The wooden railings of the house crusted to a deep brown, a slim branch brushing against the handle, drooping with the florid autumn foliage. Soft milky arms rested upon the sullied wood, the girl's head propped to the merging pink and golden sky. A few pale yellow clouds loomed in the heavens, shaped to whatever the mind's eye wished it to be. The girl watched intently at the white powdery fluffs, knowing without a single doubt that the one looming across her house resembled her mother playing the piano, and the one just behind Anna's house resembled a happy young boy. Her brown eyes flickered curiously across the horizon, and she imagined that someone must have painted it all. There was always something magical about the sky, something surreal which set it apart from the earth. It didn't look real, but it was there, floating wondrously above the earth, the very ground she was standing proudly upon. But the girl simply reasoned that it was just a pretty day, and the sky just reminded her of paintings she saw once before, or even the music her mother played every evening at the piano.

Pretty...

The girl blinked and slowly lowered her face from its dreaming haven, the line of her vision parallel to the ground. Her eyes wandered through the town for several moments, and then stopped, flickering in a steady beat of wonder.

There was a small foggy window crusted with the cold fall air, and beyond that there were intent emerald eyes watching her. The face shifted and the girl saw cold white skin and lips curled in an apparently bitter expression. She leaned closer towards the window, and the moment before they vanished from her sight, she thought there was something warm and kind-- like a light. She had often seen those two green pools looming through that window, and usually she would simply shrug it away, continuing to gaze at the celestial plains above her. The girl was at first afraid of what was lingering through that window, and the constant white blur blanketing the window glass only fed her fear.

She was always afraid of things she didn't know--like the dark. It was all right for her to dance, embrace the wind in the night sky; the stars had to be beaming of course, dotting the sky in mysterious white lights. But there were days when the sky was simply a black haze, the clouds suffocating the light away from those heavenly diamonds.

The truth of the matter was that she did know who wore those green eyes, that expressionless stare. She was afraid to *know* who it was though, what was there beneath his cold facade. He seemed warm once; he had held a rose ignoring the bloody trail dripping from the gripped edge of his hand, smiling softly at its touch. The girl just thought that a rose was a pretty thing to see, to smell, but nothing more. But he grinned in awe at the sight of the rose, a light of disbelief pouring in his eyes as he touched its silky petals, as he inhaled its sweet scent. It was as if he had never seen a rose before, or perhaps he had doubted it even existed.

But as many things, that smile faded with the change of seasons, as the boy realized that there were cruel, ignorant people in *that* warm town. Other children taunted him as different; his quiet manner and silver hair had proved far too strange for their provincial minds. On the contrary, Tifa thought his hair was beautiful t! o behold, like the stars. Of course she didn't tell him; she *couldn't* tell him for reasons she herself couldn't explain. The girl reasoned it was fear; emotions beyond what could be spoken seemed to always be rooted with fear. Maybe everything was; or maybe she was simply a coward by heart.

The boy's little brother was tormented to a worse degree, blue-purple bursts seeping in his once soft skin, his brave blue eyes forcing the tears to pour backwards. The older boy remained quiet though, his strong arms pulling his brother forward, his eyes sternly and compassionately beaming with the message to gulp the painful flow down strongly. The girl hadn't seen that subtle soft understanding between the brothers; her mind never thought to see it then. But that glorious morning day, the girl felt particularly bold; maybe it was the way the pinks danced brightly in the thick morning sky, maybe it was the floating snow hugging the heavens, or maybe she was just tired of *not*! knowing.

She stood near the wooden railing for sometime, her face buried in her arms as she murmured, "Sephiroth" quietly to perhaps no one at all. She wondered if he ever whispered her name to morning air, if he murmured "Tifa" by that blurred window sill everyday. She wished it so, and in one brave step she walked towards the cottage, her knees wobbling helplessly upon the cobblestone ground but her head held high to the sky, to the clouds.

***


Pretty name, pretty face. That's all.

Sephiroth leaned casually against a worn stool, ragged marks carving the age of the sculpted wood. He let a pale hand rest upon his knees, his eyes blankly staring ahead at nothing at all; it might as well have been pitch black in the room, for at the moment, his eyes were useless. They actually may have disillusioned his fragile mind far too many times, for sometimes the gift of sight causes one to fall blind.

There were a few children outside, laughing in that mesmerizing way that reeled the mind for a moment or two to appreciate something truly happy.

Lies.

If his younger brother shyly walked through that door, a sharp pain would crack his back, and within that scar, melted roses would spill with the trembling movement of his lips. No, people knew about that, but they didn't care to taint their dreams of childhood innocence. No, it wasn't possible that the redness soaking the cobblestone ground was because of their warm, sweet children.

If Sephiroth walked through that door, a sharp pain would crack through the depths of his mind, and within that scar, melted roses would spill within the trembling of his heart. A silent freak bound to cause havoc--he had heard the whispers of mindless adults and children quiver with those words.

Silence is something misunderstood by many, for it's difficult to grasp, to relate to. Within a still forest, where a whisper may ruin that mysterious emotion, there's a certain awe, a reverence we all hold-like how a flower droops from the edge of a fresh garden in a quite afternoon. Peace. Oh, then people respect silence. But suppose a boy walked through a street, his lips motionless against the anger, the laughter, the sorrow of the flowing mist of faces; then, he is labeled as dangerous. He speaks more than they could ever, for it's reflected back within himself, and he searches, talking to his heart. The boy's journey could be adorned with light, or slated in ebony, but no one knows-they just assume. Assumptions are dangerous things. He knew. His eyes had sown them, from seemingly warm smiles to pretty things-like flowers.

A rose is pretty, but it pricks...

In the blurred corner of his eye, as the mocking words streamed away from the mouths of the taunting boys, he saw a gray silhouette hiding against the corner of the wall. Her thick hair swept against the wind like silk, and through the very way it blew against her long strands, Sephiroth knew who it was. Something inexplicably sad melted his heart at the sight, as if his shred of hope had flown away, eluding him forever. She *knew*. She knew and yet said nothing, because she didn't care. And although her brown eyes peered warmly in the distance, although her hair was a soft mahogany in a dimming light, although her lips were the color of a rose, she pricked. Perhaps she was bearing the thorns unwillingly, but they were there, and it hurt. It was a white-hot needle slicing a careless, dreaming balloon, searching the clouds for something more than the wind. No, he would never trust his eyes; they veiled lies, nothing more.

Except Anna...

The woman was rocking in a cushioned chair, hugging Cloud tenderly in her lap as he smiled quietly, his eyes beaming with silent joy at her embrace. She motioned for Sephiroth to join them, and as he stood by her side, she ruffled his hair affectionately, humming another tune from half-parted lips. It sounded similar to that melody Ms. Lockheart played every evening on her piano.

"My, my! You boy's are growin' bigger day by day,"Anna held a hand as high as her arm could reach, expressing the boys' astounding growth.

"Yea,"Sephiroth replied, slightly grinning.

"Now how old are you two turning!"

"Eleven," Cloud piped in, a broad smile slipping his lips.

"Heh, still young enough to sit on my lap, aren't you? Well, how's it been? You both don't talk much nowadays...which brings me to-"

"We're fine Anna," Sephiroth quickly replied.

Anna shook her head stubbornly, "No, I know you both 'nough to say that something's wrong. You can tell me, you know," her eyes flickered painfully.

"Nothing's wrong," Sephiroth persisted firmly. No, there was no need for the one kind person in this town to feel sorrowful, hurt.

"I-I...nevermind. You won't tell me, eh?"She glared at the two boys. "Oh...I just wish that you --nevermind, oh just nevermind," she shook her head steadily, anger and regret present in her eyes as she walked away towards the kitchen.

"You boys want eggs?" she hollowly questioned while washing a metal pan in the bubbling sink.

"Okay," Cloud remarked quietly as silence reigned the room. Nothing was said for several moments, and tipping from the edge of his throat Sephiroth strove to speak, but his tongue died as the words jumbled to an incoherent murmur.

A nervous tremble reverberated from the door. Sephiroth blinked, bravely walking with solid steps towards it. Ridicule, a spray of tomatoes, whatever the torment may be, the boy was ready, keen hard eyes resting squarely on the knob as he turned it to the outside world. Better to smile and stand like stone, he always believed.

No...look at pretty things and smile.A small boy whispered within him. Sephiroth shook it away, continuing to open the door.

A browned crumbled leaf swept through the tiny opening, rustling dried and broken as it fell lonely on the cold floor. It was a sad thing to see something so soft and silky die to a withered, forgotten shred. To think, that one crisp spring morning, this crumbled dust was a emerald gem wet with the fresh morning dew, and the sun smiled at it, children smiled at it, everything smiled in awe at the single leaf; the wind roared its power against the single blade, but instead it would grasp hold of its wooden home, laughing, it's green surface stretched to the sun.

But the girl stood firm behind the door, her brown eyes fresh with wonder, fear, exhilaration. Sephiroth's hand squeezed the edge of the wooden door curiously, a hint of disbelief present in his eyes as the girl gazed at him, her face solid and warm, a certain insisting gesture written in the fold of her furrowed face.

Pretty name, pretty face. That's all?...

He forced a questioning word from his ice lips, "Tifa?"

"Hi Seph-,"she breathed deeply, her knees involuntarily wobbling with her calm voice.

"W-what do need? Do you want to talk to Anna?"

"No, look. You never say hi... And I-I just want to say...,"she faltered for a moment, the unsteadiness of her knees reflected upon her uncertain mouth.

"What,"Sephiroth spoke slowly, unwillingly allowing hope to break its shadow once more.

"Sowwy."

"Huh?"

"I said sowwy!" she clenched her fists as she spoke.

"Sorry?" Sephiroth's eyes gleamed, and he suddenly noticed that her hair smelled of fresh pine trees. He held a hand to his chest; His heart was pounding, more so than he wished it to be.

You're not that small boy anymore...pretty things are--

Roses, a voice forgotten whispered in awe.

But pretty things aren't--

The sky, the wind, the snow.The whisper continued in ignorance to the thirteen year old youth.

No. Roses aren't that pretty really--

She was.The voice seemed forlorn but perhaps dreamy, and for one moment Sephiroth heard the voice lump in his own throat.

She is.Sephiroth breathed softly, strangely happy that the boy was still looming around with dreams, hope.

"Sorry?"he repeated again, still uncertain if she could really speak that single word.

"Sowwy. That's what I said!"she spoke, her voice a bit more childish for her age.

Wose.

"Still can't get the 'r' sound, eh?"Sephiroth chuckled softly to himself as he smiled back to that morning day where he saw a rose, where she wrapped a white cloth around his bleeding hand.

"Hey! I heawd that!" she clasped her hands around her mouth.

"Told ya,"Sephiroth grinned widely, his heart still skipping a few desperate beats.

Why do I listen to that small boy?

"That's so not twue," Tifa bit her tongue, playfully elbowing Sephiroth in the ribs.

"Mmhmm sure,"Sephiroth nodded sarcastically.

"Okay, okay, I see what you mean! But I also wanted to ask y--"

"If I could tutor you on you*r* pronunciation."

"Gah! C'mon! Enough of that! Anyway...,"she spoke carefully.

"Okay...what?"the playfulness in his eyes slowly subsided to her hesitant voice.

"I wanted to ask if you would want to play with me on the swings..."

"A-are you sure?"he sputtered.

"Then why would I be askin' you! Now, come on,"she smiled warmly as she clasped his white hand pulling him away from the home.

To be happy.

The two laughed for a while, approaching a small green plot of land, orange and red scraps drooping about from swinging tree branches. A rough rope was tied to a solid rubber tire, the weight of the swing supported by a single coarse tree branch. White fibers sprouted from the rope, a tint of yellow kissing the once white hue, reminiscent of the scores of children who sprouted wings and yet stayed firm on earth by the brisk grasp of the rope.

Am I too old for this?

Never.The tender voice held a strangely sad firmness to it, and with a glance at the girl beside him, Sephiroth walked towards the swings.

"Now Sephi-...err, Can I call you Seph?"Tifa questioned with a broad smile.

"The 'r' thing?"Sephiroth nodded his slowly, that little boy kicking within his growing frame.

"Gah, do you have to mention it!"Tifa sighed, the next moment laughter pounding from her throat, choking her in wild happiness. Sephiroth shot her a questioning stare.

"I-I d-don't know, I-I?"she gulped, continuing to laugh beyond the rhythm of her heart.

Just laugh. It's fun,the boy giggled.

...okay.

And the two laughed wildly for a reason they couldn't grasp, but perhaps *that* was the fun of it all. Sephiroth swallowed for a moment, questioning what she had asked before.

"I'm calling you Seph," she asserted, as if it were a statement.

"Why--um nevermind. Sure, Tifa," Sephiroth smiled, and for a moment it seemed like he was that boy who held that crimson rose, happy in awe. She giggled softly, touching his cheek with one cream hand, sliding it away as she leaned against the old tire swing hanging boldly from the tree.

Pretty.

And with curious green eyes, Sephiroth glided behind her, his hands clasped around the hard rope as she spun her in uneven circles, her eyes flickering in wondrous joy, her hands grasping the rope above her as if she were climbing to somewhere higher. Tifa bellowed a joyful note with the full breath of her lungs, her body swinging as if she were some crazily, dazed bird, drunk with a sort of ecstatic happiness beyond the flight of anything. Sephiroth watched her fly in a nostalgic wonder, his eyes dreamily staring at her brown hair as it swung across his face, his eyes staring at the happy smile she wore within it all; it was their neverland.

***

I wish...I was strong.

Blue eyes peered blankly towards the window, strands of gold falling above his eyes. He stood there often, but the brown-haired girl didn't notice; the stronger boy with emerald eyes didn't notice. He heard a girl and boy laugh happily, and for a moment, his eyes turned a shade of green, a single tear burning his eyes as he dreamt for the clouds, but never flew.