This is a short, very sad story about Vincent and Lucrecia. It is written from Lucrecia's point of view, where she reflects on everything that Vincent taught her about life, and about the consequences of trying to play God. It is set to the song Vincent by Don MacLean, which was originally written about the artist Vincent van Gogh, but I think it also fits the Vincent we know and love. This song is actually incredibly sad, so much so that I can't even listen to it without wanting to cry, much the same as the tragedy of Vincent and Lucrecia. If you have any comments or feedback for me, please send it to: seraphs_requiem@mymelody.com

Thank you. :)

~Belladonna Sinistra~

~Starry Starry Night~

by Belladonna Sinistra

Starry starry night

Paint your palette blue and grey

Look out on a summer's day

With eyes that know the darkness in my soul

Shadows on the hills

Sketch the trees and the daffodils

Catch the breeze and the winter chills

In colours on the snowy linen land

Oh Vincent, where do I begin? I should have known it was all too good to last. I never saw the storm clouds brewing on the horizon. From the outside, everything was perfect, everything was beautiful, but when I looked into your eyes, I could see that you knew. You knew the darkness in my soul, the heavy feelings bearing down on me, weighing me down.

Now I understand

What you tried to say to me

How you suffered for your sanity

How you tired to set them free

They would not listen, they did not know how

Perhaps they'll listen now…

Now I can see what you tried to tell me, Vincent, what you tired to tell us all. You tried to set us free of our greed and ambition, to make us see that the whole project could only end in tragedy. You suffered then, I know you did. I know what it must have cost you to risk your job, even your life to warn us, but you had to do it. We didn't listen to you then, but I wish we had. We didn't know how to respond then, but we do now. Perhaps they'll listen now…

Starry starry night

Flaming flowers that brightly blaze

Swirling clouds of violet haze

Reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue

Colours changing hue

Morning fields of amber grain

Weathered faces lined in pain

Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand

I was so confused when I first met you, Vincent. You were a Turk, and the Turks were people I usually stayed away from, but there was just…something about you. You always reminded me of a tall, beautiful flower standing out from the rest of the garden, and I was somehow drawn to you, like a moth to a flame. I think it may have had something to do with your eyes. You had the most beautiful blue eyes…It was such a shock when I saw you by the waterfall, all those years later- huddled inside your cloak, your eyes no longer that lovely, familiar china blue, but deep, blood red, the same colour as your cloak. Sadly fitting, perhaps, as red is the colour of blood, of anger, and of pain…

I love you so much, Vincent, for everything you did for me. Especially that time…

'Is he alive?', I asked you.

'No. Sephiroth is dead.', you replied. I knew you were lying, from the way you couldn't meet my eyes, but I knew you said it to try to ease my pain, and I thank you for that, my love.

For they could not love you

But still your love was true

And when no hope was left inside on that starry starry night

You took your life as lovers often do

But I could have told you, Vincent

This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you…

Not everyone appreciated you, Vincent, but you always stayed true to your heart. You always kept going, following your heart and the path on which it lead you. I thought you would always stay the same, but I suppose I thought you were far less sensitive than you actually were. I'll never forget that night…I heard Hojo down in the lab, so I went down to see what he was doing- and then I saw you, lying on the table, your face deathly white, the noose still tied around your neck…I could have told you, Vincent- this world was never meant for one as beautiful as you…

Starry starry night

Portraits hung in empty halls

Frameless heads on nameless walls

With eyes that watch the world and can't forget

Like the strangers that you've met

The ragged men in ragged clothes

A silver thorn, a bloody rose

Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow…

I suppose the real tragedy of the Jenova Project is that nobody knows what really happened, and not just to you and me, but to Sephiroth and all the others. All those people going mad, even dying, all because of one company's greed and thoughtlessness. Things like that never just fade away. They change you forever, and not just physically. I'll never forget the terrible, difficult lessons that Jenova taught us, and I'll never forget you, Vincent. I'll always remember you as the lovely flower you used to be, and also as a bloody rose, lying crushed and broken in the snow, as something beautiful and pure destroyed forever by man's selfish nature.

Now I think I know

What you tried to say to me

How you suffered for your sanity

How you tried to set me free

They did not listen, they're not listening still

Perhaps they never will…