He is bound by duty
…but not invulnerable to love.
Somehow, she had made sure of that.
Where Loyalties Lie
Visions of Cinnamon and Scarlet
by Jess Angel
I
The frigid night air lightly swept through strands of deep mahogany, and a soft sigh escaped cherry-red lips. The sun was long gone, and the moon hung high in the darkness. Green trees whispered sweetly overhead. And for a moment, the young girl ceased her worries to revel in the late night song, her ears charmed by the midnight rhapsody.
She smiled up at the stars in unison - the constellations bright as the twinkle in her eyes. The night was alive and breathing. Effortlessly, crickets chirped their high-pitched ballads… An owl hooted his warm greeting… The white seeds of dandelions danced free, and they chased one another in the breeze.
She was a little girl caught in another world… of nature and other enchanting things.
But soon enough, reality lay claim to her once again.
The air became a cold burden upon her skin, and a gust of wind rustled her lavender skirts. Tifa Lockheart sighed once more and then proceeded walking. Papa will be very angry with me .She looked down at the purple cloth that swirled about her delicate feet.
The pixie-faced girl had been out playing with friends, and in her childish merriment, she had forgotten time and all its confinements. Hers was a free spirit, a constant source of both delight and worry in the heart of her widowed father. But all Tifa really longed to do was please him, being an only child with few living relatives.
Since the death of his wife, Tifa Lockheart's father had suffered an intense grief, and Tifa, though young, had noticed and did not wish to add to his burdens. So she did what one her age could do to help them both manage. She endeavored to be a happy child of smiles and laughs who caused few concerns and little stress for her papa.
The small brunette hoped he wouldn't be too upset with her tardiness.
As a familiar brown and green giant came into view, Tifa knew she was nearly home. The drooping leaves of an old willow swayed gently with the west winds, and despite her hurry, she had to pause to take in the wonder of it. The weeping willow had always been a mesmerizing but haunting vision, and she remembered her mother's melodic voice telling her it was emblem of great sadness. After encountering the mournful-looking tree in person, the little girl had readily agreed. Whenever she passed, Tifa couldn't help but think it was still beautiful though seen as a symbol of deep anguish.
A sudden gasp emitted from the girl's tiny lips. Her pulse quickened in fear at the sight of a lone shadow beyond the pendulous branches. The instinct to run was strong… but the magnetism of something else was even stronger.
Instead of backing away and sprinting home in fright, Tifa felt herself drawn forward, weaving her body through the hanging green leaves.
Demon child! Demon child!
…Look at his eyes! …No, don't! He'll cast an evil spell on you! …He probably works for the Devil. …Don't ask him to play! …He's the one that killed his own mother! …Don't touch him! He's a monster! …Demon… devil…
He would not cry. His eyes were parched - spent all on her. Tears for a mother he had never known. It seemed his heart had sworn an unspoken vow. He cried for no one but her. She was worthy of them. Why cry for them when they didn't care? Foolish. Why cry for himself when he was not worthy? It would be a waste. After all, he was the one who had taken her from this world. He was the cause, the reason. They were right.
He was a demon.
One look at him and it's plain to see, they said. He couldn't be normal. He can't be.
After hearing it over and over, it wasn't so hard to believe. Words were one thing, but when coupled with actions… He slowly began to agree.
It was true that no other eye had dare met his without some unease or uncomfortable shifting. Afterwards, most would shy away – detached mentally, physically, emotionally – all except those left in his small family. But the damage was done, and he was drifting. As they recoiled, he echoed them, retreating in each sense they had. And in a way, in that isolation, he found release. Lonely…
But what is loneliness when the suffocation of their fear was eased?
Tifa exhaled softly. It appeared the figure was no phantom at all. It was just a boy. Yet his presence seemed haunted. He looked like he belonged there - beneath moon rays of the night, staring out at a black expanse of water… the weeping willow, his only companion.
The small brunette stared at his back taking in what she could of his appearance. He was thin, but not unhealthy, with skin that looked like it had never felt the touch of the sun. His raven hair wasn't extremely long, but if undone from the little ponytail, she imagined it would barely brush his shoulders. He was certainly older, his height being obvious evidence; and from his clothing, she gathered he was close to her station, graced with enough wealth to keep from starving but not enough to spend freely on the unnecessary.
Instantly, Tifa realized she wanted to know this boy standing alone by the willow tree. It was more than curiosity that fed her interest in this real apparition. She wished to know his troubles and soothe his hurts, like she did her papa's and those of the hungry children she met and played with on the streets. And there was something else. Another sensation, one nameless and beyond sympathy. It tugged at her soul insistently. His aura emanated a pain so crushing, Tifa's hand pulled to her chest as if the emotions within him were her own.
What was causing him such suffering?
Lightly, her bare feet began to pad across the fresh grass that lay in-between them. She would ask him… meet him… and maybe, she would know.
"Why are you sad?" an angelic voice surprised him from behind.
Vincent stopped himself from turning to the sound by reflex. It had been awhile since anyone had had the courage to approach him - few wanted to. The girl must've not known who he was.
It had been so long since he had talked to anyone beside his brother or father. If only for a moment, he craved the voice of another, a friend. 'Just this once,' he told himself, his want and need coinciding. "My mother… I was thinking of her."
Vincent kept himself facing forward. He didn't want to turn around for she would see them. And he didn't want her to be frightened like the others.
"Oh," the girl quietly answered. "Your mother?"
Her voice sounded younger than his nine years, with its ring of child-like innocence.
"I," he paused. "I miss her."
The tone in his voice stirred something within Tifa, and she felt the strings of a kind of kinship draw her closer. It was a bond not too unlike the one she shared with her father - but, it was still one she had yet to taste. "Is she… gone?"
He took another moment to answer. "I never got to say goodbye."
Then she understood… "I never got to either."
Without warning, Tifa was swallowed whole into crimson seas; eyes of devastating scarlet arrested her own.
The girl's eyes were the color of cinnamon played upon with burgundy.
Vincent responded almost whispering, his voice tainted with a strange wonder, "You're like me…?" Involuntarily, his hand reached out as if to touch the surface of a painting. Her eyes weren't nearly as alarming as his, but there was a comfort in the slight similarity.
Abruptly, the boy dropped his hand, aware of his trance-like reverie.
"Like you?" Tifa smiled unexpectedly, if not also a little shyly. There seemed a deeper meaning to his words, and though she had yet to grasp it, the recognition was there, and it warmed her inwardly.
The girl's expression saddened somewhat as she remembered of what they had been speaking. "My momma … She died last winter." She glanced down at her toes. "She was very sick. She closed her eyes before… I could… " Her shoulders gently heaved. "Was your momma sick too?"
Vincent let his gaze tilt away. But of course, she wasn't like him. She was purity and innocence. He was none of those things. He was a killer, an abomination. The demon child. He was nothing like the cherub standing unflinching before him. "No… I hurt her."
Vincent winced when her head jerked to look at him.
How easy it could've been to lie. But even at the mere thought of deceiving her, the boy felt his stomach twist. Vincent was only able to tell her the truth. "She died at my birth. It was all… my fault." He swallowed the lump blocking his throat. "I should have never…"
His hand gathered into a tight fist. He had been unable to finish aloud. …been born. Vincent found her eyes again, determined to face her - waiting for her to hate him. He was almost completely numb anyhow. What more could one girl possibly do?
No…
He watched in fascination as she lowered her head, shaking it from side to side, as if in confusion.
No.
Then… starlight was falling. Like pearls of wet light they descended, dropping to the ground and sliding off her cheeks. Like dewdrops they became - clinging to blades of cold grass like it was early morning.
Her cry finally came. "No! It's not your fault!" Before he knew what happened, she was crushed against him. "It's not!" A wet porcelain cheek lay against the cloth of his stomach. "She died, but it's not your fault!"
In shock, Vincent was unable to respond. His arms hung stationary at his sides, and his mouth parted to speak, but not a word was uttered.
She died… but it wasn't his fault.
It couldn't be true…
She died, but it's not your fault!
Could it?
It's not!
He looked at the girl wrapped around him.
She wouldn't lie.
Though still stunned, Vincent dared his arms to move.
Shakily, the limbs lifted… then finally touched her back in acceptance.
Two children sat shoulder to shoulder. Their eyes fixed on a dark lake rippled with moonshine while a quiet conversation took place between them.
"You never saw her?" Tifa's finger absently traced patterns on the cloth pulled over her knees.
"I… My father draws things. …He painted her sometimes." Vincent eyes trailed up to the stars. "I've seen her."
She smiled a little then looked at him sideways. Hesitantly, she asked, "Do you look like her?"
"No," he answered curtly. Vincent's gaze fell to the ground, and then he continued more softly, "She was beautiful…" He suddenly pinned his eyes on her, a curious expression on his face. "A beautiful woman."
What—The little girl's eyes widened.
"Well, my papa always says I looked like my momma," Tifa hastily added, hoping she had not offended him. She had not meant he looked like a lady!
Vincent inwardly chuckled. She was fun to tease. The young boy tilted his head thoughtfully, his keen red eyes silently studying her. He almost smiled at her discomfort. "Then she must have been beautiful too."
The rose in her cheeks deepened.
Vincent took in her appearance again. "How many years are you? …I am nine now."
"I'll be six soon!" she told him with obvious joy and pride. "And Papa told me he'll throw a big celebration!"
He laughed a little at her infectious excitement then nodded.
"You'll come won't you, Vincent? To the celebration?" She turned towards him, a hand pressed upon the ground. "Papa said I could invite all my friends!"
He doubted he would be able to find her, but nodded anyway. He would always remember her - his first real friend.
"Tifa! Tifa, are you out there?"
"Papa?" The little brunette jumped to her feet, looking past the tree. "Papa! I'm here, Papa!"
"Tifa…? Where have you been, sweetling? Come, let's go home. It's late, and you had me worried, little one." The man motioned her towards him.
"Coming, Papa!"
Tifa turned back to her companion, who had also risen to his feet, and gave him a bright smile. Then her short and slender arms encircled Vincent in a second embrace, leaving him speechless again. "Goodbye, friend Vincent!" She began to skip away. "…Goodbye!" Tifa left him with one last wave.
Vincent ran up behind the weeping willow to watch as she jumped up into her father's arms. She giggled in delight as he swung her about for a short moment. "Goodbye…"
As her papa carried her home, Tifa caught sight of a red glow emitting by the trunk of the large willow. She grinned impishly before blowing a kiss in Vincent's direction.
And for once in a long time, the dark-haired boy allowed himself a smile. "…friend Tifa."
Author's Note: This is a complete alternate universe so some character tweaking has (ex. ages) and may be done. Nothing too drastic personality-wise... I hope. This particular story has nothing to do with the plot of the game. The characters are in a world of my own making. Scary, isn't it? And yes, this will center around a love triangle featuring Vincent, Tifa, and Sephiroth. Crazy, I know. Thus the AU-ness.
I've changed this note a bit because I've heard from some readers, and after giving it some long thought, I've decided to continue it. So, this'll be more than a two-parter. I'm having fun writing it, plus it's been helping me whenever I get stuck on other fics. Updates for this will be slow, but I hope you'll be willing to stick with it. Maybe even like it...?
Warnings: (Future Content) Strong PG-13. Language. Writing may be on the sensual side at times. Nothing too risqué, I believe, but it may have an edge. I haven't gotten that far into it so we'll see what flows from my fingertips.
"Many waters cannot quench love; rivers cannot wash it away.
If one were to give all the wealth of his house for love,
it would be utterly scorned."
Song of Songs 8:7
Final Fantasy VII and its characters © Square-Enix, Inc.
