[ The slums are a noisy place, full of industrial din and nefarious affairs done under neon lights and deep shadows. They're often wet, muddy, and impoverished; and sometimes monsters break in from outside, policing forces stationed in higher density in the booming metropolis above. It's truly a wonder anyone can live decently below the plates, staved off from cleaner technology, with relative safety.
Yet, one girl has made a sanctuary out of the dystopia. By the ancient magic unknowingly seeping from her hands, she grows miracles from the otherwise barren ground of an abandoned church. Old beams and weary pews, grey in colour as though life has left them centuries ago, but the structure itself has withstood time. Maybe, subconsciously, that's why this girl is drawn to the vast quiet of it, for she, too, has survived time and hardship.
If it was anyone else, perhaps the church would seem less serene, filled with the terror and decay afflicting the Planet outside Midgar—but a young half-Cetra doesn't focus on such things just yet. She remains occupied, idealizing the most normal life possible, while tending to the yellow lilies and various other wild flowers spawning wherever the wood had broken apart, and somehow enough light radiated through the glass windows to cultivate the richness, until…
Crash, crack, bang! —Thud.
Aerith isn't the type to shriek, but she does jump, spinning and watching a black form break through the ceiling and fall into the floorboards of the church with a painful crunch. (From just the wood, hopefully.) Dust scatters the sunlight, clouding her view, so she moves closer, footsteps quiet as a cat's. She doesn't often get visitors, much less in this manner. A few minutes of observation passes until she gathers the courage to mirror her curiosity to call out, voice touched with timbre of playfulness and innocence. ]
but from a mess flowers can still grow.
Yet, one girl has made a sanctuary out of the dystopia. By the ancient magic unknowingly seeping from her hands, she grows miracles from the otherwise barren ground of an abandoned church. Old beams and weary pews, grey in colour as though life has left them centuries ago, but the structure itself has withstood time. Maybe, subconsciously, that's why this girl is drawn to the vast quiet of it, for she, too, has survived time and hardship.
If it was anyone else, perhaps the church would seem less serene, filled with the terror and decay afflicting the Planet outside Midgar—but a young half-Cetra doesn't focus on such things just yet. She remains occupied, idealizing the most normal life possible, while tending to the yellow lilies and various other wild flowers spawning wherever the wood had broken apart, and somehow enough light radiated through the glass windows to cultivate the richness, until…
Crash, crack, bang! —Thud.
Aerith isn't the type to shriek, but she does jump, spinning and watching a black form break through the ceiling and fall into the floorboards of the church with a painful crunch. (From just the wood, hopefully.) Dust scatters the sunlight, clouding her view, so she moves closer, footsteps quiet as a cat's. She doesn't often get visitors, much less in this manner. A few minutes of observation passes until she gathers the courage to mirror her curiosity to call out, voice touched with timbre of playfulness and innocence. ]
Hello? Hellooo? Are you all right? …Hello?