Author's Note: This is actually nothing I've planned, but rather something done on the spur of the moment, resulting in this REALLY short piece. It was actually for a class, and using a list of words from the chalkboard we had to write a short story. This was the result of my attempt, and I'm actually a little proud of it. I hope anyone who reads this will enjoy it.
Clouds swirling about in a way most fanciful, a dark clothed figure stepped from nowhere, his body coalescing as if from the very light itself. One hand strayed immediately to the blade he wore at his side, despite the difficulty one would have in pulling a sword as long as it from one's waist, grip tightening on the time-worn hilt. The Masamune shifted in its sheath as he recognized his surroundings and drew it slightly in annoyance.
Mako-Green eyes swept the area, taking it in with increasing anger. "How he managed to kill me...again..." he trailed off, voice soft and low with hate. As if to set off his mood, an inversely cheerful sound pushed its way through the billowing abyss of clouds.
"Welcome, Sephiroth." The man cringed, releasing the hilt of his sacred sword. It would be no use to him now, he knew. He and the girl who owned the voice had met in this cliché afterlife too many times for him to entertain the idea of killing her again.
"The Remnants killed him, you know," he stated with a smirk, hoping to gain some small satisfaction from that as he turned about to face the brown-haired young woman. She was seated before a white metal table that one may see on the porch of a high-class farm house, several cups and small plates arrayed before her.
"Yes, they did," she replied, her voice as melodious as it had been in life. "But I sent him back. It was a rather unfair fight." Although still cheery, Sephiroth could hear the scolding intent in her tone.
Muttering discontentedly about life not being fair and prophecies going unfulfilled, he stepped up to the table, knowing she would invite him to do so anyway, and yanked a chair back, the metal skittering across the ground silently. "Would you like some tea? A popover, perhaps?" Aeris asked sweetly, lifting a small white tea pot with ease.
"...I suppose," he conceded, setting his sword against the edge of the table, hand hovering over it long enough to assure himself it wouldn't topple over. As the young woman hummed a merry tune to herself as she went about pouring the once nearly-god-like man a cup of tea, he glared at her. More times than he could remember, he'd cursed his decision to kill her. It had been a good idea at the time, ridding himself of the last Cetra, getting her out of his way. He hadn't counted on being killed, however, and the prospect of sharing the entire afterlife with her was not a bright one. He'd had a chance to return to the Planet, take back what he'd lost, but just as before, Cloud Strife had killed him, sending him back to the fluffy white hell that was Aeris Gainsborough's version of Heaven.
Author's Note: Again, I apologize if it's too short, but I had only 12 minutes in which to write. Please leave a review, no matter how scathing! Thanks!