She’d slept peacefully through the night despite the cold. In fact, she didn’t wake until almost midday. Her bright blue eyes only open when the sun’s path has reached its highest point. Last night, she’d curled up beneath the trees to a brown and gray winter landscape. Now it’s all white and pristine, like something straight out of a painting. Jenova hurries to rise from her makeshift bed and trots into a more open area to see just how much had fallen.
It is the first snowfall of the year and she is delighted to be near the river during times like this. The current cuts a line through the snow drifts and she can see the flurries have collected up to knee height in some places around her. She smiles as she spreads her wings to catch the little flakes on her feathers where they either blend into the white patches or create pale freckles on the powder blue splotches across her. While the lazy days of summer were always enjoyable, she thinks that winter might be her favorite time of the year. Lounging in a lake while the cicadas cry out nearby just can’t compare to kicking up the snow and watching the way her breath puffs in front of her.
With a flap of her wings, all the little crystalline snowflakes she’d collected swirl around her before they join the others on the ground. Jenova begins to trudge forward but she’s careful not to lift her legs too high. Two grooves form in the snow behind her until she finds a flat patch of land. She continues scooting along, forming different shapes until her legs grow tired from the effort. The white puffs of her breath slowly calm as she bows her head down, etching different pictures of herself and her past friends in the snow with her horn. She lifts her head once she’s finished and bursts into laughter at the pitiful attempt. They’re absolutely terrible. Someone should pay her not to do their portrait.
Still, among her sketches she’s drawn her parents. Even though they don’t resemble them in the slightest, it makes it a little easier to remember their faces. She misses them terribly but she’s not one to complain. Instead, she reflects on her memories and cherishes them. Jenova gives a little toss of her head to brush the light blue and white forelock from her pretty face. Somewhere in the distance, a bird chirps in annoyance, but the world is otherwise hushed around her. Everything is at peace.
It is the first snowfall of the year and she is delighted to be near the river during times like this. The current cuts a line through the snow drifts and she can see the flurries have collected up to knee height in some places around her. She smiles as she spreads her wings to catch the little flakes on her feathers where they either blend into the white patches or create pale freckles on the powder blue splotches across her. While the lazy days of summer were always enjoyable, she thinks that winter might be her favorite time of the year. Lounging in a lake while the cicadas cry out nearby just can’t compare to kicking up the snow and watching the way her breath puffs in front of her.
With a flap of her wings, all the little crystalline snowflakes she’d collected swirl around her before they join the others on the ground. Jenova begins to trudge forward but she’s careful not to lift her legs too high. Two grooves form in the snow behind her until she finds a flat patch of land. She continues scooting along, forming different shapes until her legs grow tired from the effort. The white puffs of her breath slowly calm as she bows her head down, etching different pictures of herself and her past friends in the snow with her horn. She lifts her head once she’s finished and bursts into laughter at the pitiful attempt. They’re absolutely terrible. Someone should pay her not to do their portrait.
Still, among her sketches she’s drawn her parents. Even though they don’t resemble them in the slightest, it makes it a little easier to remember their faces. She misses them terribly but she’s not one to complain. Instead, she reflects on her memories and cherishes them. Jenova gives a little toss of her head to brush the light blue and white forelock from her pretty face. Somewhere in the distance, a bird chirps in annoyance, but the world is otherwise hushed around her. Everything is at peace.
JENOVA
And in my dreams you're alive and you're crying,
As your mouth moves in mine, soft and sweet.
And in my dreams you're alive and you're crying,
As your mouth moves in mine, soft and sweet.