[A/N: Here's a taste of my next and forthcoming story; a tragic love story between two battered souls; that of Vincent and Tifa. I'm planning for a lot of darkness and melancholy; so if you're in a dark mood, this just might be the story for you. Rated R for violence and maybe some sexual situations. Please, read, review, but mostly, enjoy.] …...... [A/N part deux: As some of you may know, I've left this story on pause for quite a while. I've decided to go through and tweak it grammatically here and there, being that I've had some time to mature in context and style. Each chapter will have minor changes, however the concept and plot will remain the same.]

..x.X.x. Prologue .x.X.x..

Often had she heard the lonely echos of melancholy in the depths of the night- throughout her life, she had become quite used to it. The voice had probed her mind and painted dark pictures in her memory. Her dreams were sometimes consumed by nothing but the sadness and loss that resounded in the mournful cries.

She wasn't even sure if the voice was meant for her to acknowledge; but maybe that was just her heart trying to persuade her that it wasn't meant for her ears. She tried to shut the voice out of her mind, out of her life, but to no avail.

It always writhed into her senses, leaving her barren and cold, feeling just as lonely as the voice had sounded.

When she was younger, she would often wake up to the nightmarish music that seemed to call her name. It first came to her soon after her mother had died, and when she told the others around her (those who proclaimed to be her friends) they merely said she was suffering from mental fatigue over her mother's death- that she simply wished to hear the voice of her mother once again.

She would smile and say no more, wishing to accept this as fact. As much as her mind argued to make it the truth, her heart knew differently. For a start, the voice was nothing like her mother's. It was deep and melodic, and felt very much alive, as if the sound and laments contained their own pulses of life.

Secondly it was a man, somewhere in this world or the next, in her reality or her fantasy, that was trying to reach for her or whoever he was yearning for.

Now, so many years later, those deeply haunting dreams had returned, and they were just as sullen and touching as she had so vibrantly remembered.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.