I barely knew anything about the lunatic I helped free sitting across from me. Wheteher this is my end, or a new beginning I cannot know. I have given myself to the hands of strangers, because it can't be helped.
"You say... you knew Ansem?"
He nods, dryly. "It was when I first met him that I became what I am now. I told you, I had died once before. Now, her voice does not whisper to me quite so loud as it used to, and much of what I once knew is lost."
"Her?"
"Jenova. I have explained this to you already."
"But I still don't understand."
"That does not surprise me."
I sit up angrily, my mouth open with a sharp retort, before I see a trace of what could almost be humor in his emerald eyes. It is gone quickly, but it is enough to stop me. "Well, shall we work together then? Were both looking for Ansem. But, truth is, I still don't know who you are or if I can trust you. I mean, you're just...you're..."
"A nutcase?" he says, leaning in towards me. His wing brushes the ground.
I swallow, embarrased.
"You should not always trust things you have always known just because you have always known them." he says, leaning back smugly. "You do not know the slightest thing about me or how I came to be."
"Well? Start talking."
"Ladies first, Alexiel."
"No way." I said flatly.
"Very well then." he says. "But I do believe you will slow me down."
"Hey, who's got the ship?"
His eyes tighten. "I can kill you and take it from you. That is of no concern to me."
"Then what is of concern to you? I don't think you'll kill me," I say with caution, "Because you would have done it by now."
"I am not without my reason." He reached out a hand. "Do we have a deal?" he once again smiles that rusted nail smile, barbed wire and wolfish pleasure.
I reach out and shake it anyways, clasping his heavy, gloved hand. I'm dammed anyway. It's as good a reason as any.
"Very good..." he purrs, leaning back and tenting his fingers. "Now then...anything you'd like to say about yourself?"
AN: Ya know, I feel kinda bad when I see other stories that are no longer than mine or really I think better but they have like, 86 reviews. Kinda makes me wonder if my story's not good enough. So, loyal reader(s), if the case may be, review, tell me what you'd like to see! Does it need more action? Suspense? Does Alexiel need to stop being a highly contemplative female dog? Tell us!