When he died, her whole world crumbled and fell. Like nothing existed, like void was the only thought that'd eventually invade her head at the end of the day. Like her days lengthened to a width she couldn't imagine. They'd pass by, sun would rise and moon as well. But she allowed herself to remain in bed. Sometimes she'd drink more than she should've, and they'd check on her.

"Are you sure you don't want to say a word ?"

"No." She quickly replied. Decisive.

Mera crossed her arms underneath her chest, looking at the casket just facing her. Almost as if it was accusing her, the undertaker had been clear : this was the moment, or then she'd do what she must, and she wouldn't see the bronze complexion, though rendered pale by death, and the brown locks of her brother further. But, Even as she turned her back on the small gathering—her sister, Sephiroth, and Abel's wife—she affirmatively refused. The funerary room, though warmed by the constant heater, felt cold as the job the people who mastered it, was. It wasn't peaceful, to see him "fixed" as they called it. With the wounds sewed back, the makeup to repair the damages to the skin and the chemicals to preserve him a bit longer. Instead, it made her feel as if she had been conned.

Not even as if she wasn't aware of it, she paid those funerals. At least, a part of them. That was perhaps worse, to know she had participated in her own suffering. As they closed the casket and the silver-haired man walked forth to lift it to the graveyard, Mera did not stay, instead, she marked a distance, and she pulled out a smoke. Perhaps she'd die from it. Exhaling some grey fog from her lips, she watched from afar her brother going away, not even capable of shedding a tear any more.

She had done it enough, she thought.

At least, for now.

"We are deeply sorry to announce to you the death of your brother, Abel Giswold. Second Class of the soldier, at Wutai."

Dipshit, Shinra wasn't sorry. He wasn't sorry for anything but his own failures. And even that, Mera doubted it.

Without herself realizing, she had been joined. A few steps, feline almost, getting to her side. A giant and a little mouse, together. Wearing all black for that day, and it wasn't even rainy or cloudy, she wished. No. The sky was blue, and so brightened the sun. As if life mocked her and her grief. "You smoke more." stated the man, with his so-peaceful tone. Yet, she could hear sorrow and ache in his voice. He had known Abel for a long time as well, and he was her bestfriend. Since they were children.

"I smoke enough."

"No." He refused, she smoked too much for him. He didn't like that, nor the smell of cigarette she often before nowadays. It wasn't Mera herself that disgusted him, but the fact that she had been pushed so deep into a spiral he couldn't name. He had no family, no father, no mother. No sister, even less a brother. The closest Sephiroth possessed, was this tiny woman and his two acolytes, Genesis and Angeal.

And now, she was heartbroken and for the first time, he didn't know neither how to take it, nor how to process it and even less what to say.

"I hope he didn't suffer, at least."

"We both know that isn't possible." She muttered, back.

Indeed, not in their field. Even less in these circumstances. Without a word, Mera attempted to go again, but her wrist was held by the gloved hand of her friend. Not with all his strength, but enough to keep her there with him. Her jaw clenched, jolting almost at the gesture."Where are you going?"

"Home."

"I can drive you back."

"No, thanks." She refused, shaking her hand to free herself from his grasp and going back to her car. Her hands on the wheel, she drove forth, yet not to home as she told Sephiroth she would.

She should've, instead, she made her way down to a small bar. In Sector 1, something not fancy. The streets looked all alike, the people dressed all the same, and she, who didn't look the part anyway. Or perhaps, she did too much. A small sign, in the hollow of an alleyway.

The kind you wish you weren't in, even less at the end of noon. It smelled of cheap liquor, sweat, and the faintest trace of cigarette smoke clinging to the air like an unwanted guest. Dim yellow lights flickered overhead, some buzzing faintly, barely cutting through the haze that settled over the room. The jazz band in the corner played a tune just soft enough to blend into the chatter of patrons nursing their drinks, some slouched over their glasses, others locked in quiet, murmured conversations. Mera took the first sip of her drink, a sharp burn running down her throat. The ice clinked against the glass as she set it down, fingers drumming against the wooden counter. The bartender—a man in his forties, built like a retired fighter—worked quickly, barely sparing her a glance as he wiped down the bar. He had the kind of expression that said he'd seen it all before.

Perhaps he looked at her because she was pretty, yes, Mera was very pretty, she knew that very well. That must've been the reason. Despite the mascara, clutched in her eyelashes and tainting her cheeks slightly, since a few minutes.

That must've been why.

She wiped her eyes with her sleeve, breathing in to swallow down the knot in her throat.

"That'll be thirty gils for the lady." The barman announced, without a second thought, Mera dropped her card to the wodden plank, paying her own drinks, before she got stopped again. Gaia's blessing, it wasn't the day people would let her do as she wished. It was now seven in the evening, and the sun was coming to an end, and all she could think about, was of the day's closure in the eyes of the stranger who looked at her. A man, tall. With caramel skin, sun-like long hair, tattooed and of honey eyes. "It's on me for the lady." He stated.

Mera arched her brow, but didn't let him do as he wished, instead, she pushed back his hand and scanned her card on the ATM and paid her own despair for herself, yet that didn't tarnish the smile he wore on his thin lips. "You don't let men pay for you? First time in my life."

"I don't a man to pay for me." She darkly answered, as the barman distanced himself from the two, sensing the conversation wasn't his to lead. Mera wasn't someone who cared much for social constructs. She was a TURK, a killer. Rules weren't hers, aside from the one the boss told her to follow.

"A little chivalry doesn't hurt a soul, does it?" He laughed back. Mera almost rolled her eyes back before leaving her seat, the sound of her heels hidden by the jazz music.

Mera looked small, compared to him. Too small. But it was like this since so many days now, that it blurred together and she didn't seem to care any further. She brushed him off, her shoulder smacking his as she made her way through, but that didn't push him away however. The brown-haired didn't mean to fight, not tonight. She did not wish to have blood on her hands. "Hold on, you could at least tell me the name of the woman who broke my heart."

"Name's Mera." She whispered, making her way out as she went in, driving her car. She didn't quite hear the way he spoke of her name three times, instead, she grabbed her wheel again and drove until home, her phone ringing enough times to make it annoy her. However, she passed by a convenience store, picking some cheap gin to drink by tonight, Abel's favourite alcohol. Irony, they'd tell you.

"It ain't for the kids."

"I'm not a kid, I'm eighteen!"

"Yeah and ? It still ain't for the kids."

She smiled sadly, it was him, who gave her the first taste of alcohol she ever had. Funny, how it was the thing she was drinking in his honour. Mera shoved it down her throat, once, twice, thrice, four times. And it didn't stop until the sound of the cars outside, and of her klaxons, weren't but a blur. In her big place, alone, sat in her smaller couch. But still too… Large for her. Only. Her voice, though caught between the burning sensation of the alcohol and her shakes, broke and only her sobs resonated in what she called "home". No matter how much she craved it, the real one was shoved in a fucking casket six feet under, eyes closed for eternity until death came for her.

It didn't have to be like this. He had kids to look after, a woman to provide for, a family to love. Why didn't he give up that crap of a job for another, casual, perhaps a cashier ? She wondered. But wondering wasn't enough. It was too late for farewells, goodbyes, and she'd remain forever frustrated that the last words Abel ever said to her were that he was going to get back as soon he could.

"Why did you lie, you fucking bastard?" she babbled, struggling to form coherent words.

But 'forever' wasn't 'soon'. It didn't have any meaning. Not to her, anyway.

Tears ruined her round, soft face, rolling on her full cheeks as her pink eyes gleamed under the warm light above her head, it didn't stop. From midnight to three, until her body fell from itself to rest, in pure exhaustion.

That very same night, as Mera didn't sleep, she didn't dream. Nor had any nightmares. Her mind was sore, too sore, too… Exposed. Too raw. Her slumber was deep, in gloom, no thoughts to invade her head. For a short while, before she felt herself drift away, she wished and hoped she wouldn't wake. Not to feel this pain again by morning dew. Or at least, that someone would tell her it was only but a sour joke. She would be mad, but not madder than this.

It didn't felt exactly real, not just yet.

But, it would come.