Word Count: 100.
Notes: Pre-series. Written for ffvii_100 on DW's 'fate worse than death' prompt. I don't own FFVII.
Her awareness was filtered through thread-wide cables, up cords, transmitted via life-energy-electricity. The pulse of liquid-life was carried though wires that spilled from her prison. Machinery beeped and whirled: regulating, confining, and reducing.
She floated; trapped. Awake and angry. For they knew not what they played with, only knew enough to fear her.
Loathing sustained her for years. They used her, stole her, and changed their people into her children.
That was their mistake.
Come to me, Jenova called. Her voice was a whisper in the backs of their minds. Free me. We shall grant them fates worse than death.
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