Tifa crawled into bed, using the last of her energy to pull the covers over her chilled skin. The boiler was out again. The workers were on strike. She would have to suffer for at least a week until a repairman would come, that is, hoping the strike was over by then. At least the kids did not have to suffer, Barret having taken them away. Small mercies, Tifa thought, that the boiler had chosen the start of the children's week off school to blow out with a final groan.

Barret had used the boiler as an excuse.

As soon as he got a good look at Tifa he had decided to take Denzel and Marlene away. Marlene rushing to present her half coloured picture of their ramshackle family and Denzel pressing a kiss to her chin then accepting the bag of cookies from her before escaping with plans of mischief and adventure.

Just for the night, he had said. Tifa suggested they go for the week.

If Cloud had been home she would have just asked him to fit in a new boiler.

She had not seen him for over a month.

Even under the covers the draught reached her, windows as thin as gossamer veils offering no protection. Fingers that had agonised through icy water to wash the dishes were now numb, puppet fingers, not her own. November wind seeped through the thick duvet and her clothes, prickling her skin into a new layer of goose bumps. It blew against the bricks, creating ghostly life within the walls of the house. Creaks and groans that only existed on nights like these. When she was alone in bed. Alone, just alone.

Imaginary friends?

No. Friends were warmth and light and strength.

When was the last time she had experienced that?

She did not hear the footsteps, the shutting of a door, the aching bed springs.

She was always cold these days. Her light had flickered out long ago. She hadn't even noticed. A gradual dimming? Perhaps. She should have been used to it, growing up in Nibelheim, once upon a time finding comfort in nature nipping at her skin, breathing on her, around her, through her. Ensuring she was alive. Feeling.

Switching the lamp off, she snatched her arm back against her body without actually touching herself. Resigned to the fact that nightmares would plague her.

Tension plagued her body all day, drawing up her bones like a highly strung harp. One snap is all it would have taken. Barret noticed.

So, off they went in his van, the children filled with grins and laughter in their tummies and bags, making sure they had an abundant supply for where they were going. They left none behind.

Tifa and a grey building.

Tifa and a grey building and ghosts.

She fell asleep with an image of Marlene's drawing to give her sweet dreams. Dreams, she hoped, of the man with gold hair.

XxXxXxX

Red

Flames eating the world, reducing everything to ash. Stars blinked out of existence. The sky, black, turned its back on them. It would not watch the destruction, would not save them. Morning would come and stretch over a wasteland. The sky would shine elsewhere.

Red

Eyes taking in hell. Why was she here? Papa was right, she was a bad girl. Her fault, it was all her fault, Mama going to tend to God's garden, she didn't want her anymore, Papa, always so tired and hardworking and stressed, burdened by a four-foot girl, she should have known better, why didn't she know? She deserved it, she should have helped, what could she do with bloodied knuckles? The boys touching her, too healthy, it was her fault. Beauty was a sin, Papa screamed, spit assaulting her. But, Mama was beautiful. Was that why she was lowered into the dirt, face and body shrouded in white? Too beautiful for the world? She should have stopped her body, stopped it, covered it, destroyed it. The demon helped. He was not successful. The little boy, her guardian angel, could not stand her, ran away, forced into a corner. Hero? Not to her, anyone but her, a green eyed beauty, a gem, his gem. The little boy turned man, still hiding, still laden with spoiled words, a fractured promise. Too much, too many times, no more, no more, it was her time, she had to save herself.

Heroes get tired, too.

Red

All over her, leaking out like euphoric bliss. Spilling through the cracks between her fingers, her lips. Her own unique brand of lipstick. Beautiful sin. Painting her skin. Art. He stood over her, the titan, artist. A smirk? Sneer? She was not good enough. He had better work.

But he could help. Take away the inconvenience, ease the world's pain. Save a mother and a father, spare a hopeless boy's mind, send a daughter to her mother in God's garden. Bloodied knuckles could dig and dig and dig all the dirt. Save clean hands.

And there it was, the cloaked demon with its sword, right there, right in front of her. Cold. The fire a distant roar. She was cold. The world shook. It looked at her. Drums in her ears, in her heart, in her hands.

Where was it going? The fire ate it. Spat it out the other end. Split in the middle. Bodies. Children. A baby.

Red skin.

The drums took her lungs. The red burned her eyes.

Dead on the ashy ground. No home. No family. No one. Dead. Her sin was living. Her punishment was life.

The demon

XxXxXxX

Terrors stayed in the mind, the cursed subconscious free to play in slumber.

It woke her, drenching her in a sweat that soaked the sheets. Tifa inhaled the cold damp, shivering and sniffling. It was over, she would not sleep peacefully for the rest of the night, perhaps not again, yet her body did not relax as it usually did once she had experienced the pain of her demented past.

The building rasped and shadows moved. Her stomach sunk, falling and falling until the room spun and she tore through the mattress with her grip as she stubbornly held on as her body swayed.

Scuttling. Black rose from the corner, scampering up the wall and spreading, up the bed, something not quite spiders, not quite scorpions, but a mutation of creatures snapping teeth and jaws and tail. On her legs, her arms, in her hair. Puppet fingers, not her own, scratched at her skin, drawing deep red lines.

A sinister chuckle cut through her whimpers. The monsters surrounded her, but not touching.

Her nightmare had spilled into reality.

The Winter wind peeled away the duvet, icy fingers crawling up her skin. It curled around her neck, her body tight and rigid. Shadowed eyes looked up into black. All colour was drained, Marlene's picture drooping in grey. No more gold hair. Had her dream sucked it out, the only place he was safe?

Claws ripping through skin, freeing blood and organs and air. Sweat on her skin and tears from her eyes.

She deserved this.

Fire ate the floor, crawled up the walls. Hot. But the cold hand remained, frozen clamped around her neck. It pressed harder.

Seventh Heaven stood in the pit of hell she had conjured. It was her, she was destroying this place. When the kids were away and safe and Cloud was recovering peacefully. She allowed herself to die.

But it would not let her.

A crash. Barret's van burst through the window. His body embracing a chunk of glass slicing through him. Marlene covered in bruises. Denzel with black discharge. A colourless Cloud. The fire engulfed them, slowly.

The mirror across from her rippled like the disturbed waters in a lake. Unnatural glowing eyes. It waved.

Tifa screamed. Fingers squeezed the column of her neck, choking her. Her own pulled away, punching the space around her until it materialised, nose grazing her face as its teeth sunk into flesh and a sword pierced through her chest, wounding, but not killing. She was its dummy.

Gold light blasted through the door. It chased away the looming shadows, tamed the fire into little flickers until they blew out like candles. Her demon vanished, flying to safety until she was defenceless.

She kicked and yelled at the phantom sensations that lingered, ignoring the hands, warm and gentle, that pulled her up.

"Tifa!"

Familiar. Cerise eyes opened, scrambling to the edge of the bed, almost falling off in her haste. No Marlene, or Denzel, or Barrett. Their blood did not stain the floor. Exhaling a breath, she shuddered. They were alive and safe, away from her.

But what if they weren't?

Marlene and Denzel crushed under metal, oil blending with blood, glass doll eyes staring as she watched on, helpless, drip drip drip flicker BOOM

"No. No!"

Something shrill in her head, an alarm, a cry, something. Head between her hands, she pressed and pressed until it felt as if she would crush her skull. Her babies, her darlings, dead and burned in a ditch, buried amongst the remains of monsters. Burning hair and melting flesh. She could smell them dying.

Her fault.

"Stop! Just stop. Leave them. Kill me already, just DO IT!"

"Tifa!"

The light broke through the noise. Silence. At last. No creaks or groans or whispers. No laughter. Nothing.

Was she dead?

She wished.

Her reflection met her in the mirror. Was it her? She almost recoiled. It was her. A new her.

Who was she?

"Tifa."

The body that belonged to that voice did not touch her this time.

"Where are they?"

"Who?"

"My kids."

My kids. Not theirs.

"Barrett took them."

How did he know? It didn't matter. He knew and they were safe and he was here and she was alive and awake.

But for how long?

"Hi."

She thought she saw his lip curve up into something of a smile. A twitch, maybe. It didn't last long.

"Hi. Alright?"

Her throat was too dry for a response, so she settled for shaking her head. Bad move. Her neck throbbed at the twist of skin, her hair rubbing against the sores.

Cloud frowned, she must have flinched, hissed, something. He pulled her hair behind her shoulder, revealing several raw and bloodied scratches.

"Tifa…"

"What?"

"Did you…"

"What?"

It was almost as if Tifa had sucked in all the moisture only to release it through her pores. Cloud licked his lips, once, twice. Not sufficient enough for words to slide off his tongue.

Jumping off the bed, he crossed the room to the door, stopping abruptly before pivoting on the spot and tucking the duvet around Tifa, ensuring no skin was bare to the harsh chill. While he was gone Tifa wiggled toes she did not feel. A silent shadow flew across the wall, dancing past her. She shut her eyes, squeezing them and hoping her brain would just stop. It was not real, she knew that. So, why was she hurting herself like this?

Because she deserved it.

Tifa could dream with her eyes open, fill the hollowness of reality with a fantasy of death and destruction. A puppet.

"My fault…it's all my fault…I'm a monster…what's happened to me? Who am I? Horrible person…deserve every pain…pathetic."

Cloud returned, perching himself beside her. Gently, he peeled away the cover, taking note of all her wounds. She took the potions in his hand, sighing as her skin pulled together leaving only thin pink lines.

Tired and restless, she lay back down on the sweat dampened sheets. The morning sun would rise in a few hours and so would she. A run, some cleaning, a bit of grocery shopping, changing the blinking lightbulb in the bar, oil the squeaking cupboard. She was sure Marlene had mentioned a mouse hole in her room, another thing to add to her list. Then she would prepare the tables and bar, have meals ready for the customers and spend her evening listening to the woes of many broken souls, most broken by her sins. It was only right that she was the one to listen and offer consoling hums and nods. Suffer through a pitying grope or two before swinging them out of her bar with a warning spitting off her tongue.

Then, once the mess was all cleared and she had showered and brushed her teeth after a dinner of toast, maybe, she would go to sleep and surrender to the loneliness the night brought her.

In the morning, she would start all over again. No children to keep her plastic smile in place and a thrum in her breast.

The mattress shifted as a weight moved up the bed. He was still there.

"How long have you been having these nightmares?"

She shrugged. Her life was a nightmare. Why should sleep be any different?

"I'm…I'm worried. I want to help. Please, Teef."

Some time ago hearing those words would have made her tear up. When had she lost faith? She disgusted herself.

This was Cloud. He was unstable, restless. Who knew how long he would stay? No, she could not run him off faster with her problems. Problems that she did not even consider problems. They were her way of life, a permanent fixture she had to deal with herself. She earned it. Dragging Cloud along would only hurt him, and in turn her, further. And the kids. She could not do that to them.

As if sensing the direction of her wayward thoughts Cloud rest his hand on where he guessed her shoulder to be.

"I'm here, now. I want to be here. Running away…I can't anymore." He sighed. "It hurts. No more. I can't do that to you anymore, or Denzel and Marlene. I want to try. With…you."

Could she let him? After all he had been through, the abuse, physical and mental, all the expectations thrust onto him, onto his little boy's shoulders, the torture that rattled his brain into oblivion. She was meant to be the rock of the family. Solid and still. A wall, keeping everyone in and together. It was her shoulder that people leant on. Where they picked themselves up after a short respite. She was the encouraging nudge and forceful words and firm hand. She couldn't afford to crumble.

As always, her face fixed into her Tifa smile, the mask pieced together like patchwork. Peering over her shoulder, she got her first good look at him since his arrival. Golden halo and blue eyes.

"I'm here. Always."

With that, she turned to face the window, looking up for stars that shied away from her terrified and hopeful eyes. The bed sunk under Cloud's weight. A brief draught before his warmth engulfed her, his arms holding her to him. She felt him breathe her in, his lips grazing her shoulder, what she thought might have been a kiss. Greetings, farewell. It was all the same to her. She did not expect it to last long.

"You're Tifa." His words rang in her head, confusing her until she caught up to her previous words. He had heard. "You're my Tifa."