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.
*******MAJOR CONTENT WARNING*******
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 learns to cherish the beauty of winter even as she worries over the new aspect of their relationship.
The image of a white rose with dark around the edges. The words “Chapter 25 Winter’s Rose” are in the top left corner.
The sky and the shore had become one, blended to winter white. Not even the sea dare disturb monochrome. It murmured within its grey shroud. Frost painted lace upon the large window leading out to the balcony. A winter tableau scattering light as the day waxed coldly around.
Heaven’s Gate guarded a far different world where the little Cetra still slept. Sunk in her own sea of blankets and pillows where the mattress couched her within warmth. Delicate fingers curled upon softness, one set held near her face. Thick blankets had been pulled up to her ear, though chestnut swam over the folds. Behind soft shut lids, she clutched at dream webs that made her slightly frown. Not quite a whimper escaped from her lips, and she was happy to just let them go.
Just to ensure no dark would catch her, Aeris opened her eyes. That green’s bright was summer unstolen, though winter still ruled the air. Not here. She yawned, deliciously warm and wriggling with delight. She blinked several times, always to ensure that this life was the truth and no vision, but it was more a formality now. Two hundred and seventy-one days. It’s been that long since last I was raped and beaten. The maid slipped a hand over her slender neck with its shiny scar circled around. The only chains allowed there were of her own placing, bearing jewels of adornment not harm. Her wrists and ankles had them, too. My entire body’s a scar.
The Shameful Narcissist Speaks 
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