☄ dissecting dreams

[auncyenhalig.livejournal.com]

[ Aerith writhes on the operating table against the bonds that hold her down, squinting at the harsh glare of the light above her. She's scared.

She's ... so ... scared. And she can't remember when reality ended for her, or if she's still in it. Tseng was going to take her to the labs, so maybe this is her new reality. She wants to scream Why?, but she already knows. It's only been his mission, and her nightmare, for the last fifteen years.

At least he let her go this long. He let her save Marlene.

Please, someone save me! Cloud!

No one is coming. She's heard the sniggering and all too giddy explanation of how the Ancient could finally be "properly examined". She was ready, as much as anyone could be, for the clinical undressing and observation, the cold and callous fingers on her skin, and she'd kept up protests even though he only ever listened to hypotheses and results.

She had not been prepared for the scalpel. When it cuts into her, she doesn't scream but cry silently --

I'm scared

-- and she hates it. She isn't supposed to be here. She isn't supposed to be so afraid. She'd promised herself she'd never be that helpless little girl from the labs again.

I can't do anything ... I can't move ... If this isn't real ... why can't I wake up?

The hand holding the scalpel applies more pressure, sinking the blade further in, and Aerith jolts, wide-eyed --

I'm not helpless! You're not the one in charge here!

-- and makes herself stop feeling fear or pain or really, much of anything at all. ]

✯

The funny thing about dreaming is that you can be anyone you want and a few you don't, and sometimes your subconscious simply isn't on your side.

✯

[ The crying stops.

Aerith eyes the deep incision from the scalpel, then calmly pulls it out. Turning from the body on the table, she washes the instrument off before setting it aside ... it's now that the dream enters Passing. ]

✯

Hello ~

[ There is an operating table. You are on it, faced up to a harsh white light. A similarly harsh smell of chemicals lingers nearby.

You may struggle. The straps are tight enough to make it useless. ]

Don't be scared, please. [ It is a calm voice; it comes from the same direction as a figure in a lab coat, pink popping out in contrast to the plain white. Aerith steps forward and rests a scalpel to the side, smiling down at the new subject, though the gesture seems a little sad. The old one just didn't last ... ] It doesn't help.

[ But why should she be scared? She's the one in charge here. ]

Comments

[findmyownreason.livejournal.com]

[even over the howl of the guard hound as his sword strikes home, Cloud hears the familiar clang of Aerith's staff and, for some reason he can't explain, the very edge of his mouth curls upward. Out of all the weapons why does it somehow make sense that Aerith's is the equivalent of a giant stick. A giant, metal stick with weights on it, of course. But a whacking instrument none the less. Then the Zenene is lunging forward again, trying to cut under his guard with the Buster and he has to leave Aerith to deal with the Vargid Police just a little longer as he goes for the kill himself.]