Chapter Eighty-Three: Breathe a Little Longer

Aralyn was still unconscious as Vincent wrapped her body in multiple blankets. Her breathing was shallow, and he had never seen her skin so transparent. Her lips were visibly blue.

He lifted her gently, balancing her against him. After checking for the small movements of her chest that were her only signs of life, he carried her outside and began the voyage to the clearing in the Forgotten City.

Sephiroth was waiting there.

"Is there anything I can do?" Sephiroth asked as Vincent approached.

"Yes," Vincent admitted.

It was the wrong thing to say. Sephiroth's eyes, which had been dark, lightened with hope. "No," Vincent corrected. "Nothing can be done to save her. All you can do now is ease her pain until she passes."

Sephiroth stood aloof for a long time before he extended his arms. "Give her to me."

Vincent placed the limp Aralyn in Sephiroth's arms. Slowly, he pulled her body in toward him, holding her close to his chest. He turned and sat at the foot of the white weeping willow tree, tenderly lying her body on the grass. With only the tips of his fingers and using the lightest touch, he brushed the blankets away from her face.

Vincent stepped away, letting the two share their last moment together in peace.

She knew those hands that caressed her so softly.

She knew them because they had been the ones that had clasped hers in the chapel as they had exchanged their vows. They had protected her countless times, eased her through the discomfort of pregnancy, and held the tiny lives that she had struggled to bring into the world.

She knew without opening her eyes that Sephiroth was holding her. She knew it was his hands that stroked her face and his voice that called for her to arise.

"Sephi…?" she rasped. The effort proved too much, and the attempt brought on a fit of coughing that shook her entire body. She turned on her side and curled into herself, her stomach cramping against the violent attacks, making it harder to gasp in what little air the coughs would permit her to take.

Sephiroth clenched her closer, moving his hand in fluid circles on her back as he whispered to her.

"Yes," he said as she went lax in his arms. "I'm here."

Aralyn opened her eyes to meet his emerald gaze, his silver brows knit. She shivered involuntarily. Jenova was not present in his eyes. She was not looking at the puppet of the alien that clamed to be his mother, but Sephiroth, her husband and her angel, as he had always been.

It was the greatest gift she could have asked for.

She reached a hand up and stroked his cold, pale cheek, still not fully convinced that this was real. He didn't move as she ran her fingers through his silver hair. Gravity, however, seemed to be pushing much harder on her now, and she was forced to pull back.

"Why did you come?" she whispered, still delving into the emerald depths of his eyes.

He didn't answer, but as another fit of coughing besieged her he extended his large, dark wing, laid down beside her, and draped his wing over her body, shielding Aralyn from the bite of the cold. The soft feathers warmed her, but sent chills down her spine at the same time.

Aralyn looked at him gratefully through eyes blurred by tears. Taking his gloved thumb, Sephiroth gently rubbed under her eyes, clearing her vision. "Don't cry," he said.

It no longer made any difference if she could see or not, the world was spinning too quickly for it to make a difference. Perhaps it would have been better if she had been blind. She gasped in pain and let her head fall back, now letting it rest on his arm. It was getting harder to breathe.

"Easy," Sephiroth coaxed, putting a hand over her heart. He sounded truly concerned and frightened, like a little child. "Don't talk. Save your strength."

"It won't make a difference…I'm going to die."

"Don't talk like that!" The air rang with the outburst, startling Aralyn with the ferocity, causing her to wince.

It was worse than any physical ailment for Aralyn to hear the great General's voice tainted with such fear and pain. His hand was no longer steady.

She smiled and leaned against his chest. "I am happy, Sephiroth. I'm in the arms of my angel. I couldn't ask for anything more…"

"Stop this madness, Aralyn," he whispered harshly.

"Promise me…promise me that you will live…"

"Aralyn, stop!"

"That's all I ask of you. Live, my angel."

He sat up, and gingerly moved her so she was lying in his lap. He was gripping her arms so tightly that she could no longer feel her fingers. That was a good thing, as a fiery sensation was sparking in her blood. She couldn't suppress a cry of pain as it spread, and her back arched.

But she wasn't afraid. Not anymore.

"Aralyn, can you hear me?" He was shaking her, speaking loudly and frantically.

"Yes…I can," she choked.

"Please…don't…! You can't…!"

The pain was fading, replaced by a calm, cool sensation. She fell lax against him once more, the fall softened by his wing, and used the last of her strength to look up into her husband's eyes.

"My angel…" she breathed, and then her heart stopped.

"Aralyn!"

Vincent stood a ways off, his back turned, his view veiled by the white trees. At the cry, he lowered his head, his shoulders shaking despite himself.

"Aralyn! Aralyn, get up! No…no…please…no…someone…anyone…Aralyn… Aralyn!"

He knew by the General's anguished cries that it was over.

Vincent didn't try to stop his warm tears from flowing.