:: Heart Less Love ::
Fear is static that prevents me from hearing myself. – Samuel Butler
Part Sixteen: Confirmation
The ward was clean and otherwise quiet.
She wasn't entirely sure why she had anticipated maddened screams, or perhaps the weeping of patients, howls chasing others who fled through the corridors from their doctors. It was none of these things. It was white washed into calm, with each room neat and tidy. None of the patients seemed too distressed, with only a few who made noise and even this was kept to a respectful low thrum of words and sounds.
She meandered through the corridors, peeking in at the patients. There was a young man who carefully made paper planes and then threw them one by one out of his door to the adjoining room. When she turned to see where they landed, they came to a rest by the bare, clean feet of an elderly woman who gathered them up, unfolded them and then proceeded to create beautiful origami flowers.
Two doors down from this, was a young woman who sat sadly on the edge of her bed, holding a portrait in a worn, wooden frame. Her hair was cut pixie short and was stark grey. But her skin was youthful and smooth, radiant. Aerith stood at the door awhile, studying the bittersweet expression on the girls face; the longing and despair in the pale brown eyes, the shimmering of unshed tears. There was a strange religious feel to this, something that drew her to this spot and pinned her there.
After a longer while, the girl realised she was being watched. Without putting away the picture, she turned her head without moving her body and looked into Aerith's eyes with a piercing, solemn gaze. It was so clear and unwavering. Aerith let her eyes travel to the picture held, of a young man in a uniform of a military medic, and next to him was a girl of an age of about sixteen, black haired and laughing. The scene oozed love and life, and when she looked back up; the tears were slowly trickling down the smooth cheeks.
She didn't need to ask to know, the shimmering spectre of energy that formed into the young medic and sat on the other side of the open window was enough. Trailing her hand down the doorframe, she nodded quietly and respectfully and moved on as if drawn away by an unseen wind, leaving the young woman to her sadness.
On the second floor she met two middle aged men who insisted they were the same person, and upon closer inspection she realised they were twins, for she could hardly tell one from the other. They gently held her hands, one each, and laughed and told stories of the world before Shinra globally dominated. They told her folk stories of the Cetra and the wonders they had supposedly wrought throughout the world.
It was on the third floor that she met Doctor Faben, a soberly dressed man underneath his white overcoat, with short trimmed greying muddy brown hair and eyes set too close together to be handsome, despite a smile that warmed her on delivery. She approached him, as he was sifting between clipboards and waited for an opportune moment, eyes lingering over the sheaves of papers, then to his face. "Excuse me?"
"Mmm?" He turned about and adjusted his lapel, then smiled, "Good afternoon young lady, how may I help you?"
"Are you the Chief Resident? Dr Kinsky said if I was interested in maladies of the mind I was to speak with," she fished out the note from her pocket, "A... er... Doctor Harris Faben?"
"That's me, you know Alys? How is she doing?"
"Oh, her studies in Materia Applications? It's really fascinating; I conversed with her extensively on the varying properties of different materia, not only of the green 'action' variety." Aerith smiled, thinking back, "I think the possible implementation of All or perhaps Elemental could deeply enhance the processes she was considering."
"Mmm, are you a doctor?"
"Oh, my goodness no, I'm Aerith," she caught the blank look and in a faintly more monotone voice added as reluctantly as she possibly could, "...The... Last Ancient."
"Oh my goodness," Dr Faben shifted, "You're well... her. I never for once imagined..."
Aerith blushed and looked away, focusing on the small lounge area by the nurses' station where they were stood. It was empty; the television was blank and black, reflecting the room. "I thought I'd come here to ask some questions."
"I see, may I ask about what?"
"How many patients do you have here suffering with Mako poisoning side effects?"
Faben shifted again, this time to support one arm with another as the respective hand cradled his chin, long fingers rubbing at the hint of stubble there. His eyes peered at the ceiling as he was recalling the details, then said, "Currently, eleven cases."
"Have there been any increases or decreases of late, within the last six months?"
"Hmm. No, but, we did have a brief surge in something else."
Aerith's attention sharpened, "Such as?"
"More like clinical depression, if you can call it such. It was accompanied by mild dementia and psychosis. We've seen a rise in the number of cases this past month. They're mostly silent, hardly ever speaking to staff, but it's so very strange..."
"Do they speak to themselves, or as if to other people? And then pause as if someone is answering them?"
Faben frowned, looking at Aerith intently in such a way that she felt as if she'd hit a raw nerve, "Yes, precisely that."
"I see. Can you show me to some of your patients? I'd like to take a moment to sit with them if I may?" Aerith smiled gently, "I am trained as a healer magical, but also have a vested interest in psychiatry, as I suspect this might be the work of the Lifestream. As you know, I am the Last of my people... any information I gather now may provide help for future generations of humans to come to understand my peoples ways."
"Of course, I won't be able to provide complete seclusion, but I'll have an orderly posted outside the door should you require assistance. One moment then, please," he moved away from her, leaving her with the pile of clipboards.
Idly she moved a couple, reading off the names of the case files; A thin man with early pattern baldness and a haunting set to his grim mouth, Jonah Collins. The case of Imedla Kirschten, who only wanted to be outside when it was night among the grass and trees, and slept during the day... The weathered expression of an older woman tugged at her heart, the joyless smile that Teri Oliver gave the world was almost dripping with insincerity.
She pooled the clipboards back together just in time to see that Faben had returned with a young-ish man, late twenties or early thirties. He wore the white slacks and shirt of an orderly, his pale brownish olive skin contrasting nicely with it. His face was unremarkable at best, but he never caught her eyes, instead looking away.
"You can look at me," she said softly.
"Pardon ma'am, I have a condition, I can't look at people's eyes."
Faben explained, "It's a mental condition. He's done well to make it this far, it has to do with insincerity and trust. Anyway, Aerith Gainsborough, meet Kyle Bannock. Kyle, will you please take Miss Gainsborough to room 317, and watch from outside the room."
The orderly nodded and gestured without glancing up at her to follow him. She briefly turned back to the doctor and touched her hand to his, fingertips barely meeting the skin that covered the back of his hand. "Thank you, for your kindness."
"No, no, thank you. In the interests of science," his eyes were soft and the smile genuine, "And because it would have been much worse without you, I think. I hope you find what you seek."
He picked up his stack of boards and walked towards the office backroom, and she muttered, "I hope I do too," then pivoted to follow the orderly. She found she had to skip ahead a few paces of her usual meter to keep up with the fellow; his stride was uneven to hers, she felt so short in comparison.
Aerith attempted conversation on the journey up one flight of stairs and down another slender corridor of doors and pastel pictures, but Kyle seemed completely uninterested, parking himself on a seat outside the door of room 317 without so much as a nod to her. She stood there uncertainly, toes curling in her soft slippers, then with a tut more for him than herself, knocked.
"Come in."
Surprised to hear a voice that sounded so young, she opened the door and walked into the small hospital room. It was minimalistic to say the least; decor involved a simple bed with restraint cuffs and a support on either side as a moveable rail. There was a bed stand to either side, one of which had a vase of flowers. A moveable trolley-table was pushed neatly side to the window where the pastel curtains were open along with one of the windows, letting in a cool breeze. She noted the sun had sunk lower in the sky than she had previously thought.
What really caught her attention was the teenage girl stood by the window.
She could have been no older than fifteen at the very best. Aerith moved further in and closer to the window, so that she could see the face of the girl more clearly. The side visible to her was poignant in relief, smooth skin with delicate features. Her eyes were a dark grey-green and thickly lashed, hair short to just below her jaw line of a dark brown, but held back with two yellow clips positioned in a cross shape at her left and right temple each. She wore only a simple white shift and her feet were bare on the chill tiled floor.
"Hello, I'm Aerith."
The girl didn't so much as look at her, continuing to look at the world outside. The ancient tilted her head; that wasn't right, she wasn't looking at the world, and she was gazing intently at the sky. The sun was already spreading colours of gold and russet into the clouds.
"They say you hear voices."
Not even an eyelash batted at her. With a sigh she wanted desperately to release, Aerith looked around at the room. The flowers in the vase were looking wilted so she came towards it and placed her hands in a cupping motion about the lip of the vase and murmured. The familiar tingle and surge of her power was the same, and the flowers bloomed slowly back into colour and lifted their tired stems up proudly again.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw the orderly shuffle a little uncomfortably on his chair, but there was a roaring in her ears...
They say you can't grow flowers here, but I can. I can grow them.
Here in my private little Idaho, somehow they have always had no trouble blooming at my touch. I carefully shape them, delicate jewels of the earth sprouting between fingertips. Twice though, they have been disturbed by men who changed me and my life. Once by Zack, crashing down and opening up my world for me. Once by Cloud, who gave me the key to the cage Shinra made for me, and let me fly free no matter what dangers awaited me.
I love flowers.
They're so fragile, easy to destroy – but they struggle for life, they struggle for something most people take for granted. I love their determination to survive; it's something I choose to emulate every day. I am a flower, in my own way...
"There, as good as new," she smiled, shaking off the echoing roar so it faded. These memories had strange times to pick up and grab at her. She let her hands drop down and studied the blooms, mind filling with other thoughts, memories spilling over each other with a forceful desire to be the next she held up and cherished for a moment or more. "Sorry, "she shook her head again, "It's been a hard time for me lately."
Aerith left the flowers and came back to stand at the window with the girl, looking up at the sky, "It's so pretty, I haven't seen a sunset like this in a long time. I lived in Midgar most of my life; I saw the plates of the sectors if I looked up. On the rare times I visited the upper plates, I would see a sky drowned in pollution. It's only out here you see clouds and stars..."
"You are the Ancient," the girl whispered. Her accent was that of Wutai.
Surprised, Aerith looked again at the girl, "Yes, I am."
"You should run away," the face of the girl turned, looking at her. The left side of the face that was hidden suddenly came into view. It was horrifically scarred and burned. The left arm was in a sling, hand loosely clasped about something. It took Aerith a moment to realise that it was a chunk of coal.
"Huh," she frowned, peering down at it, "Why...?"
Coal?
"He purged me, of my blood. He said it was filthy. He said you would come. Flee," the girl's voice was unemotional, "Run. I will take this to the stars so he cannot have it... run, Honoured Daughter... run..."
...what could she be thinking o-
The hand with the cloth gagged her effectively and she tried yanking free, but instead fell into oblivion with the thoughts of coal and black rocks swirling down after her with the tangy aftertaste of chloroform.
The headaches were making clear thought almost impossible.
The legs would not obey correctly; they often tripped up and left her sprawled in the dirt. She lay sometimes, listening to nothing at all and then hearing the blood rush back to her brain in protest, the dull thudding of her heart on her ribs in a pained staccato.
She would get up and move because if she stayed too long the pain was unbearable.
The figure in a cloak lurched through bones of buildings like a ghost, clutching at her head and sometimes at her chest. When the night fell, she took to squatting in hovels she built of forgotten debris and she would dig hands beneath her robes and haul out her treasure, eyeing it greedily.
The sight of it made her sick to her stomach, fingers stained with blood. She couldn't recall how much blood she had shed on the way through.
There had been checkpoint soldiers, animals, monsters, and the faint acrid tang of 'her' blood. It still clung underneath her fingernails and to her clothes. She tried to ignore this as best she could, but the scent caught her every now and then and the headaches would return a blinding pain that sent her back to the dirt.
She began to curse the very sky, and when it rained, stood out in it, drinking in nature and coughing out her disease.
Her precious treasure, she carried it with her, deeper into the arrested heart that was the dead city of Midgar, deep into the intestinal catacombs and down deeper to the very split of the world where the true lifeblood oozed and began her preparation.
And inside her broken mind the frail voice of the girl beat on the thick walls of glass, unheard.
Cloud checked his wristwatch, and then looked at Cid who merely shrugged.
Cid had in advance, and rather craftily, left his current packet of 'smokes' back at the buggy, citing that if he did that, then Aerith couldn't rob him of his favourite past-time as she already ran his other bad habits from town with an iron fist. They slouched outside the clinic, looking somewhat bored. Cid was comfortably sprawled on a bench as Cloud paced up and down the sidewalk by the payphones, shoulders hunched.
"This is kind of cutting it a little close," he muttered. "I wonder what's so important in there."
Cid blew out air, scowling briefly then chuckled, "Hey who knows, maybe she likes being with the crazies."
"Aerith isn't crazy."
"No, but she sure is 'special'."
Cloud shook his head, "Don't let Tifa hear you say that."
"Nah, she knows I don't mean it. Aerith's like a little sister to me; an offbeat kind of kooky little sister, but that connection all the same. She's probably caught up in all that healer bullshit," Cid wafted his hands in little circles, "but I hear you, she sure is taking her time."
"It's not like Aerith to make us worry like this."
"Stop pacing, you're making me look lazy," Cid raises his head from being thrown back and lifted an eyebrow, "come to think of it, after she had one of those memory episodes on Highwind, she was going to tell me something but stopped short. I bet it has to do with this place."
"I wonder," Cloud sighed and paused, leaning against a wall by a payphone, hands rammed into his pockets, "I bet she was looking for something like this."
"Like what?"
"Well, Yuffie starts hearing voices and goes well, a bit mad," Cloud smirked, "A lot mad. What if there are people out there, with a bit of Cetra or a bit of Jenova. What if those two sides are warring. It won't result in full blown Yuffinsanity, but they will hear voices. I imagine thinking they're going insane this will be the first place they check into. Maybe she's looking for someone who can hear the voice of Jenova, but won't try and rip her throat out on sight, you know?"
"...for a blond, that sure was a smart line of thinking."
"Kettle, black?" The mercenary smiled as the pilot huffed and rubbed a hand through his silver-touched hair. "Tifa's likely already thought that one through though."
"Must be nice to be so organised."
"She's always been that way; Tifa's the kind of person who made a schedule for life to run at with a million lists along the way. Graduate high school, check; get a high paid job, check; haircut, check... you know the type?"
"High maintenance," Cid snorted. "Not like Aerith."
"No, not really..."
"Excuse me?"
The two men stopped and looked at the doctor who had just left the front doors of the Ward, tall, close-eyed and with neatly trimmed hair. He wore a casual suit and his briefcase had seen less-full days, with bits of papers poking out and some even in the arms of the doctor. He looked between Cloud and Cid, then offered, "Oh my pardon, I'm Doctor Faben, are you friends of Miss Gainsborough? Oh, of course, I recognise you from Avalanche, my apologies."
Cid sat up and murmured, "Since when were we goddamn celebrities?"
"Uh, yeah," Cloud pulled his hands from his pockets, "I'd offer you a handshake but looks like you're already a little busy there."
"Work never stops," the doctor sighed and smiled, "But yes, are you looking for her?"
"Yeah, we're waiting to meet up with her."
Faben frowned; "Now that makes no sense, I checked the visitor log and it states that Miss Gainsborough checked out two hours ago. You haven't met up with her at all?"
"No," Cloud pushed off the wall, "No we didn't. Are we okay to go check inside?"
"Well," Faben hesitated then shrugged, "Sure, it's not my shift anyway, sign the log and hopefully you find her. I have work that I must be about doing, I'm terribly sorry." He nodded and walked towards his car, getting and after a moment, driving away.
Cid looked at Cloud and wordlessly they both entered the ward. Cloud felt a lump tighten in his throat. The last time he'd been here he had been a patient and Clinic had been little more than a small hospital of tiny wings. He set a brisk pace, sooner he was out of there the better.
As they searched room to room and queried the nurses as they went, he thought back to those hazy times he spent drowning in his memories. It was more than that though; it was the flood of feeling that came with them. He had felt completely inadequate as a person, as a friend. He couldn't ever measure up to the kind of guy that Zack was, and meeting the girl Zack had dated only to fall in love with her too had compounded matters.
Even Tifa had looked up to Zack when he had come back to Nibelheim in shame, hiding his face behind his helmet so she couldn't know he wasn't first class Soldier. He was a grunt.
The nurses were kind and offered up information about her last places seen, and they visited a few rooms. The people seemed so detached and sad, some speaking to thin air softly, others staring at walls or windows or pictures. A few performed routine activities, sometimes with other patients.
After a thorough search of wards and backrooms, they came back to the front door and the visitor log. Curious, Cloud flipped open the book and peered through the names of the visitors to the clinic. There was Aerith's name for admittance in early afternoon. Sure enough, two or so hours ago was her name again...
"Wait a minute," Cid said, looking down at the log, "That's not right."
"What isn't?"
"Are you blind as well as blond, boy? That first one, that's her for sure. But the second one isn't her handwriting at all." Cid prodded the offending lines, "See?"
"...you're right," Cloud frowned, "Are you saying that someone else signed her out?"
"Yeah, but who? I need a smoke dammit all, I always do when I gotta think, lets step outside for a bit of air."
"Alright, sure." Cloud closed the log and followed Cid outside.
The parking in the afternoon had been nothing short of awful so they'd been forced to park the buggy up again by the service entrance for the Clinic Psych Ward, and on approach it was this time Cloud who stopped Cid by grabbing his shoulder. "Wait."
"What the f-"
"You see that car, that one?" He nodded in the direction of a shiny new model, parked by the large bins of refuse. "Familiar?"
"That's the one that the doctor drives, isn't it?"
"Yeah, but didn't we see him drive away?" Cloud pointed, "And that fire door is ajar."
Cid spat, "Shit, and I still ain't got a smoke. Let's do this bullcrap before I decide my addiction beats saving that dame again..."
The circles of black span around her head in dizzying waves, bringing bile up to her throat. She tried to grasp them but they passed through her hands, shimmering as inconstant as the stars on a cloudy night.
"Coal," she said, "Onyx, Jet. None of these are the Black Materia... but..."
The girl who held the chunk of coal had said she would take it away. The girl said she was purged of her blood. Was that possible?
She wanted to be sick, and fell to her knees, clutching her stomach. "Planet, Planet..." she groaned, "Help me."
-It is almost time- it sighed and groaned –It is time for you to choose the new future, a time almost upon us!-
"Choose? What choice is there? I don't understand, I don't understand..." she wailed softly, "I don't..."
The chunks of rock clattered to the floor around her in a cacophony of noise...
Her eyes fluttered open, looking at the chains that had dropped to the floor close to her face. There were a set of feet, booted in immaculate leather and a voice that whispered softly.
"She might have the Star in her hands, but Mother will love me more for I rid her of you... I am the one you came to and unlike her, I can do the deed. I couldn't purge her of her fault, Mother did that, you helped her. How did that feel, creating a monster? How does it feel to betray your faith, hmm?"
"...what..." she croaked. Her throat still burned from the chloroform. It felt uncomfortable just to breathe.
"Awake are you? No matter, I injected you with a paralysing drug. You should have little to no motor control. It's amazing what science can create. You should be familiar with the drug..."
"Hojo," she whispered. She was ashamed of the tears that sprang to her eyes.
"A brilliant man, a truly visionary mind," the toe in her side was an insult, prodding her gently, "See? Complete muscle relaxation."
The floor was as cold as one of the metal tables had been. She swallowed her fear desperately. What was she doing blubbering away like a little girl? She had already died once; she had faced Sephiroth and by sheer force of will, won. She had beaten the Meteor back; she had survived impossible odds and came out stronger each time.
But the mere hint that she was back in the clutches of Hojo was enough to curl her heart into a shrivelled nothing inside her.
"No..."
"Oh you don't get much of a say in this matter. Oh, my pardon," she felt herself being lifted, there were no hands beneath her to support her, a magical intrusion upon her person no doubt – and then deposited on a warmer surface, faintly soft; a hospital bed. Her face lolled to one side, staring at a wall.
"Who... who..."
"I'm definitely not Lady Kisaragi, if you're asking," the man chuckled, and a hand sternly took hold of her chin to turn her head. It had to be the orderly. Instead it was the face of Doctor Faben who looked down at her amused. "Oh, you expected my aide to be the one? Because he couldn't look at you in the eye? Marvellous stuff, materia applications in medical science. You can create all manners of serums if you're adept at using materia, like say, manipulation."
"That's awful!"
"Yes, terrible, bad Faben, such a bad little boy," he chuckled, and waggled a finger at her; "Do you think that'd honestly stop me?"
"You're the other Jenova, the other strong one..."
"Yes, I am. I disturbed the Black Materia, but it was stolen from me a few days ago by Kisaragi. It's most vexing, I was about to follow her, but then you fell in my lap. Mother wants your death so terribly, how could I not please her?"
"I do not fear Death," she said truthfully.
"No, that is unfortunately true... and I doubt physical pain is something a Cetra like you can block out by now, hmm? But, emotional pain... fear for others..." He turned her face, so she could see the other side of her and the two people lay unconscious on the trolleys. "They came snooping around after you, even despite my attempts at misdirection. What a troublesome bunch you all are."
"Cloud, Cid," she tried to yell, and then coughed as Faben chopped her smartly in the throat.
"Now, enough out of you my petal. Tell me, you ever wonder what a dissection on a live human looks like?" His smile wasn't warm anymore, and she stared at him in terror, head lolling back to stare at Cid's snoring form and Cloud's inert one but for his breathing, soft.
I have to do something...
Faben's back was to her as he shuffled his medical equipment about. She stared at his back, then the faces of his unconscious victims, her friends. She tried to clench her vocal box to cry out Tifa's name, but the chop had seen fit to cut her ability to talk down to a whisper.
Is this where it all ends?
Tifa won't come for me now... she can't hear my voice, and my heart is disconnected, there is no hope. I can't rely on her. What am I doing... what am I doing? I can't rely on anyone, when am I going to fully stand up and realise my own fate. I am a strong person, I am a flower.
I struggle. I live on. I survive.
That is my way, against any odds; I can make it if I just try hard enough.
I can do anything I set my mind to.
Think Aerith, think.
She glanced around madly, searching for some way out of it.
It seemed seconds were stretching into horror as Faben began to remove the shirt of Cid, exposing a surprisingly hair-free chest with a hint of a beer belly. His clever fingers moved to pick up a scalpel. Warm lips brushed her ear, and if she hadn't already been paralysed by drugs or her voice shocked into submission, she would have screamed.
Faben's fingertips were poised just above scooping up the knife. The shirt was caught in mid-fall to the floor, dragging down the goggles that it had caught in its fall from the side of the bed. She tried to look from the corner of her eyes, terrified.
"Aerith," Arkilles whispered, "You asked for your memories to be returned to you. Instead, we have gifted you with something beyond your original wish."
Another voice joined; it was yet another man in a dark purple robe, hooded and appearing next to the doorway where the exit light flashed gently, bathing him in alternate green and white. "We have given you the Echo of Ages."
A third, an elderly woman dressed in orange and gold with a large facial mask feathered, that spoke of her medical profession in the earliest reaches of Cetra society, "It grants the power not only to reach back in time, but forward too. You already possessed some ability to this effect... now grasp it with both hands."
Another male voice, somewhere by her feet where she could not see, "You must choose, will you take up the path of the Champion of this world, or will you seek only yourself?"
The fifth and final was a woman in a green robe, hood lined in white who appeared in a soft fading motion by Faben's back, "Aerith... can you save what you dreamed of, or is this too much?"
"..." She frowned, "If I pick this choice... nothing will go back to how it was. I will change, forever."
The woman in green nodded, "Yes, Aerith. You will; but take comfort in knowing all things must change and transcend."
"And Tifa?"
"If her love for you is true, then it will endure, no matter what."
Aerith closed her eyes and when she opened them, the figures had gone, leaving her back in the room where Faben was studying the keen edge of the scalpel in the strip lighting overhead.
If what they said is true, they haven't really diminished me, only added to me...
She focused on her muscles, on moving her natural energy through them. A sweat sprang to her skin, her energy forcing the toxin from her cells to the surface where it beaded with sweat and rolled off. Alert suddenly, she sat upright and swung her legs off the edge of the bed.
Faben turned, scalpel flashing as she activated this new power, tapping deep inside herself and seeking this new well of energy. It sat there, a faint greenish glow alongside her natural white one. She saw what she could only describe as a future echo. There was a shadow of an arm coming at her, and another from another angle.
Bemused and dismayed, she saw the magically enhanced ripples moving through this enhanced time-state towards her and ducked to the side, rolling over the bed. Faben followed her with an angry shout, lashing out with his power as she avoided blow after blow, often using her own energy to deflect his attacks with shields springing up at her command, keeping his attention focused on her and away from Cloud and Cid.
It was there, a moment of weakness, when she saw her chance.
Pure instinct drove her, needled by terror. She didn't even consider it a choice. She lurched forward, snatched up a scalpel and as he was wide open, drove it deep into his throat with a scream of fear. He stared at her, those too-close eyes filled with fear and shock. He dropped his scalpel and clutched at her, fingers digging into her shoulders. Their eyes were so close together, his breath rattled foamy on her cheek. She pulled back as his strength gave away and he collapsed to the floor twitching.
She was drenched in blood, her heart pounded.
"What was... what was that power?" She murmured, turning to use her own healing energy on Cid, then Cloud, rousing them to the point of waking, then sitting down in the puddle of blood by Faben's dead body, "...what am I becoming?"
Cloud sat up only a few moments later, hand to his head, "Ugh what hit me?" He looked across at Cid's bare stomach, "Ugh..." and then down at Aerith sat in the blood, staring at her hands, scalpel still in the left one, "Aerith? Are you alright? Aerith?" He jumped down and came to her side.
She didn't hear him, or see him. She stared at the blood as Arkilles whispered in her ear, "...and so the choice is made."
She will be coming for me soon.
I will hide out underground; there is no moon there, no sound of the air or the stars. Only the lungs of an asthmatic world struggling to breathe... I feed my precious the tears I have stolen from countless lives, and tell Mother it will be soon.
Soon?
So come save me soon Aerith...
...save me, or destroy what I have become...
Please.