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050. Flower - Squall/Rinoa.
Honeysuckle.
I was in a state of mild consciousness for a while. I could see flashes - a face I didn't know but did, a man I loved, a mother I barely knew and honeysuckle flowers, held in hands that I couldn't recognise but felt like home. And then I awoke, in a shrinking grey world that was conjured from my darkest nightmares. I'd seen this place, when I was kept chained in the vast, pitch, emptiness of space. I saw the cracked grey ground, and the sheets of charcoal wind, caught with all kinds of debris, spinning closer and closer, closing in on me.
And him. He was lying there on the ground, unmoving. For one tragic moment, I thought he was dead. I thought I was too late. I thought it was all a dream - or a nightmare. The air caught in my throat and bile rose from my stomach as I cradled him in my arms and tried to coax any sign of life out of him - any sign at all. But he wouldn't move, nor take a breath. I thought it was all over, and the fat teardrops welled in my eyes and rolled down my face, one by one splashing onto his skin with obnoxious crashes. I closed my eyes and wished, prayed, begged that something would happen.
And then he took a breath. And another, and another, and another, and more. And his eyes fluttered open slowly. I looked into his eyes, and felt the wind on my face. He looked up at me, his slate eyes adjusting to the new light, and the pupil pulsed into seeing. He tried to sit up, and I looked away from him, up to the sky, thanking whomever would listen, putting a careless hand in my hair to keep it from my face. I saw the blue sky above me, parting the charcoal cyclones, and the white puffy clouds that replaced them. Pastel flowers and ethereal feathers swirled in the air, and the wind settled. I caught one petal in my hand, and I watched him sit up, and face me.
This was the field. This was the field we'd promised to meet in. I could see the orphanage in the distance, and I smelt the sea that restlessly beat the rocks all around this island. We were home, we were safe, and we were alive. And the honeysuckle flowers that surrounded us and tickled his nose were the proof of it.
Honeysuckle = devoted affection and bonds of love in the plant symbolism.
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