rabbit with beautiful legs. (skyfree) wrote in missions, @ 2012-10-05 13:11:00 |
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A creature stirs beneath the covers, ears peeking from between folds. Arching its back to stretch, it pulls the sheets closer to its belly, exposed and unguarded. The stray's eyes open half-lidded, still half asleep. The warmth of a Float materia lingers in her palm. Fran feels the magic pulsating and her heart beats faster as she takes flight. Laughter rings through the branches of Eruyt's trees, its owner blissfully unaware of how she should be of its freedom. Arms outstretched to embrace the sky, the Viera dances in midair, one with the wind around her. “Look this, Sister! Treetops, I can see from. The sky, is it not a wonder that we ought behold? And the 'Beyond,' the outside. Sister? Jote, you are not listening.” Sister. Sister? Within the Wood's arms, Fran chases rabbits with her sister, feeds turtleducks in the river ("Pond, my dear Fran. We call this pond."). my dear franny She's heard that before. From him, just once and - to her relief - never again. But she stays the Wood's dear for as long as she can manage before she cut bonds as the Humes cut trees. Is she now as them? Has time and distance erased her past? She waits for an answer but hears nothing. Chattering continues in the background, through the walls, the noise like scraping metal to her ears. To have come so far to see the world and now blind and deaf. Blind and deaf. "You want to leave?" Fran stops in her tracks, blocked by the wall her sister erected not of magic but love, sororal love. (The Humes - those Galbadians - are arrogant to think they can break through Vieran barriers when even she cannot.) "Those thoughts have overstayed their welcome, your mind polluted." She remembers smoke billowing in the horizon, coiling and suffocating her beloved sky. Their stubbonness consumes her home, her dreams. Is she like them? Is she now like the monsters of those childhood stories? "You cannot stop me. This is the path I--" "Foolish sister," Jote hisses out of exasperation. There is desperation of both sisters' voices. Similar, yes. But not enough. "You do not yet know what price your freedom costs." "Jote." "If you leave, you cannot come back. You can never come back." I always know I'll come back to her. To Her, the Wood - home and mother. And to her sisters. Together again? But that cannot be; the Hume boy does not understand. It cannot be. Are they waiting? As Viera do? As sisters do. Breaking news, again. Balamb. Before its eyes, the marquee morphs. Those are his words it sees. Burned into the back of its eyelids since first it read them. To haunt the viera (it is Viera no longer) while it wakes or while it sleeps. While it dreams. I stuck around here too long.
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