The Broken Rose Page
<–Chapter 16 Chapter 18–>
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.
Author’s Note: I mention the “in between/sidestepping” a bit in this chapter. It’s a concept I came up with while writing Northern Lights. This story takes place in sort of an alternative branch to that. I have a whole thing about that, which I won’t bore you with right now, but it’s another “what if” of the already huge “what if” that is my Aeriseph fanfiction. Hopefully, you’ll surmise from the text what the hell I’m talking about (if you haven’t read Northern Lights). I guess I was kind of lazy with writing this in assuming anyone who’d read it would’ve already read that, but it is explained in Chapter 4 of the previous work.
Aeris takes the chance on a more meaningful outing to find a highly coveted item.
A slightly curved, wicker flower basket sitting by a window in sunlight with a shadow underneath. Within the circle of the handle are the words “Chapter 17 Gilding the Lily.”
Much to his guilt, the general loved the days at a time his Aeris would stay in the Gate. Loved for there would his flower be, ensconced in his arms on his lap. Napping or reading or asking him questions, which grew into conversation. Oft times her fingers woven in silver, as she practiced and tried to recall. The way of the braid, and he’d gently re-show her over and over again. She was better with nails, and his were now colored black with the shine of the stars. A void he could study, draped around her, as the Cetra dreamed on his lap. Hers were light pink and shimmered, too. She’d insisted to make them match, and he could not deny his love of the sight: her tiny hand topping his broad. Seeing it curled there seemed so right, a sign of her rightful place. He was her support. He was her protector. This was an absolute.