i.
Early moments in her life are like old worn out movie reels. White rooms, missing scene, needles, kicking, screaming, missing scene, missing scene. The clearest memory she has from back then is her clinging to her mother's bloodstained clothes as if she could keep her there, until a stranger takes her away when she's too tired to fight.
There's not much thinking of her life before. Her new caretaker, mother, lets her spend her time in the barren backyard where she can hear soft whispers offering comfort. She hears her mother, her real mother, clear as day, words wrapping around her in the warm sunlight, telling her secrets.
*
Of course, children are bad at keeping secrets. Elmyra dismisses them as flights of fancy, an overactive imagination by a lonely child.
When she receives notice of her husbands death her child informed her of days before, everything shifts. Men in black suits are part of their lives now, and an unassuming former housewife deals with things like government men chasing after fairy tales in her daughter. Promised Land and Ancient are now a part of her vocabulary.
In an unspoke truce they agree not to talk about it. They agree everything should be normal.
(The flowers sprouting in the once barren yard, in a city with no sky, is one of those things they don't talk about.)
ii.
At 17, Aerith settles into her second home. The abandoned church is her haven now; forgotten by all but her. She wonders what they worshiped here, if people forgot the names of their gods as easily as the cities they lived in.
Most of her days are spent here, in the quiet of the church, her pull towards the planet strongest here. The voices comfort her, like always, so she's never lonely. No, no, never alone.
iii.
She's giving away flowers when she meets him. She does this sometimes: gathers her flowers and hands them out to those in the slums. Maybe they cheer people up; she hopes so.
The problem happens when she meets him, all dark hair and bright blue eyes -- brighter than natural -- casually strolling up to her. Flirting, even. Any other man, and Aerith might have been flattered. Any other man but a SOLDIER, a dog of Shinra, who wore his sword and uniform so proudly she took it as a personal offense, and no you may not have a flower.
She took pride in his dumbfounded look as she walked off. It seemed rejection was new for him.
...In fact, it must have been brand new, because he didn't seem to take no for an answer. Every day he was there on leave, he would beg her for a flower, her name, her favorite color, anything. It was getting harder to treat him with the same coldness she gave the Turks; something about this boy seemed more genuine, innocent. And maybe it was nice to talk to someone on a daily basis who wasn't a ghost.
She starts with her name.
iv.
She supposes she likes him.
She's never really liked someone before, never really gotten close enough to tell if she did. Zack was real in front of her, all smiles and wonder, hanging on her every word. He seemed so naive about Shinra Aerith almost felt bad about her initial coldness.
Things are bad now, but we can still do good, he would say, never understanding her sad smile.
He suggests she start selling her flowers rather than giving them away. She never considered it before -- it seemed natural the flowers should be free, and for everyone. The poor were struggling.
You're poor, he points out. No arguing that, she agrees.
v.
The last time she sees him, his naivety is all but gone. He seems lost. So she invites him to the place she goes when she's lost.
For a long while it's unusually quiet with the two of them in the church, Zack sitting cross legged with his head hung, Aerith laying half on the flower bed, whispers licking at her ear. His voice cuts through them like a knife.
Wherever you are right now, think I could join you?
She's no good at consoling with words, so she simply walks over to him, palms against his cheeks, lips to his, and gently falls to the church floor with him.