.6.

Sephiroth did not return to the inn until shortly before sunrise. The innkeeper, long since having deserted his post for bed, had left a single light burning in the main entry for any guests who may be returning late. Sephiroth tirelessly climbed the stairs two at a time and strode to the door of his room. He inserted the key in the lock noiselessly; just as silently he opened the door, stepped through, and closed it. The room was dark but for the first rays of light from the rising sun which filtered through the spaces in the shutters. They crept along the wooden floor and splayed out at the foot of the bed where the girl lay sleeping, turned on her side facing the door. She cradled something in the palm which was pressed against her cheek, hidden by the curve of her fingers; the white materia, no doubt. As Sephiroth studied her from where he stood, he was reluctantly forced to accept something he had been wrestling with in the hours past.

He was attracted to this girl.

He was not happy with this realization; he had no idea how this had come about, and that made him resent the fact all the more. After he had left the room earlier, locking her within, he couldn't erase the memory of the way she had felt beneath his touch, soft and trembling. He had been unable to stop thinking of how she moved with such cautious grace, either, or the way her incredibly expressive eyes flared when ever she was angry or afraid. The fact that he couldn't banish her from his thoughts was infuriating; his anger had carried him at a brisk run far from Kalm, to roam the night wilderness like some sort of deadly nocturnal apex predator. The exercise didn't help, and so he found himself pondering exaclty what it was about her, this mere slip of a mortal girl, that fascinated him so.

The answer was not forthcoming.

He had never in his life felt anything remotely similar to this about any other person. Most people he disdained or despised for their weakness and their incompetence. The number of people he respected had dwindled rapidly as he had realized who and what he was. He had no use for people; they were nothing more than parasites on this Planet, sucking it dry. Why should he care for them? He was superior to them in every single way, and he intended on eradicating all traces of their pathetic existence from the Planet. It was who he was-what he was meant to do. Why then, did this girl intrigue him as no other had? Irritated, bewildered, he studied the object of his contemplation as she lay in deep slumber before him. She was nothing, thin and pale and insubstantial. Yet his eyes followed the pleasing curve of her outline and traced paths through the thick fall of her chestnut hair as it fell, partially unbound, over her shoulders to pool on the mattress. He studied her innocent features, knowing that if her eyes were to open at that moment, their evergreen depths would add definition and contrast to the smooth lines. It was almost unbearable, the urge to draw closer, trail his fingers through her shining mane, to feel the feathery slide of her skin under his ...

He clamped his jaw shut with an audible noise, gritting his teeth against the near unbearable urges. He could not -would not-give into this. They were human traits, this desire and affection, and he was more than human. She was merely a tool, a vassal, something that was easily expendable. He wrestled for long moments with whatever foolish part of his brain attempted to inform him that he couldn't let Mother kill this girl, that if he moved to the bed now and touched her-

It was at that precise moment her eyes opened.

Blinking, slowly at first, she focused on him through a haze induced by sleep. Sudden recognition brought her bolt upright against the headboard of the bed, and mistrust and fear trickled into the dark depths of her eyes. She was silent, waiting, he realized, for him to say something. Struggling not to stare at her, not to watch how the play of light slid along the burnished strands of her hair, or how it gleamed off the green of her eyes, he managed to say in a voice with just the right degree of mocking condescension. "Did you sleep well?"

He noticed then the way her skin flushed, and the way her eyes darkened in anger at his words. She opened her mouth to make a reply, thought better of it, and remained silent. He smirked at the venom in the glare she directed at him and idly strode to the shutters. With one pull he swung them open, and they thudded against the wall. The sun, freed from the horizon, bathed him in its radiance. He swung around and leaned against the window sill, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well?" He asked expectantly, his smile still intact.

"I slept fine," she snapped finally, standing and slipping the materia into her pocket. Pointedly turning her back on him, she began to gather all the strands of her hair that had escaped their bindings and rebraid them. He watched her, half amused and half angry at the effect she had on him, through heavy lidded eyes. When she had finished she turned back around to find him regarding her with his infuriating smile. She yearned to slap that damned expression off his face; she settled for returning his look with an icy scowl. As she had expected, it served to do no more than increase his amusement. He pushed himself away from the window and walked to stand before her. Apprehension flooded her eyes, and she hesitantly fell back.

Perversely satisfied that he had such an effect on her, he said pleasantly, "Good, because we travel far today, and I don't wish you to hold us up."

He could see her jaw tighten in irritation, and her eyes narrowed. "Leave me here, then," she said.

He shook his head. "Oh no. I am to escort you," Here he paused to give her a parody of a courtly bow, "To Mother."

"Damn you ..." She said softly, and her expression was one of unadulterated hatred.

He laughed then, insultingly. "We're leaving in ten minutes," he said, "I'll be waiting for you downstairs."

Before he turned to walk away, he reached out and caught her chin in one hand. She pulled away; anticipating this he caught her arm with his other hand. Unable to escape, she resigned herself to his scrutiny with a heavy sigh. His eyes gazed directly into hers for long moments.

"My lady," he murmured finally, tracing a finger over her bottom lip. He smiled again, and releasing her, stepped away. Shaken, she stared at him. He said nothing, but turned and left the room.

Aerith sighed again as the door closed behind him, and this time her sigh was unsteady. She could still feel where he had touched her, his mark imprinted on her skin. Her heart was racing, and trembling she sat on the bed and rested her face in her hands.

What was happening?

.x.