Gold and pink mists receded from heaven's plain, swallowed by the solemn cape of night. A scrap of purple struggled to grasp its position in the vast sea of the sky but fell in one silent moan. It knew of it's fall; it's yellow mother knew long ago, already asleep under the rule of the silver moon.

E...E flat....E...E flat...E...B...D...C...A......hopeless... Pale fingers wandered through an ivory trail, the woman's breath hardened as the sad, desperate notes overwhelmed her body. Her fingers wavered for several moments; that melody, it almost sounded like a child's cry, or even a lover's. It was a cry of the slowly shattered hope to live, that dream slowly suffocating as time willed it's way with nothing but cold winds. It choked, hope's throat constricting as...

the cancer grows.

The woman nodded her head slowly, clasping a strand of wet brown hair as it fell over her eyes. Her eyes pounded with a similar pain she felt every night in her black stuffy room, when she gazed helplessly at her husband or the peaceful form of her daughter cuddled in white cotton sheets. She coughed unsteadily, laying a clenched fist near a lung. Her eyes squeezed to the memories that would elude her: her daughter's first kiss, her wedding,...the first song she would play on the piano.

Tifa...

The doctor had told her she had one year to trim any drooping threads in her life. She didn't tell anyone of course...It wouldn't be right for them to waste every waking second imagining the rotting within her dying corpse or shedding early tears for a final breath long to come.

Or perhaps sooner than she wished.

She knelt solemnly on her knees, propping her silent head against a dazed, numb hand, her brown eyes searching for a star on that lonely night. They looked so dim, almost gray at the moment; maybe the sky's black paint had swallowed them too, slowly crumbling away from existence. Or maybe it was a cloudy night, and the muddied clouds above had lost the power to rain and so suffocated the wondrous flicker of those diamonds. Her daughter, Tifa gazed at the stars often; she looked so happy when she did, and a white light seemed to illuminate her when her small hand tried to reach out to catch them. She was an angel, watching her kingdom in the sky with curious eyes.... she was her little angel.

The woman legs suddenly filled with a strange sort of energy, all the while her eyes blurred with the sadly happy image of her daughter, stars reflecting in her deep brown eyes. Her feet trembled with every step, but she forced her way down the hall, her eyes blazing with water as she began to stumble with the foggy image of her daughter dripping against her eyes.

And the angel was there, her eyes closed softly, her mind far off somewhere where tears only spilt for something beyond smiles, where the stars winked, bursting with the dreams of many who found hope in those white gems. The woman let her fingers sweep against her hair, her touch similar to that of a soft ballad she often played on the piano. A small sad smile crept her lips as she nodded, resting her head against a cushioned rocking chair nearby, the light in her eyes soon falling to shifting shadows, then darkness.

***

The sun bathed the gray earth in light, the sliced blinds of the window in light, the surrounding fresh green plains in light, but the golden rays eluded the dusted piano lying alone atop the cold floor of the Lockheart home. The curtains fell as a blanket drooping against the window, forbidding the warm yellows of the day to enter.

The music had died in the woman's sleep, and so the room lay as a decaying remnant of those happy evenings where a melody rivaled the orchestra of the sky, where a mere woman told of something far more beautiful than the sky, the stars....everything.

A girl sat in her lap tugging in frustration at her mother's shirt, sobbing and trembling, praying for the closed white skin shielding her mother's eyes to open, to reveal blooming brown irises. She couldn't be gone, not now...how about the songs? How about those stories about the stars? Her mother's hands were cold; God they were white as ice, drooping like withered lilies on her lap. The girl stared up to the woman's pale, faintly rose lips; she was smiling.

"Mummy...you're smiling. You're okay right?"

Silence. No, it wasn't that peaceful sort of silence for wishes, where flowers bloomed in the spring air, a place where even a whisper would destroy something remarkably peaceful and beautiful. No, it was an empty, dreadful silence, and it pounded within Tifa's eyes, rushed down her reddened cheeks.

Tifa's father stood silent by the door, watching his daughter cry, wishing for words to ease that pain away, but his lips moved, echoing but a helpless moan. He was never good at this sort of thing; oh how he wished he could speak of something, speak like her mother spoke when a white-hot pain choked Tifa's throat. He wished he had the grace of her mother's hand to dry Tifa's tears with a single tender touch. But he himself hadn't the courage to fill that lost light in his own soul. He couldn't even bring himself to see his wife's livid face; strange, she wore a bitter smile, almost accepting her final breath in a wordless manner that he himself couldn't understand. Oh, he wished he could cradle her in his arms right now, breathe in the vanilla scent of her hair, drown within it, and let her murmur reassuring words that everything was going to be all right. But it would never happen. The man clenched his hands in a solid fist, banging it carelessly against a nearby wall. He noticed a gold band of color on his ring finger, and he smiled sadly, kissing the ring as tears burned his eyes, his cheek.

Gold can stay...gold does stay...it has to.

***

Sephiroth swung slowly against the rubber swing, shriveled red leaves swishing across his face against the moaning wind. He smiled slightly, a rosy flush seeping his cheeks. He'd been doing that often, along with humming to himself by day, dancing for no reason when it rained...It felt good to soak in the rain, to drench his clothes in a tangled wet mess for no apparent reason. The rain possessed a mystical attribute to it; it reminded him of someone's eyes...someone with sadly happy emerald eyes.

No more melted roses, Hojo. The pretty lady's taking me awayyyy The boy laughed happily with a hint of something deranged and even misunderstood.

...pretty lady?Sephiroth clasped his head, a certain anxious wetness matting his forehead, a silent dread of needles, strange colorful liquids...

hehehe awayyyy. I'm freeee.Sephiroth gulped, his hands squeezing the rope hard until his hands flushed a faint shade of red. He sat there for a long time, wishing for the boy to sleep or just fade away and away.

He waited, trembling against the boy's arrival, trembling against the memory that the boy existed far away where the moon sang a sad melody, where strange colors swirled in his mind, where he never smiled. The boy didn't return-- at least for the moment. He sighed heavily, loosening his grip against the rope handles of the swing. His hands started to feel wet, an itchy sort of wet, like tiny drops were tickling all through his cold skin.

...Rain.

There was something bittersweet about the rain, and even though the sky was gray, the autumn leaves seemed to sparkle with more life from the plump water drops; it was almost like a cleansing flow from heaven, singing for purity, for smiles. Beautiful. Beautiful enough to dance crazily in the town square, drunken deliriously with water, the smell of roses, and her hair. He usually did jump up and about wildly like an intoxicated animal when it rained, wondering why he even bothered, but never finding a reason. And even though he wouldn't admit it, he spun around in the rain, hoping that'd she'd see him and wish to dance with him there. It was a dream once forgotten in the vast obscurities of deranged sadness, a dream that someone would be there with him, that someone would be where that poem had said...that poem about roses.

Deeper than the bloom of a rose

Crooning against a solemn shadow.

There is you.

He still didn't quite know exactly where that was, but something within him desperately wanted to burst beneath, drench himself with whatever emotion that was, his eyes too dazed and ignorant to realize that such warmth came at a high price. He didn't know that the warm flame was fragile, kindled with the inexplicable, crushed to a hollow smoke with reason and fear.

His mind half wandering in a dream land, Sephiroth plucked a remaining wet browned leaf off a tree branch, his fingers tearing it to shreds to be swallowed by the wind, until only a tiny silken bit remained at its tip. He clasped the remnant in his hand, wondering why he tore it in the first place, but finding no answer, he walked to the stone square of the town, hoping that perhaps a brown-haired girl would care to prance around in the fall rain, wet her hair, her cream face...with him.

***

A thin blade of the Lockheart home was in vision from the wooden door, a lamenting cry swinging the metal hinges as a haunting moan vibrated through the dying wind, like a child's sorrow. A golden-haired boy eyed the entry curiously, and with one hesitant step, he walked towards the door, his feet splashing in the muddy depressions of the cobblestone ground. His golden locks slapped against his cheek in a wet mess as the pounding of his heart reached his throat and beyond that, until he could feel his feet and something in his gut tighten in a chokehold. It was the first time Cloud Strife had taken the risk of talking to the brown-haired nymph, his swollen stunted body not at all worthy for such a creature. But as the rain poured softly upon the ground, his tired restless heart seemed to pour with a force as to walk boldly into the house itself, to risk it all. For a long time, he tried to weave a certain thread of words in his mind, careful to be sure they would be suave in her eyes and that perhaps that girl with deep brown eyes would be enchanted with him , with his sapphire eyes instead...instead of emerald pools and silver locks drooping about a white face in mystery.

He's charming, strong...perfect. How could she possibly?...

No, she wouldn't favor an unsure, distracted boy, with far too many shards within himself to even try to protect, to care for another. The boy's eyes flickered in a pain unseen by many, a gradual realization of green, a realization rooted from envy, which in turn led him to fall hollowly as a lifeless, empty, doll. But the boy was too blinded by the image of a picturesque knight gilded in stainless armor to understand that there were roaring waves of insecurity slowly suffocating, crushing his elder brother. He assumed that Tifa could only be won by the best, and by the smile that danced along her pretty face with the sight of Sephiroth, he *had* to be perfect. He never knew that she could or perhaps would have treasured the soft touch of his hand, his own small bruised hand as it was; he hid himself in a secluded dusted corner of loneliness, forbidding his eyes to lay upon her for the fear that she may look back, and laugh.

The boy slowly entered the hallway, a faded scent of pine trees lingering in the air. His feet felt numb beneath him. He could hear a faint sorrowful murmur in the corner of the room, and there, clad in a pale blue dress a brown-haired girl cuddled her own warmth, trembling as she hugged her knees. Cloud gulped as something salty faintly washed down his throat, as his eyes brushed to a soft red with Tifa's crying eyes. No, she couldn't cry; it wasn't right for her to cry. She was to be protected always, by someone worthy of her, someone strong with the bold brave hue of gold painted within the soul.

Tifa's eyes swelled to a soft pink, gasping between unsteady breaths, "C-om--e bb--aacckk m-m-omm-yyyy..."

The boy whispered in a desperate longing to wash away the sad lines writing her face to that soft cream color, like a jasmine wet with dew. He whispered that for her, and as he saw her shaking form rack into broken sobs, he didn't care of what she thought of him, and he moved forward simply because she was worth it all. She would understand that, and he would sow the crucial yellow stitches to her gray frame, bringing back the wondrous light that seemed to illuminate from her... such an innocent aura.

"Tifa," he began unsteadily. "What's wrong..."

The girl raised her head slightly, her blurred eyes blinded with an anger rooting from the very thorn piercing the last living remnants of her mother's breath. She screamed, something the boy had never heard her do; she was screaming, screaming for everything to go away, screaming for something cold to make the burning in her eyes, her heart to freeze in numbness.

"Go...away...! Alone! I need to be--"She choked once more as tears forcefully pushed their way through a broken sunny mask.

The boy hadn't expected this; he had thought that maybe she'd seen the worry in his eyes, the soft emotions vibrating through his hand as he leaned towards her. No, she was repulsed by him, repulsed by his utter unworthiness to her; she wanted perfection. She needed Sephiroth...didn't she? The blue-eyed boy clenched his white fist, his feet suddenly throbbing with an unknown pain, something strange screeching for the blood in his heart to burst. He walked away quickly, his feet carelessly stumbling in his path; nothing mattered then. It was all gone; a far away dream pricked to a wet mess by a single thorn. A warm tear itched down his nose, and as he felt its wetness soak his skin, he felt broken and weak, a fragile piece within himself left to be battered and withered in an empty windy desert.

The girl saw the boy's sadness for a moment, and in a sad desperation she whispered a sincere "sorry" to the air, somehow hoping that he'd hear. He didn't, and although she knew it, she hunched in that shadowed corridor, her body too tired and worn by tears to shift.

***

Sephiroth watched a frail gold figure rush through the soaked earth, mud slapping about, as if in a desperation to hide, to run away from it all. He walked slowly towards the yellow form, and as its image crisped in the dripping wet air, his feet ran, his eyes melting in concern.

"No, I'm fine Sephiroth," Cloud replied blankly, his empty eyes staring towards the ground.

"Brother? What's wrong. Tell me," Sephiroth's voice softened, his eyes pleading, but his strong figure firm, like stone.

"You haven't heard, heh?" Cloud laughed softly, walking away from the perfect green-eyed boy.

"What?" Sephiroth hoarsely spoke, following Cloud's trailing form with quick steps.

Cloud paused for a moment and turned around, his eyes boldly meeting Sephiroth's eyes. They melted in green, but held tightly to a faint remnant of blue. No, he did care for Sephiroth, his elder brother, the kinder, stronger youth who cared dearly for his well-being. But Sephiroth knew nothing of him; he didn't understand that he'd travel to depths of hell to have those green eyes, that silver hair, that strength. A guilty wind loomed within Cloud's eyes, but he let it be. He wished that someone else knew how it felt to sleep every night with an aching longing, a twisted an d dried heart yearning for something that would never come; he wished someone knew how it felt to live with someone ignorantly possessing all his dreams, all the emotions he wished to grasp. He wondered if he'd rather have someone understand or love him. For a moment he stared at Sephiroth, his blue eyes pounding with respect, envy, love; he hoped that somehow his brother could fathom the dark depths of his mind, the castles he wished to build in the forever stretching sky.

"Tifa's mom died," he spoke quietly and turned away once again, in lost illusions, in hopeless dreaming.

Sephiroth stared at Cloud's retreating form for several moments, wondering what lay in that strange tormented flicker of his brother's eyes. It took sometime for Sephiroth to register the words flowing from Cloud's lips, for as he stared towards him sadly, it seemed like everything around him was held still, and all he could see and hear was the gentle color flowing in his eyes.

But as the words slowly developed in his mind, he choked; he choked upon the thought, the thought of her heart bleeding beyond his touch, beyond any words he could muster to make it go away.

He ran. The door slammed coldly as he shoved it away as some empty wall to surmount to save her. His feet dragged heavily, and it felt as if his lungs were drowning in sorrow at the moment. The air was musty, bits of dust floating about as to shield a certain memory to rest.

And there she was. Her arms were wet with sweat and water as she buried her head carelessly in a frenzied mess; a jumbled tangle of words sprang incoherently from her mouth as they washed away with her shaking, broken body. The green-eyed youth clasped his hands against her shoulders, intently whispering, "Tifa?" She gulped nervously, her words muffled as she pressed her face within her soaked cream arms.

"Tifa?" he repeated quietly.

"S-seph?" she softly spoke beneath the tears melting against her cheek. She looked up, her brown eyes wandering into his own; she quickly looked down towards the hard ground, staring at the buildup of dust on the floor. There was a deep mournful cry in the room nearby; the husky voice seemed glazed with something insanely sad, and the whole house sounded in a haunting moan. Tifa winced, mumbling something about her father, her voice skipping in broken beats as she sobbed the life out of her, sobbed everything away.

"No, Tifa. It'll be all right. I heard,...I heard about her."

"S-she was beautiful, wasn't she? S-she w-would always play the piano. S-she said s-she w-as g-going to teach m-me." Tifa gulped hard, her eyes vaguely dreamy with that thought.

"You'll still learn," he spoke firmly.

"Ya know, Seph. Funny, she knew, Seph, she knew,"Tifa laughed angrily, as she bit her lower lip hard. Sephiroth watched her for a long time, disbelief flickering in his eyes, as he saw...he saw her sorrowfully enraged, the tears flowing down her cheeks never ceasing; it was as if they were a part of her skin.

"What?"

"She had cancer. She knew she was going to die. She always knew, but she never told us. Never...I could have said 'I love you'. I could have said it over and over again. I never said bye to her, and I could have! I could have showed her how much I-"she gulped hard, her eyes squeezed with clear burning drops of sad rain.

"No, she knew. She knew you loved her," he paused while stroking a strand of her brown hair. "Some things are too strong for words."

She shook her head slowly, her lips moving ever so slowly, "I feel alone. I feel that something's gone...something died."

Alone...?

No, she would never be alone; he couldn't, he wouldn't let that happen to her. He wouldn't let her hug herself in a cold room wishing to touch the moon but never having the chance to, never clasping onto something warm. She'd have him; always, she'd have him, and somehow he'd have to show her that she would. Sephiroth wavered, but something inexplicable burned within him and he allowed it to engulf his body, his eyes blazing with that single emotion, something that couldn't be explained, painted, taught. He rushed towards her, embracing her shaking form; he didn't care if she didn't return it, but she needed it. He needed to show her everything, and somehow this was the only way he knew how. Tifa's brown eyes widened curiously and her arms wrapped around his tight frame. He felt the wetness of her face against his shoulder, and he let it be like that, wishing to soak it all away. A final tear quivered against her cheek, and all she heard was the soft patter of rain against the glass window, and all she felt was something strong and warm embracing her, as if to whisper a chant of strength in that cold, dying room.