Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Her Favourite Word is Despair ❯ Because I Love You ( Chapter 1 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: colichemarde 
She summons him.
Non Anime: Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Fantasy | Type: Divergence | Uploaded On: 10.30.2006 | Updated On: 10.30.2006 | Pages: 1 | Words: 643 | Visits: 276 | Status: Completed
She summons him.
Non Anime: Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Fantasy | Type: Divergence | Uploaded On: 10.30.2006 | Updated On: 10.30.2006 | Pages: 1 | Words: 643 | Visits: 276 | Status: Completed
Disclaimer:
Copyright Squaresoft
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In the misty clouds of the haven one only born there grows so ill, and fond upon leaving, lay the quiet angel again, dipping in and out of sleepy boredom that pulled at the tendrils of desire in his ensanguined hands. The blade of ill-begotten hatred and contrasted holiness alie his side, telling tales that were undeserving of its name and whispering the dying and hidden truths of the world. The child's brows so sadly curved in an uninterest below; the world like a tiny star, dying, bursting, becoming the white dwarf of the empty and vast and lonely void. Though even through the boredom felt he no desire to participate in anything whatsoever. He had gotten through the agonising lack of activity, and passed into the ill-desire to do the things that would arise his spirits.
Another being existed within the hell of heaven who was not so angellic, and her body pressed against the cartilage that extended from within and wrapped around the non-existent building's base. Long tentacles drooped from her head, her body like one mass of colour, her arms molded in the grey, fleshy cartilage. Her long silvery hair hung as though wet, and her eyes were the child of malice. Dry, yellow lights like fireflies floated in them, tantalising and hypnotic. She summoned her son.
"Sephiroth," she called, with a cooling voice which calmed his nerves so rightly, yet not quite fully. She was not so right to be called an angel, but to Sephiroth, she was the light of love. He came near, his step as calm as spring water, appearing as though he were gliding along the cold ground. He took her in with his glowing eyes of shame, and smiled politely as he should.
"Yes, Mother," he replied, softly. He was belittled under her presence.
"They have completed the puzzles," she spoke, her mouth not moving at all, "The Black Materia has materialised from the Cetra shrine." She raised a hand out of the gloop which posessed it, and motherly ran it over Sephiroth's hair at the side of his head. "Please," she nearly pleaded, "Please fetch it for me."
Sephiroth, as one could imagine, did not desire to do it. He had become so listless that the energy finally drained from him and he had not the care nor desire to run off to those who hate him and fetch a toy for his mother. He said nothing, but graciously accepted her loving caress. He closed his eyes, floating in a faux bliss his mind's eye created, and a thin tentacle slowly began to wrap around his throat. Like inhumanly long, thin fingers, she constricted the cruel limbs around his slender throat, and with a harsh, vice grip did she rip him of his blind harmony and stare straight into his soulless eyes as his throat was made to be crushed.
But he did not move. He could not move. His every muscle was stiff with oxygenless dread. Her cold eyes contracted and Sephiroth could not breathe. But dare he aim to resist, she would surely punish him.
"You will do as I say," she spoke, under her breath, "because I am your mother... and I love you." She dropped Sephiroth promptly, and he crumpled into a miserable pile of seething, blind thoughts and coughing pain. He grabbed his throat in a movement of dulled panic, and tried his hardest to breathe, as he was humbled to a pitiful mass on the ground. He meekly crawled towards his silvery death blade, and slipped out of her sight to complete her task.
Her eyes were shut.
Copyright Squaresoft
-------------------------------------------------------------
In the misty clouds of the haven one only born there grows so ill, and fond upon leaving, lay the quiet angel again, dipping in and out of sleepy boredom that pulled at the tendrils of desire in his ensanguined hands. The blade of ill-begotten hatred and contrasted holiness alie his side, telling tales that were undeserving of its name and whispering the dying and hidden truths of the world. The child's brows so sadly curved in an uninterest below; the world like a tiny star, dying, bursting, becoming the white dwarf of the empty and vast and lonely void. Though even through the boredom felt he no desire to participate in anything whatsoever. He had gotten through the agonising lack of activity, and passed into the ill-desire to do the things that would arise his spirits.
Another being existed within the hell of heaven who was not so angellic, and her body pressed against the cartilage that extended from within and wrapped around the non-existent building's base. Long tentacles drooped from her head, her body like one mass of colour, her arms molded in the grey, fleshy cartilage. Her long silvery hair hung as though wet, and her eyes were the child of malice. Dry, yellow lights like fireflies floated in them, tantalising and hypnotic. She summoned her son.
"Sephiroth," she called, with a cooling voice which calmed his nerves so rightly, yet not quite fully. She was not so right to be called an angel, but to Sephiroth, she was the light of love. He came near, his step as calm as spring water, appearing as though he were gliding along the cold ground. He took her in with his glowing eyes of shame, and smiled politely as he should.
"Yes, Mother," he replied, softly. He was belittled under her presence.
"They have completed the puzzles," she spoke, her mouth not moving at all, "The Black Materia has materialised from the Cetra shrine." She raised a hand out of the gloop which posessed it, and motherly ran it over Sephiroth's hair at the side of his head. "Please," she nearly pleaded, "Please fetch it for me."
Sephiroth, as one could imagine, did not desire to do it. He had become so listless that the energy finally drained from him and he had not the care nor desire to run off to those who hate him and fetch a toy for his mother. He said nothing, but graciously accepted her loving caress. He closed his eyes, floating in a faux bliss his mind's eye created, and a thin tentacle slowly began to wrap around his throat. Like inhumanly long, thin fingers, she constricted the cruel limbs around his slender throat, and with a harsh, vice grip did she rip him of his blind harmony and stare straight into his soulless eyes as his throat was made to be crushed.
But he did not move. He could not move. His every muscle was stiff with oxygenless dread. Her cold eyes contracted and Sephiroth could not breathe. But dare he aim to resist, she would surely punish him.
"You will do as I say," she spoke, under her breath, "because I am your mother... and I love you." She dropped Sephiroth promptly, and he crumpled into a miserable pile of seething, blind thoughts and coughing pain. He grabbed his throat in a movement of dulled panic, and tried his hardest to breathe, as he was humbled to a pitiful mass on the ground. He meekly crawled towards his silvery death blade, and slipped out of her sight to complete her task.
Her eyes were shut.