Paper Tiger Burning

I respectfully credit all Original Creators, namely Squaresoft, which became SquareEnix,for these characters. In this way, I pay homage to my Fandom's Original Creator, and illustrate my Community's belief that Fan Fiction is "fair use". I do not claim to own these characters. I do not make money or gil from using these protected characters, nor do I wish to make money or gil from them. In other words, I am borrowing these characters to entertain the adult fanfiction community, but I am doing so with the highest degree of respect to the engineers, game designers, music makers, and voice actors.




When she told me her eyes had stopped tingling I knew I could safely remove her blindfold. Still, I felt glad day had fallen to night. Her eyes could take the small exercise of a candle flame; gradually I would introduce more light. Great care with this stage prevented harm to her eyes.

I found I really wanted to know the color of her eyes.

“Are you sure?” she asked, her voice less than a whisper. We sat in the living room with a fountain running and the radio on. All afternoon we’d occupied the living room together in comfortable silence. I felt relaxed from such a day, and obscenely grateful she wasn’t a chatterbug.

“I’m positive,” I replied, kneeling in front of her. I had to kneel; she’d chosen to sit on the floor. But this worked out well. I wanted to see her eyes quickly, before she had time to hide herself from me. The first few seconds after someone opened their eyes revealed the most insight into that person’s inner workings. “But if you want to wait, we can wait,” I offered, wondering where my patience came from. I had next to no patience, being so accustomed to getting my own way.

“No, I trust you,” she protested, shaking her head. “I’m just nervous. I haven’t used my eyes yet.” Her hands twisted together and clenched. “What if he did something wrong and I’m really blind? I can’t heal myself very well.”

This made me pause. “You can’t?”

“No, that’s the thing about being an empathic healer; you don’t get to use the power on yourself much.” The girl smiled weakly before giving a cry of frustration. “Oh, it’s like a bandage, isn’t it? Go ahead and rip it off.”

Her attitude made me smile. She was so scared and yet so determined all in one. Brave little thing.

I leaned close to her. I didn’t have to be so close, technically, not even for my anticipated viewing, but I wanted to see something else. Might she startle at finding me so near? Would she show fear? My fingers worked the knot slowly. “We won’t rip it off,” I chastised mildly. “There’s no need. You aren’t blind.”

The girl began to breathe harder. “It’s very frightening that I could believe anything you say,” she declared, still whispering. “You’re a persuasive person, Sephiroth.”

“I’ve worked very hard to be,” I admitted, my smile widening. I found it refreshing to have a person so elegantly and shamelessly bare their throat for me. She didn’t care if I knew her weaknesses. Secrecy and subterfuge didn’t make a fuck to the flower girl.

I drew the tie from around her eyes to stare at her closed lids. Slowly, she opened them…

Her eyes were the color of evergreen, luminous and wide.

She stared into my eyes. Happiness, first.

Gratitude, absolute.

Then…

Outright warmth.

The little flower girl had warmth in her eyes for me. Not lust, not awe, not fear or hate, but warmth.

And…humor?

She giggled. “Sephiroth, you lied to me!”

“I did? When?” Startled, I tilted my head. I hadn’t deliberately lied to her.

“Your hair isn’t grey, it’s silver,” she teased. “White, too.”

“Oh,” I said, unable to think of anything more intelligent. She hadn’t been afraid; that remained all I could focus on.

Another little, delicate giggle escaped her. “But I forgive you. I can’t expect a man to know colors. You’re all colorblind.”

“Are we?” I didn’t know.

“Yes, even more so the big, strapping soldiers,” she continued to tease. “But a gay man might know what puce is.”

I’d never even heard that word so I figured she knew her opinion well for a reason.

“Well, now what?” She asked. Her eyes coasted over me. “Is it my imagination or can I see really well?”

“It isn’t your imagination.” I still reeled from her first reaction to me. Did she have no fear of me at all?

The girl continued to gaze about the room.

“Oh, Planet,” she swore. “Everything is so…sharp.” She put her hands in front of her, palms toward her face. “I have a mole over my heart line,” she murmured.

I put my index finger in front of her face. “Watch my finger,” I instructed. When I had her attention I pushed the digit closer, then farther away from her, watching her focus. Excellent. I saw no tremble of the eyes, a sign that the optic nerve remained weak. She could probably take the light of the gas fireplace. So thinking, I got up and lit it.

“I wonder if I could learn to be as graceful as you,” the girl said as I adjusted the flames.

“The length of my body accentuates poise,” I answered. “You’re already graceful.” It pleased me that she watched how I moved. I preened inwardly.

“If you say,” she murmured.

“I thought you could believe anything I told you.” I found myself smiling at her. Sitting before her, I leaned closer. I felt determined to elicit some sign I could gain her sexual interest. I’d never had to try with a woman; I walked unfamiliar ground here. “Shall I phrase it differently?” Before she could say yes or no, I pulled her eyes to mine and kept them. “You are the most graceful woman I’ve ever met. Now, with mako-accentuated strength, your poise will only increase.”

The girl shivered a little. To my immense gratification, her pupils dilated. Ah, there it was. She could feel something for me; her body responded to my nearness no matter what purity occupied her subtle mind. For the first time I felt relieved to gain a woman’s attention. The newness of it made me heady, made me feel alive.

Point of fact, she made me feel alive. I’d been numb my entire life, and positively apathetic these last six months. Day in and day out meant the same toil, the same stimulus. She breathed fresh air into my lungs and vigor into my body. Her warmth, her scent, her voice, her smile, her very presence chased away dull indifference.

“Is it really so hard,” she said, breaking into my thoughts with her quiet, sweet voice. “Being stronger, better, I mean,” she went on. “It occurs to me the worst part about it is that I don’t want to accidentally hurt someone.”

“I’ll teach you how to avoid that, if you like,” I offered. “You may learn it for a different reason than I did, but the principles are the same.” I extended my arm, putting my hand close to her body. “Grab me.”

Flushing red, she made a grab for my arm.

“Gently,” I said. “You’re very fast now, very strong.”

She slowed. Her fingers gripped my wrist.

“Now,” I said, “squeeze.”

Bruises blossomed underneath her hand. Gasping, she let go.

“Now the other,” I said, giving her my other arm.

“But I’m hurting you!”

“My bruises will be gone by the time you finish protesting,” I said. “Now, go ahead and try again.”

This time her grip felt too weak.

I sighed. “Flower girl, can you accomplish anything without your hands?”

“Not much,” she admitted, looking away from me.

“Then try again.”

Hesitantly, she reached for my wrist. I grabbed hers instead. She gasped. Sitting there, holding her in a gentle but firm clasp, I met her eyes. “Imagine skin is like an egg shell,” I suggested. “You can touch it, caresses it, but when you squeeze you have to put all your pressure down with equal force. Too much and you rupture it.”

She blinked at me. I let her go and she tried again, this time with a normal hold.

“Very good,” I praised. “Sometimes it takes a soldier several weeks to understand this.”

“You’re absolutely scorching hot,” she commented, changing the subject. “That elevated metabolism?”

“We can only assume. Only Hojo knows.” I held out my hands, palms facing her. “Lace your fingers with mine.” She had an easily distracted manner that I would have to work on.

The moment our palms touched I felt her. It came as a shock. Everything that she was wanted to flood inside me. Her compassion, her healing power, welled up at my palms as I attempted to slow the flow of her. “I’m not injured,” I managed to say. “You don’t have to heal me.” By Shiva this felt incredible. Powerful energy dwelt inside the little flower girl, power divergent to mine almost entirely. She had as much love inside her as I had hate, as much kindness as I had cruelty.

“I’m not trying to heal you,” she countered. “Are you trying to do something? I feel your power pressing against me.”

“I think that might be me trying to keep you from leaking into me,” I said, gritting my teeth. “It feels…”

“Odd,” she finished aptly. “But not unpleasant.” Her power abated a bit. “Did that help?”

“Yes, what did you do?”

“I just thought about closing myself off.”

“Keep doing it.”

For a few minutes we sat there, our hands linked. The girl closed her eyes. By degrees her power dampened until all I felt was the coolness of her hands. “Alright,” I said. “You’ve managed to close off now.”

Breathing hard, the girl opened her eyes. “You’re really quite raw and passionate behind your cool facade, aren’t you? You seem to remain so composed all the time but…”

She had no idea how truly she spoke. “I learned from a very early age not to expose myself,” I admitted. “Lack of control for me means absolute mayhem for everyone else. Nibelheim comes to mind.”

“Large personalities make large mistakes,” the flower girl said, neither condemning nor supporting my past. She looked at our hands. “What are we doing here?”

“You’re going to push against me, test your strength.” I pressed her back a little as impetus. She automatically shoved back, nearly knocking me over. I found this an excellent sign of her instinctual, inner warrior.

“Oh!” She tried to let go of my hands but I held her fast.

“That was good,” I said. “Now do it harder.”

“But-.”

“Do it,” I insisted.

As she pushed me, I pushed her. Her strength had definitely grown. Though I had much more than she, I felt the difference between her and the average woman. She now had the power of two large men. With the blessing of feminine flexibility she would make a formidable showing in any sort of combat.

“Alright,” I said, letting up. “Very good. Do you feel the increased potency of your muscles?”

“I feel it,” she confirmed, her eyes wide. She disengaged from me and sat, breathing hard. I tried and succeeded at not looking at her heaving breasts. She tempted me, this sweet little flower girl. I missed having her blindfolded, just a little; now I couldn’t ogle her at my leisure.

“There’s something else,” I said. “You’ve been without your sight long enough to increase your awareness of your other senses. You’re going to have to learn how to block outside stimulus at will. It will be difficult.”

“You mean, like we had to do just a few minutes ago?” She bit her lip. “You rallied to that rather well.”

“I think on my feet,” I replied dryly. “But my force of will is usually enough to filter out the world. It is only lately that I’ve had trouble with it.”

She leveled her gaze at me. Deep, deep comprehension gleamed in her forest green eyes. “Not everyone can be ‘on’ all of the time. You need a rest.”

“I usually get a lot of rest when I’m dead,” I said, being flippant.

Her lips twitch. “You’re awful,” she said, her voice not entirely stern.

“I thought I was a musician?”

“You know what I mean,” she returned. Her eyes fell to my hands. “And you really should be a musician.”

“I make music with a sword. Screams and metal going through flesh have their own harmony.”

The flower girl shuddered and looked away. Perhaps I’d been too candid. “I apologize, flower girl,” I began, but her head whipped back around.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “You are what you are, Sephiroth. I wouldn’t have the shadows, but they have to exist for the good light to have any meaning. You fulfill a purpose.”

Surprised, I leaned back to stare at her. “Do you mean that?”

“I never say what I don’t mean.” Her gaze upon me turned soft. “Just don’t think you can’t be anything but a killer. You have more dimensions than that. Hojo may have wanted, trained a perfect soldier, but you have your own personality and desires in there too.”

I wanted to kiss her so badly it made my lips burn. Rather than give in and frighten her, I settled for smiling. “Empathic healing must be an extraordinary gift,” I murmured. “You know me very well and I’ve had charge of you less than two full days.”

“I listen very well,” was her enigmatic reply. “I’ve listened my whole life.”