The Broken Rose: Chapter 5 – Dear Aeris

The Broken Rose Page

<–Chapter 4                                                                                                    Chapter 6–>

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII, its characters, and settings are all property of Square Enix so I can take no credit nor claim any ownership of that. I do take some credit for the story’s plot.
Banner Artwork Disclaimer:  The featured artwork for the banner is entitled White rose I and was created by the very talented Deviant Artist RemusSirion who was gracious enough to grant me permission to use it here.  The picture has been slightly altered from the original. All rights belong to the artist, and links are included for both the artist page and the work.
Chapter Artwork Disclaimer: The featured artwork for this chapter is entitled Raven pen and was created by the fantastically talented Deviant Artist omegaptera.  The picture has been slightly altered in appearance and to include the chapter number and title.  All rights belong to the artist, and the image is used her with their permission.  Links are included for both the artist’s page and the work.


Consistent and sustained graphic descriptions and mentions of rape/ sexual assault, sexual slavery/bondage, slavery, human trafficking, physical abuse, graphic descriptions of violence, mental abuse, emotional abuse, psychological abuse, body shaming, starvation, torture, forced pregnancy, forced childbirth, miscarriage, forced miscarriage, abortion, and other potential disturbing and triggering topics.

Aeris’s first letter of reclamation to herself.


A black feather quill with intricate wire work around the juncture of feather and pen. The bottom portion of it is wrapped in black fabric. “Chapter 5 Dear Aeris” in white is in the upper right corner. In the far upper right corner are the words “Vrana Raven.”

Dearest Aeris,

It’s been twenty days since last I was raped and beaten.  My insides are healing, and my bruises have faded, but I’m still so afraid.  I’m terrified to wake back up and find myself starving and chained.  Every time I shut my eyes, I expect this dream to end.  My wonderful master, the Great General, says that never will be.  He tells me he has me.  He promises I’m safe, and I just want to believe.

The day after he bought me and carried me away, he took me to get “medical attention.”  I didn’t understand what that meant at first and was afraid I’d be sold again.  I didn’t want that.  No, not at all.  He’d been so gentle and kind, but then he told me I’d see doctors, people who’d make me well. 

My insides still hurt from the day he’d bought me.  My old master had raped me that morning.  So many times that I lost count.  Then his friends, they had their turn.  It hurt so much and when my new master bought me, I thought he’d just use me, too.  But he didn’t, and still never has.  He’s so wonderfully gentle and kind.  He says he wants me to be happy and well.  He tells me that every day.  But happiness is something for the strong, not for tiny, weak things like me.  He also swears I’ll never be raped, and that he’s my protector.  Then he sweeps me up into his arms as if I’m as light as a leaf.  I just can’t imagine being so strong.  It must be so wonderful…to never have to worry about being beaten or brutally abused.  He still hasn’t used me, and I don’t understand.  I don’t understand at all… 

He said all my doctors would be women, and that they’d help me heal.  I didn’t know why they would care since I’m just a slave.  My master was sorry I had no clothes, only his shirt on my back.  I started to tremble because he shouldn’t do that.  Why would he apologize to me?  Slaves don’t have clothes.  That’s never allowed.  We only wear whip marks and chains.  I thought his shirt would be my clothing, but he told me I’d have my own.

When we went to the doctors’ I was terrified.  We had to leave his house.  Though I’d only been there for one day, I felt so safe within.  I had my own room though that made no sense, my own bed, and my own bathroom.  I was so safe and warm in my bed wrapped in a thousand blankets.  I’d never known softness against my skin, but I’d woken to that in my room.  When we did leave, I tried not to cry, but I just couldn’t help it.  I didn’t want my master to sell me.  He promised me that wouldn’t happen then picked me up in his arms.  I love when he does that, dearest gods.  I shouldn’t but I feel so safe.  I’m safe in my room.  I’m safe in my bed, but I’m safest in my master’s arms.  I buried my face against his shoulder near the silver spill of his hair.  He lets me put my arms around his neck, and he smells better than everything good.  It’s like the winter lives in his skin and yet he’s ever warm.  He always wears a long leather coat, but that doesn’t take away his sweet scent. 

He carried me to this very large building, and everyone there was so kind.  Though they did ask me a million questions.  So many they made my head spin.  They were going to send my master away, but I cried and clung to his coat.  I was so afraid that he would sell me if they let him leave me alone.   I begged him and begged him not to do that.  I begged him to stay by my side.  He stroked my hair and promised again that he’d never abandon me.

There was a doctor for my insides, but she said she wouldn’t do an exam.  I wasn’t sure what that was, but I was glad because they hurt.  I was torn all the way in, but I wasn’t bleeding anymore.  I answered the doctor’s questions while clinging to my master’s hand.  Then she asked me to lay down so that she could examine my stomach.  When she lifted the shirt, my master turned so he could see my face.  I squeezed his hand as she stared a long time at all the loose skin on my belly.  I kept my legs closed as she pressed on it, because my insides hurt so much.  I hoped she wouldn’t make me spread them.  That would just make the pain worse.  Then the doctor asked when I’d given birth, and I just blacked out for a moment.  When I came to, I was in my master’s arms with his emerald light falling down.  He looked so worried, and I just shook.  I was terrified he’d beat me.  He said he was sorry and looked at the doctor who seemed as sad as him.  I tried to answer her again, but the world’s edges curled, and I cried because I couldn’t.

When I was fully conscious again, my master still held me, and there was no more talk of…that.  I did try to explain what my life had been and how I’d been used every day, but the doctor stood up and left the room before I could really begin.  She covered her mouth, and I started to tremble.  I thought I’d be punished for making her leave, but my master’s low voice caressed all my skin, and he assured me I wouldn’t.  She returned in a bit with another woman that she called a therapist, and my master carried me to another room.  I couldn’t walk then, though now I’m much better.  I don’t know how I stood in my church.  I had no choice.  My old master would hurt me for all the things my new, gentle master allows. 

When we got to the other room, my master set me down on a soft chair.  Then he sat down beside, and I clutched his hand as he asked me if this was alright.  Then the therapist repeated his words, and I thought I’d faint again.  I swallowed the terror and begged my master not to leave me alone.  The therapist looked so sad, but she nodded and told me that his staying was always my choice.  She’s the one who wanted me to write these letters, and I asked my master if that was okay.  He told me there was nothing he’d ever deny, and I didn’t need any permission.  That made my head spin, and the therapist asked if she could see me twice a week.  I looked at my master, and he stroked my hand and asked me if this was okay.  That’s such a strange thing.  He always asks, and I don’t understand why he does.  He’s the master.  I’m the slave.  I’m ever his to command.

There were so many other doctors to see, but none of them hurt me at all.  They only touched me with my permission.  That’s a word my master gave me.  He also mentioned my fingers and wrists, but they don’t really hurt since they’ve healed.  There was a doctor who rebound my wounds, but told me master he’d done a good job.  He only slight smiled, but seemed very glad that I was being tended.  They gave me what’s called medicine, and that took away my pain.  That was the strangest thing of all…that pain can be relieved.  That must be for people, never for slaves.  I’m lucky my master’s so kind. 

The doctors told me I should gain weight and said I should eat things for ‘nutrition.’  I asked my master what that meant, and he said I’d have more than I needed.  I cried then because it couldn’t be true.  I couldn’t be allowed to have that.  Before that day I was always in pain from hunger’s gnawing ache.  Even thirst was a constant claw like a mesh on the back of my tongue, but from that first night he’d fed me warm soup, my master promised I’d never more starve.  Nor would I be thirsty.  Nor would I be beaten.  Nor would I be raped again.  I can eat and drink whenever I want.  I just have to go down to the kitchen.

I still have trouble with the stairs, but my master will just scoop me up.  His silver hair will fall around sweeter than morning mist.  I try to imagine what it would be like…to be so big and strong.  Then I shake as I remember the lash.  Thinking myself above what I am only made them hurt me more.  My master just kisses me on the brow and tells me again how I’m safe. 

Down to his kitchen he’ll carry me.  I’ve never seen so much food!  It’s odd because he doesn’t need to eat.  Something else keeps him alive.  But he cooks for me.  My wonder master will soil his hands for a slave.  He said I can have whatever I want whenever I’m hungry.  No matter the time of day or night, he said he would see to this need.  He’ll make me dinner or lunch or breakfast.  Meals have different names.  There’s also tea.  That’s a drink and a meal…well sort of a meal, more like half.  Before I ate whatever I could and hoped my masters wouldn’t see if I stole.  Scraps and leavings, moldy with rot, but I was grateful for every bite.  But now…oh now, everything’s fresh and it tastes like heaven on my tongue.

 Every moment I expect this paradise to melt, and I’ll be back in my church starved and chained.  My master…dear gods, my wonderful master.  I never dared dream this could be.  I thought he’d be like the others but worse, because he bought me in full, but he’s never even spoken to me harsh, and his hands are so careful and kind. 

Nothing now ever touches my skin that isn’t utter softness.  Nothing not warm and nothing rough.  Please, no, never again!  Nothing rough!  Nothing brutal!  Nothing tearing my tender insides!  It hurt so much that very first day, but now the pain is gone.  I sleep on a bed that has blankets and pillows, more than I could dream.  I could drown in the softness, enveloping warmth.  I’ll never be cold again.

I’m not only allowed to sleep in a bed, but I have my very own room!  I live here…in his house that’s more like a palace by the shores of what’s called the sea.  It’s this massive thing that rolls on the sand, that’s what the shore’s made of.  It goes on forever ‘til it meets the sky, and that’s forever, too.  At night it’s drenched with millions of stars and the waves reflect their light. 

I haven’t been outside alone yet or down to see it up close.  I’m so afraid.  I know there are men always lurking around.  What if they offer him money for me?  More than a million gil??  I know that he’s rich, but I’m so worthless.  He hasn’t even raped me… 

I’m allowed to go anywhere I want in his house, even sit on the furniture.  My master let me see his room.  It has what’s called a balcony like my room does, too.  That’s kind of like an outside floor that’s high above the ground.  It’s surrounded by railings so you can’t fall off, but I was still terrified to peer out.  I know that he showed me my very first night out the window of my own room, but what if this paradise just disappeared right before my eyes?  What if it turned to darkness and steel and I was chained and beaten again?  I covered my face and he kissed my crown, promising me I was safe.

If I’m ever cold I have warm blankets or he turns up what he calls ‘the heat.’  Then he’ll hold me in his arms while I’m wrapped in his coat.  I just stare up in utter awe, waiting for him to beat me bloody and use me like he should.  But he never does, and I don’t understand why he bought me that day.  Why am I here if I’m not being raped?  Why hasn’t he beaten me?  Why did he buy me?  Why does he want me?  What am I doing for him?  He tells me that that life is over, but it’s the only one I’ve ever known…the only one I remember.  I’m happy though, that I’m not being abused even though it makes no sense. 

My silver master says he doesn’t own me, and I’m only his to protect.  I didn’t even know such a concept existed before he told me that.  Protect, guard, and shield.  It means to keep safe.  That’s what he does for me.  He took me away from my horrible master.  He was the worst of the three.  I lost count how many times he raped me that morning before my great master appeared.  He’s never chained me.  I don’t think he has any, and he lets me wear clothes.  I’m no longer naked, and I also have shoes and jewelry.  A slave could be blinded for just looking at that and now it adorns my skin.

I’m trying so hard not to cry and mess up this pretty letter.  It’s fancy paper, cream colored and smooth, and the pen just glides along.   The closet I have goes on forever with all the clothes there are.  It’s more like a room, even bigger than a shack in the depths of the slums.  There are more clothes than I could ever wear in a month or even a year.  They arrived in boxes brought by men, and I cowered upstairs in my room.  My master was speaking with them at the door, and I thought he’d finally sell me.  I’m worthless and broken and make him no money, yet he lets me eat every day.  Then that low voice called my name and I curled into a ball.  Hiding on the far side of the bed with my knees pulled up to my chest.  I was wearing one of his black shirts and it smelled so good like him.  It was strangely comforting even though I was scared of being sold to other men.  My master called my name again, and fear choked me.  I hadn’t answered! 

“Y-Yes, great master?” I said very soft, but his hearing’s perfect like him so he heard.

“Come here and see.  Oh yes, you can’t stand.  May I pick you up?” And he did.  My wonderful master did.  My gentle, silver-haired master with his emerald cat eyes that brilliantly glow filled with such care and patience.  He thinks they’re cold, but I find them glorious like a gleam from heaven above.

There were boxes and boxes and boxes some more filled with things I couldn’t imagine and some I can’t even describe.  Dresses and shoes and blouses and skirts, but when I saw a pink ribbon I cried.  I sobbed even more when he bound it in my hair, and still he didn’t beat me.  He didn’t care that I soiled his shirt and shimmering hair with my tears.  He just wiped them away with a silk handkerchief and promised me all would be well. 

He also bought me a stepping stool, but that happened before the clothes.  This was so I could climb into my bed in case he wasn’t around.  My master told me he’d always be there if I ever called, but he didn’t want me to ever feel helpless or have to sleep on the floor again.  But I’m always helpless, and I didn’t mind.  I had pillows and blankets, and the floor is a carpet.  Walking on that is like wearing fur shoes that squish between your toes, and it was far better than the cold concrete and steel that had once bruised my flesh. 

I couldn’t even hold this pen when I first tried to write.  He gave it to me, made of a great feather blacker than sorrow’s night.  His face was so sad, and yet he still smiled, placing it in my hand.  The pinion was soft and smells just like him.  It’s longer than both of my hands.  He gave me a journal bound in black leather.  It reminds me of his great coats.  He has lots of them.  All in black but some have buttons and others have clasps.  He’s so very tall, taller than tall.  He’s the tallest man I’ve ever seen.  It hurts my neck to look up at him, but it’s like he knows my pain.  He’ll slide his fingers over the hurt and the ache flees at caress, but I don’t really mind even with the pain.  I love looking up at him.  He’s kind.  He’s gentle.  He took me away and he’s never hurt me even once.  I know it’s only been twenty days, but that’s such a long time for kindness.

My wonderful master will read to me.  It’s helped me remember more words.  It’s why I can write this, because he’s allowed, though he doesn’t say it like that.  We’ll sit downstairs in that library or his living room or up in my own.  I’ll sit on his lap, which I really love, and he’ll wrap me in his arms.  I’ll curl against his chest and cry.  I just want it to be real!  He tells me it is, promises, vows, and holds me as long as I need.  If I weep too long, I’ll grow tired and yawn while he’s reading a verse.  I’m still so afraid he’ll get angry at me for falling asleep at those times, but he never has and he never does as his low voice reveals poetry.  Sometimes I’ll watch as his eyes chase the light that flees before his pupils.  It’s almost like it doesn’t want to be cut by his slivered stare, but the words on the page don’t seem to mind, and they sound so nice through his chest.  I’ll lean my ear there and just shut my eyes. His heartbeat’s so steady and strong.  It thrums with the cadence of his words, finding a perfect place in between.  After each poem he’ll smile at me and kiss me on the brow.  It’s better than air, better than water in a way I can’t explain.  Water is wonderful, and I can have that and food whenever I wish.  But that press of his lips to my skin, dear gods, I can’t explain the joy. 

Kisses.  What are they even for? I’ll return them to his cheek and thank him for not raping me.  He’ll brushed the hair out of my face and sadly shake his head.  I have to thank him every day. I didn’t want this to end!  Kissing his gentle hands is next because they’ve never struck me.  I make sure my lips press every knuckle and my great master will softly sigh, but the only knuckles I felt before belonged to brutal fists.  I don’t want that.  No, never again!  His hands are so large and he’d hurt me!  But he just slides them under my chin.  Rubbing beneath so gentle, so soft.  When he wraps his other arm around, I just melt against. There just aren’t words, none that I know, for how wonderful this is.  I won’t be hit.  I’ll just be held.  I’ll never be raped again…  

Everything he does with me is gentle as if I deserve such care.  He’s never punished me at all. He lets me sleep…sleep in his arms and vows the most wonderful things.

“I have you now, Aeris, my little flower. That eternity of anguish is done. I will do everything beyond humanely possible to show you this is the truth.” I just smile to his lovely voice. It’s soothing, smooth, and low. The words don’t make sense, but he’s my master. He can say whatever he wants. 

“My little, beautiful, broken rose.  I promise one day you’ll believe.”

“I’m with you master…”  I shake in his arms and that makes him hold me closer.  “I’m here in beauty, safe and warm, bathed in the light of your eyes.”

  Right now I’m smiling thinking of kisses, imagining that gentle brush on my skin.  It’s funny but scary to witness him holding my little hands in his.  I don’t understand how he can do that without crushing my fragile fingers.  If any man ever tried to hurt me, my master would never allow.  He makes me that promise every day, and I gaze up at him so grateful.  I’d do anything to keep this protection, but he demands nothing at all.

Sometimes he’ll read me stories, too, but those seem silly because no one’s raped.  I guess they’re made up.  They have to be.  That’s just not how the world works.  Of course right now I’m not being raped, and that makes no sense either.  Maybe right now I’m in a story, but all of them come to an end.  I don’t want this to end.  Please don’t let it end.  I want to live on in this dream.  I want to be allowed to eat every day.  I want to be clothed and warm.  I don’t want to be naked.  I don’t want to be beaten.  I want to live in the strongest of arms.  Please, please, please don’t let this end!  I don’t want to come back to life. 

I bury my face in my master’s chest when these thoughts torment me so, and he just murmurs gently down and seals me in his embrace.  Wherever or whenever I fall asleep, I wake up in his arms or my bed.  Covered in blankets, safe and warm, with my head upon the pillows.  Before awareness fully dawns I’m so afraid I’ll wake from this dream.

But then true nightmares will descend, and I’m right back where it began.  I scream and scream but it’s all real.  It’s the beginning of those hundred years!  My silver master will never come.  I’ll be beaten and raped forever.  My old master smiles at me.

“You thought you’d been saved?  You’ve only one use.  You need to learn your place.”

I shrieked and begged as the lash was laid on.  He had my new master’s strength!  The bones in my wrists were crushed into pulp when he grabbed my arm.  I could only scream as I tried and tried to beg my old master for mercy. 

I heard my name then.  The voice was low, but urgent in its timbre.  I opened my eyes and there I was…in my great master’s arms.  I threw my own around his neck and sobbed like my heart would break.  He just held me close, and I became lost in the scent of silver hair.  This was the truth.  It just had to be.  His arms were warm and solid.  The dream strikes were slowly fading away, but my scars will always remember.

“Is this real, master?” I asked to make sure.  “Am I truly here with you?”

“Yes, little flower.”  That’s what he calls me, “little flower, little rose, little one.”  I don’t mind being “little,” “little” for him.  His names for me are so sweet.  My littleness doesn’t cause me pain, not here with my wonderful master.

I’m supposed to see the therapist twice a week and the other doctors once.  They want to keep a close eye on me to make sure I’m getting better.  The therapist lets me talk about my life, and my master’s right by my side.  She always tries to hide her tears while his bright stare just hardens.  He’s much better at hiding his face, but I can see the wrath burning in emerald.  I never ever, ever, ever want him to look at me like that.  I think I would die from instant fright if I ever angered him so, but even if something has drawn his gaze, when he looks at me, he’s gentle.  He’ll let me hold his hand in my two and squeeze it as hard as I can.  I can’t hurt him, and he doesn’t mind.  He never crushes my fingers. 

Men…men are everywhere, and they’re the worst monsters of all.  I wanted to die when they were using me, but even when I did I came back.  It didn’t matter how much it hurt.  They didn’t care about my pain.  I’ve heard them in the halls on the way to the doctors where only my master’s allowed.  He always carries me through the building so I can hide my face in his silver hair.  No man can hurt me so long as I’m wrapped in my master’s strong arms, and if I hide against him, conceal my body, they can’t see what they’d want to buy.  He tells me he’ll never sell me, though, because I don’t belong to him in that way.  I don’t understand.  Of course he owns me, utterly in every part.  He’s just chosen not to hurt or use me and wants to keep me for himself, but if one of them offers him more than he paid…no no!  My master is rich! He’s mayor and the Great General.  No one could best what he paid.  No one could match it.  Please not again.  I don’t want a brutal master!  I want to be held and warm and safe in his powerful arms.  I just want to belong to him.  I ask him, I make sure I’m still “his Aeris,” and he tells me I always am.  I’ll always be his.  That’s all I want to be his forever more.  The most wonderful thing I’ve ever heard is him saying, “My Aeris…” while holding me close.  I’m his…I’m his, I’m ever his.  No one else can ever claim me.  I reach up and touch his face, and he whispers, “My Aeris,” once more.

“Please…” I beg, “Let me be yours.  I want to be ‘your Aeris’ forever.”

“You are my Aeris forever,” he vows, and I can’t stop joy’s tears.  I want this to be true so bad it hurts more than my insides did.

I’m sitting in my room wearing clothes and jewelry.  My dress is a color called lilac, and it’s made of two parts, a gauzy bit over the main.  They’re both the same color, but the outer is see-through like peering through a soft mesh.  The sleeves start real low right near my breast, leaving shoulders and forearms bare, but I have shawls to wear over it.  I don’t want to see too much skin. 

The dress falls all the way down to my calves and is lined in silver smoke.  The same design swirls by my chest and edges along the sleeves.  And I have boots that reach my mid-calve right near where the skirts fall.  The shoes match it with silver on the toes and traced around the inlays.  They’re soft inside and don’t hurt my feet.  It’s almost like walking on carpet.  I don’t deserve this or the rings on my fingers or the glittering jewels in my hair. 

The rings are made of precious stones and the metal’s better than gold.  My master told me what all were called, but I’ve forgotten now.  I’ll have to ask him the names again so I can write them down.  One ring is redder than fire’s heart and the other is green like his eyes, but the gleam in his emerald is alive.  Oh!  That’s what the green is called.  It’s an emerald like his light, except it’s a still, dead stone.  His eyes are better with their attendant glow and their pupil shiver thin.  The jewels in my hair are like glittering snow, a crown before my ribbon.  That’s lilac, too, and he tied it for me.  I still can’t do that yet.

I know long ago I braided my hair, but my fingers don’t remember.  He’ll gently brush and bind it high with a ribbon amongst the waves.  He always lets me pick the color, because he says, it’s my hair.  The high bangs hang long to brush my chest.  They’re similar to his.  The headband he’ll slide amongst the waves contains those shimmering stones. 

I looked in the mirror and couldn’t stop crying.  It couldn’t be me there.  This wasn’t a slave.  She was a person, but her face was soaked with my tears.  My silver master stood behind, as I leaned against him for support.  This had to be false, but that maiden remained as he bent to kiss my brow.

Right now I’m not hungry and I’m not cold.  I’m not being beaten or raped. This may change at any moment. He may come and rape me right now. He might walk in holding new chains. He may whip me and crush my frail wrists…but he hasn’t yet.  My insides stopped hurting after a few days of not being forcefully entered. My bruises have faded and because he’s so gentle I don’t have any new ones.  My legs are better, and I can walk a little, but not for very long. 

My master will sweep me up in his arms so effortless it must be a dream. He’ll smile so gently down at me. I think he enjoys it, too. He can cradle me easily in either arm. I can’t imagine being so strong. It must be wonderful to have so much power to not be tiny and weak. No one could ever beat him.  No one would ever dare try.  I can’t even circle his wrist with my hand, but he can hold both of mine with his one.  He always lets me try it though, smiling gently when I fail.

Every night, I thank my master for not beating and raping me.  That just makes him sadder, but I have to thank him each and every day.  It’s a wonderful thing.  Not to be beaten, not to be raped, not to be starved and abused.  Being allowed to see the sun and hear that whispering sea.  Having my injuries tended and treated, being swept up in powerful arms.  Arms that close around me tight and yet are more than careful.  He’s never hurt me, not even once.  He’s never hurt me at all… 

Every night before I sleep, he’ll kiss me on the brow.  Just like I thank him, he’ll then promise, “My Aeris, I have you now.  My tiny rose, my perfect flower, you’ll never be hurt again.”  I stare up at him in utter awe just soothed by the sound of his voice.  The words “my Aeris” filter through, and I sob into his chest.  He rubs my back and apologizes, which makes my weeping worse, but I have to tell him, he has to know I’m not crying because I’m sad.  This is joy because I’m his and then he just looks sadder. 

I never ask the Planet for anything not since it forsook me.  It still sings in my head though I ignore it.  I just want one more day.  Just once more let me wake and be here with him in paradise.  I know I don’t deserve this grace because I’m a terrible slave.  I deserve more beatings, more rape, and abuse, but I don’t want to lose this joy. 

This isn’t life.  Life is being raped at least three times a day.  Life is being beaten bloody.  Life is shackles destroying your skin. Life is hunger and cold. This is far better, but I don’t know what it is.  It certainly can’t be a dream.  Those are pain, too and endless horror.  I just don’t understand. 

Why do I now live in the strongest of arms, the gentlest to ever exist?  Why am I given the softest of kisses pressed against my brow?  Why does he promise I’ll never be raped?  If I’m not, then what am I for?  Why am I here, here with him?  Why won’t he use me?  I’m little and weak.  I couldn’t stop him just like I couldn’t stop the others.  He’s my great master, all powerful.  There’s nothing he couldn’t do.  One day I know this reprieve will end, and he’ll use me like he should. 


Aeris, the Great General’s slave

Author’s Note: Chapter 6 has been twice edited, but needs one more once over.  I’ll post it as soon as that’s complete.  Until then thank you so much for reading.

<–Chapter 4                                                                                                    Chapter 6–>







16 thoughts on “The Broken Rose: Chapter 5 – Dear Aeris

  1. Pingback: The Broken Rose – Chapter 4 | The Shameful Narcissist Speaks

  2. I know things are stressful right now, but I just want you to know I’ve been refreshing this page multiple times daily to see if any updates are made. You bring something to fandom, you bring something to the world and you add something to my life. I hope you find as much comfort as Sephiroth is trying to give to Aeris in this fic, after the massive hurt.

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    • This really does mean a lot to me that people want to read my work. That actually helped bolster me out of the depths of despair (…I’m thinking of making an ironic quip or pun, but it’s late so I can’t quite formulate it). I thought about how stories like this are even more important now, and while this fanfiction won’t reach a mainstream audience, it could still find someone who needs to know that their pain matters, what happened to them was wrong, vile, evil, and unacceptable, and while the retribution that happens in TBR sadly (or maybe thankfully) won’t occur in this world, it’s still a nice pipe dream.


  3. Yay! I’m all caught up, but can’t wait to see more.
    I like how you presented this Chapter as a letter she wrote to herself, on the wise advice of a therapist. Writing really can do wonders to ease a tormented mind. I’m looking forward to finding out what happens next. This story has reminded me to never take anything I am blessed to have for granted.

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    • I’ll be working on the third edit of Chapter 6 this week as promised in my latest State of the Writer post! I liked the letter format, too. It made sense because it would allow her to get all of her thoughts out about her terrible past and current wonderful (if confusing) situation. I know I find it cathartic, and for someone who didn’t have a voice for so long, it serves to amplify that (even if only she sees it) and also help her remember more words.

      Fingers crossed I can do the third edit this weekend and get it out this Sunday :X

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      • Awesome! That picture really highlights her badassness 🙂

        I made a consultation appointment on December 3 to get my first tattoo! She’s an award winning local artist and I had to get on her waiting list, lol. I want it to represent Lightning so I’m gathering pictures to show the artist. I will definitely include this one. I’m so excited to see what she comes up with. I’m also terrified…

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        • Ahhh that’s so exciting! Let me know if you’d like some more pics of your girl. I can shoot you an email, which would be way simpler hehe. Do you know where you want to get the tattoo? I have this thing where I want to be able to see any ink I have so all of mine are fairly visible. The one on my ankle is often hidden so that I’ll forget about it lol. Ah I’m so excited for you ♥

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          • The closer the date, the more anxious I get, lol

            The more the better! Feel free to email me anytime you want 🙂 I want to get it on my upper left arm. My only requirement is that it looks badass so I’m going to tell the artist she can take up as much space as she needs. I also want it to have the mark of the L’Cie in it. I won’t get into detail since I know someone hasn’t played the game yet… 🙂

            I don’t understand why some people get tattoos in places they can’t see. I want to look at my permanent work of art. I can also hide it with long sleeves if needed. Some silly people still have misconceptions about tattoos, unfortunately.

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            • I’ll look up some pics this weekend and send them your way. Super exciting and that’s a great space for it. My maid of honor has this beautiful tattoo of koi fish, and I’m planning on getting a one wing tat on my right are for, er, no reason lol. It’s a good spot, easily visible, and easily covered.

              I’m happy that our generation is not ridiculous about tattoos as the prior. The misconceptions are pretty ridiculous especially considering humans have been tattooing since the beginning. It’s just another way of expression. I can’t wait to be 80 with bad ass tattoos. Way better then a closet full of china I’ll never use :p

              Liked by 1 person

  4. I know things are stressful right now, but I want you to know I’ve been refreshing this page multiple times daily to see if Chapter 6 is ready. You bring something to the fandom, you bring something to the world and you bring something to my life. I hope you find as much comfort as Sephiroth is offering Aeris, after the hurt.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you so much for your kind words and ah I didn’t know you were on WP.

      TBR will continue. I think it’s even more important now in the wake of what’s happened. While of course it’s not mainstream, I do have it on tumblr, which is a safe haven for many people who’ve been in that situation. I am better now. Still not super hopeful, but after the depths of where I was prior, this isn’t a terrible step.


  5. Pingback: The Broken Rose – Chapter 6 | The Shameful Narcissist Speaks

  6. Pingback: The State of the Writer: 8/20/17 | The Shameful Narcissist Speaks

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