Faded Dreams, Falling Like Rain

A Final Fantasy VII Fan Fiction by Sarah Digna Yudlowitz

Dream . . .

Dream of death . . .

Dream of moonlight . . .

Legal Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII and all of its characters belong to the company of Squaresoft. I do not claim these characters or the concept of the game for my own. This work is not to be distributed, sold, or posted anywhere without the consent of its author. Comments and encouragements are always welcomed, as they are a part of the enjoyment of writing Fan fiction. Please take this into consideration while you read the following fiction.

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Author's note: I was really happy after I'd finished this chapter, because I wrote it in one of those state's where your fingers seem to float across the keyboard as if uninhibited, the words seeming to come not from yourself, but from somewhere else. I love when that happens, because I produce my best work like that, and I get things done so much quicker. No agonizing, either. Anyway, you should all enjoy; the plots become one here, and the story will continue in one continuous stream from here on out. Shakespeare I'm not, but deal with it. As always, please review.

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Chapter Twelve







Sephiroth gasped as he reeled backward. He seemed so frail, now that he was dying . . . and his eyes were impossibly wide, shocked, and then they fluttered open, closed. His long silver eyelashes closed tightly, blood running down his face, mixing with now streaming tears, warm and life-giving and taking red. So red it startled the eyes in the brightness of Lifestream's portal. He looked at me again, and dropped his sword, Masamune, to the ground, but there was no thud. Lifestream swallowed all sounds. His lips were moving, but Cloud could not hear. But there was laughter in Cloud's head; children's laughter. It was so cold that Sephiroth's blood began to harden, and as his beautiful silver hair began to fan out beside him, he reached out toward Cloud, who stood, dumbly, looking into his former idol's dying eyes. He was transfixed, as Sephiroth slowly became unrecognizable, particles of matter that Lifestream sucked into a void of endless lighte.

Cloud fell to his knees, the lighte surrounding him, and he tried to grasp it, Sephiroth's name on his lips, but no sound came back to him. There was just the childe-like laughter in his mind, and Sephiroth's death. He brought his hands to his face, his eyes closed, and realized he had smeared something onto his face. When he opened his eyes to look at his hands, there was blackish blood staining his palms, and he screamed, even though no one could hear him, not even himself. He was inconsolable; he had no body to mourn. It was then that he realized how much he loved Sephiroth, how clouded it was by hate, and he continued to scream, the children in his head calling him a murder, and then everything ceased. He felt Jenova's tie with him snapping, and then, he was too grief-striken to realize how or why . . . but he wanted those voices back, just so that he could have a reason to feel his life slip from him.







Cloud awoke, his body propelling forward violently, and he began to scream, holding his hands in front of his eyes, curled so tightly that they became white. He saw blood on them, nothing but blood dripping; Sephiroth's blood. He ran to the edge of the ship's bow and started to vomit, his knees weak, his hands gripping the side of the boat as if he would fall overboard. He hadn't noticed the woman beside him that he had knocked aside. She watched as he slid slowly the floor of the ship's surface, and she remained silent as he slowly started to calm. He was rocking back and forth, keeping his hands in front of him, his eyes staring at them, yet seeming to see past them into another world, where he was all right, where everything was all right. Tears slowly formed in his eyes, and he blinked, sending them running down his sun-roughed cheeks. His hands slowly wrapped around him and he continued to rock, trying to calm himself down.





"Are you okay now?" a voice asked Cloud, low and seemingly genderless. It was almost perfectly female, but . . . there was something about it. He looked up to see jade-colored eyes, almost translucent white skin, and perfectly silver hair. He covered his mouth with a hand, almost choking on a scream that he didn't want to escape. He stared in perfect horror. Was this image here to torture him? The person before him was so like Sephiroth . . . so perfectly like him that he almost felt a happiness laced with that horror. He heard footsteps behind him, and then a still pause from those footsteps, realizing that it was Vincent; he knew the sound of his armored shoes well. Cloud felt saved from having to answer. He didn't want to hear that voice again, but then he did. He watched the familiar face, and the wisp-like hair . . . it was much shorter than Sephiroth's had ever been . . . but it was silver, so very silver. And the black shimmering cloak about this illusion's shoulders was leather. A dull, weathered, leather. But . . . it reminding Cloud of him. Time seemed to slow as he stared at this specter.





"Lilith?" Vincent's low perfectly apathetic voice asked, and Cloud's illusion shattered. He cursed himself for silently wishing it was Sephiroth. He felt very wrong at that moment . . . there was something very wrong with him. He watched as the illususion faded from his eyes, and he saw the differences between her and Sephiroth. She was what Sephiroth would have looked like, if he was a woman. She was a lot more frail, there was seemingly nothing about her that looked strong, but Cloud figured that that was a deception. She had scars running along her arms, he noticed, as her cloak moved in the wind, and he caught the roman numeral three tattooed onto her arm, exactly where Sephiroth's had been. She smiled bitter sweetly, and nodded.





"Yes." She spoke the word as if it had three separate syllables, and once again, Cloud compared the difference. Suddenly, he remembered that she had been his saving grace after Zack had died, and he was found lying beside his cold corpse, no tears left in him to shed, the Makou poisoning eating his life away. He had been in a coma. He had told this story to Vincent; how Lilith had put him on his feet and showed him how to use the sword that Zack had left behind, the only token he had of him. Zack's body had been left there, because to risk taking back the dead into Midgar's slums from the outskirts was to risk death. The Shinra soldiers always could tell who were the sentimental ones were: they were always the quickest kills. Is that what they thought Zack as? A quick kill? Just because he was protecting Cloud?

Cloud closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he felt Vincent's flesh arm on his shoulder. He was smiling slightly at Cloud.





"Did you have a nightmare again?"





"Yes," Cloud responded rather curtly. Lilith's cloak rustled again, and she placed it in a heap on the floor. Her army boots sounded with crisp leather as she got a hold of Cloud's chin. Her hands were soft; he remembered that she's been a sniper, like Vincent, and had never used a sword. That was the opposite of Sephiroth. He would never dishonor himself with using such a weapon.





"Do you remember me, Cloud . . .?" Again the words were drawn out, as if she were to too tired to speak them at normal speed. It was strange, but she reminded him, now that he was paying attention to more than just her looks, of Vincent. Cloud smiled at her slowly and nodded.





"Yes, I remember you," Cloud answered. "I was too shaken . . . about how much you look like him . . . at first."





"I know," Lilith smiled back. Her smile was warm. It shocked him a little. Her face was so much like his, but . . . that smile was entirely her own. He had never seen Sephiroth smile warmly. He had seen the smile of insanity on his lips . . . but never a kind one. Sephiroth had never been kind; not that Cloud really blamed him. "It's good to know that I am not alone. Even for these few moments. I have been in the North Crater for a long time now." Cloud felt his heart sink with those words. She seemed so sad . . . so beautifully sad. He found himself staring into her eyes, transfixed, until Vincent's voice broke his reverie.





"Can we hear what your nightmare was about?" He seemed worried. Cloud was grateful for Vincent's companionship, but . . . in many ways, he felt how his feelings transformed when Sephiroth died to be very personal . . .but then, Vincent had shared with him many things he had found too personal as well, so Cloud relented.





"It was Sephiroth's death . . . I saw as I shattered him once more. And every time I dream it, his eyes grow a little softer . . . giving up a little more remorse for what he's done . . . apologizing without words for what he's put me through. He even apologizes for what I put myself through. And every time I have that dream, I'm more horrified when I see his blood on my hands, and I slip a little further from my sanity. I wish I could have reasoned with him . . . I wish I could have shown him something better. Every time I have a dream about him, I realize how much we were alike, and how much Sephiroth knew that, but couldn't express it in the right way . . .not with Jenova force-feeding him illusionary lies that soothed, yet killed his humanity.

I know it sounds crazy, but I loved Sephiroth . . . as more than just my idol . . . I loved Sephiroth very dearly, and I was too clouded by my hatred of his actions, that I couldn't realize it. I couldn't realize that what he did was never entirely his own fault." Tears began to stream down Cloud's cheeks, and Lilith frowned down at him, knowing exactly how he felt, because she had loved Sephiroth in the same way . . . but she had been his half-sister . . . and he had never paid attention to her, mostly because they were always kept away from each other, and Sephiroth was never the one to approach anyone, unless ordered to. But she had realized that he had physical "intimacies" with Zack, even though Zack wasn't his type . . . he was just using the raven-haired boy . . . just like everyone had used him.