I don't go to bed. I intend to do that – think I intend to – but I just, I don't know, I'm so shook up that I just kind of plow blindly through the woods for a good few minutes, and, inevitably, realize that I have no real idea of where I'm going. And by that time I'm well out of sight of the light of the campfire, and all I can really do is sit there going "well, shit" and eventually acknowledge that I'm lost. At which point I have to weight my options, which are uniformly unappealing. Try to remember which way I came and get myself lost-er? Yell for the party and – on the off-chance that they can still hear me, which I doubt – be mocked for the rest of my natural life for being too stupid to go to bed properly? Sit here and wait to be found and probably get eaten by whatever random baddies are wandering around in this particular neck of the woods, but retain suitable WuTaian pride?

I'm kind of leaning towards the last option when a new variable is introduced to the equation; I can hear something crashing through the woods. Fabulous-wonderful. I'm not even packing the Pinwheel, just my four-point shuriken. Not only am I going to be eaten alive by wildebeests, my body's gonna be found clutching last season's lame-ass weapon. I grip said outdated model with appropriate trepidation and say a little sutra to Leviathan. The source of the bush-shaking noise emerges into the clearing.

And, as will be no surprise to you and SHOULD be no surprise to me, considering this guy's obvious gift for inserting himself where he's not wanted, it's that freaking goryo Vincent.

At first I think they noticed I wasn't in bed, and he's come out to look for me – I shrink back into the bushes, hiding myself. Like hell I'm going to be rescued by Vincent. I've got some pride. But of course this theory is far too good for Vincent. He's breathing heavily, sweating, and pale; like he's holding something in that could burst forth at any second.

Oh, great, I think, settling into the bushes. Bathroom run. Now on top of everything I've got to watch him take a piss.

Vincent glances around, makes sure there's no one there; then he begins pulling and ripping at his clothes, groaning slightly to the moonless sky, and I begin to fear I'm about to witness some content far too mature for me. I mean, Vincent's a legal adult (many times over, apparently) and Yuffie has no business in the bedrooms of the nation, but she doesn't want to watch.

I begin to ponder the "recede-into-woods, get-myself-loster" option again, when I realize that I have Vincent's options wrong as well. He's not here for any of the reasons I thought up, and I know it too late. Because, as he lifts his bony face to the night sky, moaning in pain, his body begins to change.

He turns into a demon.

Goryo.

His flesh bursts, actually shreds off of him in a rain of black blood, and underneath is this – crimson, winged, horned creature, straight out of hell, breathing smoke and brimstone. My knees are actually, literally, knocking beneath me – I thought that was just an expression, but I'm trembling so violently that it hurts, the chattering of my teeth shaking my brain. I knew it. I knew it. All I can think is, I was right.

And in the midst of this stupid display of cowardice and self-righteousness and poor planning I do the one other stupid, girly, weak thing I could do. I scream.

I didn't even see it coming, didn't think I was the type, but it rips out of me and then it goes on and on and on. Like I'm never going to run out of air, it echoes back against the shell of black night and hits the goryo and I like a slap. I clap my hands over my ears and keep on screaming. I don't think I could stop.

He bursts again, black rain of blood, and underneath is Vincent, bloodied, shaking himself, clad in rags and tatters. He's covered with nicks and cuts, even that golden arm is bloodied. Now knowing I'm there, he has no trouble seeing me, and he crosses the clearing in powerful bare-footed strides and claps the metal hand over my mouth, gagging me painfully. I nearly choke on my tongue.

I wish I had some salt. They say you can ward them off with salt.

"Be quiet," the goryo suggests, and by force and fear I am.

He's got me bent backwards, his other arm wrapped around my waist, in a sick parody of the pose of lovers in the movies, the girl all swoony and starry-eyed in her beefcake's manly arms. I do see stars, before my eyes – but only little golden ones, from lack of air. I can feel my strength failing me; I feel so heavy, can sense myself going limp in Vincent's arms, which smell of fear and brimstone.

He senses me failing at lets me go. Guess he wants to play with his food.

Well, this goryo's got WuTaian royalty, and she's not going to cry and beg. The brave don't fear the grave, right? Well, I do fear the grave, so much right now that I can barely think straight, but floating on the surface of my fear is my honor, and I skim it off and toss a bucket of it at Vincent. He's gonna get a piece of my mind. "Goryo!" I shriek, pointing at him. "Goryo! I knew it! I knew it!" My finger trembles in my line of vision, to such an extreme that there are moment when I'm not even pointing at Vincent at all. "They're all going to know too!" I inform him. "Even if you kill me. They're not stupid, you know! They'll find out!"

I can feel tears dashing out my own eyes. So this was the cause of my ill-omen. It isn't Aeris who won't make it after the battles, to that flower-decked cottage in a foreign land; it's me. What a ridiculous way to go; death by goryo. They're supposed to be fairy tales, for crying out loud! They're not allowed to really exist! The ShinRa are especially keen on that; they like telling tourists about the haikus and geisha and pretty snowcapped mountains of WuTai, but less savory aspects of our culture they're tried to eradicate… why am I thinking about this now? Am I crazy? This isn't the time to be pondering imperialism! I'm about to get eaten!

I've fallen silent, and Vincent isn't saying anything either. He's just staring at me. I try not to search those red eyes for his plans. I'm sure they'll be painful enough without knowing them in advance.

"No," he gasps. Every word seems to cost him; his lips are bloody. "You're safe. I'm not a goryo. I'm sorry I…."

"Oh come on," I bleat on and on like some psychotic sheep, "Do you think I'm an idiot? Not even the dumbest goryo would admit to being a goryo. I wasn't born yester – "

Vincent sways, once or twice, then collapses to his knees. He twitches a little; his eyes are unfocussed, almost sightless. He slowly sinks to the forest floor, spasming.

He's not faking. I know that as surely as I know that, seconds ago, he was a demon. I'm not even sure what's going on any more, whether this guy is dying or about to kill me, but no Princess of WuTai coldly watches someone in that kind of condition and before I'm consciously aware of my actions I drop to my own knees, rest a reassuring hand on his brow, cradle his head and shoulders in my lap. He's shaking like a child, and he's cold, ice cold. "Vincent," I say, amazed by how calm I suddenly sound, "Are you all right? Can you hear me?"

He nods jerkily. Or I think he does. It may just have been another tremor. "What's the matter? Has this happened before?" There are diseases that cause this sort of thing. I rack my memory. Was it epilepsy or syphilis? All those diseases with 's' and 'y' kind of blend together in times of crisis….

"It's the Beast," his voice seems ripped from him, his mouth a gaping wound, "It's tearing me apart."

"What?"

"Inside." He brushes feebly at his chest. "Inside me…."

And I understand what he means and what he has to do and I'm amazed at my own words when I hear myself say them. "Then let it out."

"No." He winces in pain and clutches at his chest; I look at where his fingers are scrabbling and I can actually see movement, claws raking at him from inside. "You're afraid."

He may be a goryo but he's a freaking ponce. "I'm afraid for you."

"You think it'll hurt you."

"Will it hurt me?"

"No, but – "

"Then let it out."

He hesitates in the space between heartbeats and whimpers.

I drop my doctor's training and try to remember what the monks taught me, long ago in the pagoda. I bend over his chest, drawing a mandala in the red ink that seeps from his pores. "By order of the princess of WuTai, creature of the night," I say in a voice that is absurdly confident, "By the power of Leviathan, by the light of deep water, leave this man!" I strike his chest lightly with the heel of my hand. "Beast -- I exorcise you!"

There's a ripping sound. Vincent pushes at my shoulder feebly. He's still fighting it. Ponce. "Vincent," I tell him quietly, though I can't keep the urgency out of my voice. "You can trust me. Let it out."

"I – "

"Please."

There is a sound of breaking and a rain of black blood and brimstone and the Beast has returned. Vincent said it wouldn't hurt me.

Well, if he's wrong, I won't have long to brood.