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FFVIII: Into Darkness
Fandom: Final Fantasy VIII
Pairing: None
Warnings: Angst, death
Rating: PG
Summary: Quistis has fallen.
Quistis had fallen in battle. She knew that, somewhere beyond the pain and the general feeling that she was somewhere else, somewhere far away. She heard them talking to her, understood that they were concerned, but their words went by her, like meaningless sounds. She couldn't hold onto them for long before they escaped her grasp, leaving her dumb as she couldn't even form snatches of response. None of it made any sense.
She was dying, and she knew that, but it didn't seem to have much relevance. She felt them trying to cure her, and tried to tell them that it was useless. Cure the wound, drive out the poison; those were things they could do. But not even magic could replace the guts she knew had spilled out of her. They could push them back in all they liked, but she felt everything in her already breaking down, liquifying, and she couldn't bring herself to care.
She knew that the rasping of her breath meant that her windpipe was damaged. Or maybe her lungs. But that didn't seem important either.
When one of them lifted her in his arms, she blinked, trying to clear the haze to see who it was. But she knew from the touch of slick, cool leather on her cheek that it was Squall. She tried to open her mouth to tell him, no, beg him to let her go.
But she didn't need to.
He cradled her for a moment, stroking her hair, trying to make her passing easier for them both. He whispered a sleep spell to send her into a lesser darkness, and then, quietly, at a loss for anything else, found the artery on her neck and, taking a deep breath, sliced at it, sending her into darkness forever.
He sat there for a long time, cradling the broken body, and hating himself for his mercy.
Pairing: None
Warnings: Angst, death
Rating: PG
Summary: Quistis has fallen.
Quistis had fallen in battle. She knew that, somewhere beyond the pain and the general feeling that she was somewhere else, somewhere far away. She heard them talking to her, understood that they were concerned, but their words went by her, like meaningless sounds. She couldn't hold onto them for long before they escaped her grasp, leaving her dumb as she couldn't even form snatches of response. None of it made any sense.
She was dying, and she knew that, but it didn't seem to have much relevance. She felt them trying to cure her, and tried to tell them that it was useless. Cure the wound, drive out the poison; those were things they could do. But not even magic could replace the guts she knew had spilled out of her. They could push them back in all they liked, but she felt everything in her already breaking down, liquifying, and she couldn't bring herself to care.
She knew that the rasping of her breath meant that her windpipe was damaged. Or maybe her lungs. But that didn't seem important either.
When one of them lifted her in his arms, she blinked, trying to clear the haze to see who it was. But she knew from the touch of slick, cool leather on her cheek that it was Squall. She tried to open her mouth to tell him, no, beg him to let her go.
But she didn't need to.
He cradled her for a moment, stroking her hair, trying to make her passing easier for them both. He whispered a sleep spell to send her into a lesser darkness, and then, quietly, at a loss for anything else, found the artery on her neck and, taking a deep breath, sliced at it, sending her into darkness forever.
He sat there for a long time, cradling the broken body, and hating himself for his mercy.