(Disclaimer) I do not own Final Fantasy!! Do not sue me because you will
end up with less money then you already have! For I am poor and lawyers are
expensive!!
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--Takes place after the destruction of the Iifa tree and every one is back snuggly homes trying to get things back to gather--
Destruction. Heavy, dark smoke filled the once crystal air, even two weeks after the horrible incident. But is was fading after time. No one wanted to go near the place. Rubble everywhere, the leaves of the tree were cinged. Some disintegrated, some just brown from lack of sweet nutreance. But the tree was no doubt, dead. Somewhere...buried beneath its layers of roots, rubble, and death, lied the body of Kuja.
Kuja...finally dead? Only time would tell. Some of the people ranting victory in the streets say he chose his own death. Some say he couldn't live with himself for seeing he was wrong, so committed suicide. So many possibilities, but which one? No one cared. He was dead and now everyone could try and get their lives back together.
But under the rubble...all the mounds, is a pale hand. Scratched, burnt, bruised, and dirtied, but a hand none the less. A gush of crystal wind comes from the east, and a twig rolls under the hand. The wind stops and silence is all that is heard. Except the hand. For you see the frail hand twitch...and you hear it snap the twig...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
--Takes place after the destruction of the Iifa tree and every one is back snuggly homes trying to get things back to gather--
Destruction. Heavy, dark smoke filled the once crystal air, even two weeks after the horrible incident. But is was fading after time. No one wanted to go near the place. Rubble everywhere, the leaves of the tree were cinged. Some disintegrated, some just brown from lack of sweet nutreance. But the tree was no doubt, dead. Somewhere...buried beneath its layers of roots, rubble, and death, lied the body of Kuja.
Kuja...finally dead? Only time would tell. Some of the people ranting victory in the streets say he chose his own death. Some say he couldn't live with himself for seeing he was wrong, so committed suicide. So many possibilities, but which one? No one cared. He was dead and now everyone could try and get their lives back together.
But under the rubble...all the mounds, is a pale hand. Scratched, burnt, bruised, and dirtied, but a hand none the less. A gush of crystal wind comes from the east, and a twig rolls under the hand. The wind stops and silence is all that is heard. Except the hand. For you see the frail hand twitch...and you hear it snap the twig...