The Sleeping Flower

The church was never really silent. Wind whispered through broken rafters, old wood creaked, and leaves rustled as Aerith’s flowers swayed in the afternoon light. Sunlight streamed through the shattered ceiling in golden shafts, dust motes dancing like little stars. The air smelled of earth and blossoms and something faintly sweet—a promise that had no business thriving in the Sector 5 slums.

But today there was an extra sound.

A rhythmic, delicate snore.

Cloud Strife stepped through the gap in the wall and stopped so fast Tifa nearly walked into his back. She peeked around his shoulder, a basket of supplies balanced on her hip.

“Aerith?” Tifa called, warm and casual. “We brought some—uh.”

She trailed off.

Aerith Gainsborough stood in the middle of her flower bed, arms hanging loose at her sides, chin slightly lifted, eyes wide open. Completely still. So still Tifa thought for a second she was posing for some kind of performance art.

“Is she… daydreaming?” Tifa asked, stepping around Cloud. “Aerith? Hey, we brought lunch. And that soil mix Elmyra said you wanted.”

No response. Aerith’s green eyes stared straight ahead, unfocused and glassy. A soft breeze stirred her pink ribbon, but she didn’t blink.

Cloud’s sharp gaze narrowed. He tilted his head, listening. “She’s asleep.”

Tifa turned to him, eyebrows raised. “What? No, she’s standing upright. Her eyes are open.”

“She’s snoring,” Cloud said flatly.

Tifa listened. A faint, steady hmmmm-hrrrrm escaped Aerith’s slightly parted lips. Barely audible over the rustling flowers, but once you heard it, you couldn’t unhear it.

“Oh my god,” Tifa breathed. She set down the basket and walked closer, waving a hand in front of Aerith’s face. “Aerith? Hellooo?”

Nothing. Not a flicker. Aerith’s gaze remained fixed on some distant, invisible horizon. Her chest rose and fell in a slow, peaceful rhythm.

“This is…” Tifa struggled for the right word. “Impressive. How is she doing that?”

Cloud crossed his arms, frowning. “Don’t know. But we should wake her up. She’ll fall over eventually.”

Tifa stepped closer, keeping her voice gentle. “Aerith. Wake up. You’re standing in dirt.”

She tapped her shoulder lightly.

Aerith stirred. Her lips moved, and a mumble emerged, thick with sleep. “No… the chocobo… it’s got my materia… tell it to put it back…”

Then she went still again, still standing, still snoring softly.

Tifa looked back at Cloud with a mix of amusement and concern. “She’s sleepwalking. And sleep-talking. This is a new one.”

Cloud uncrossed his arms and walked over, his boots crunching on scattered petals. He stood directly in front of Aerith, studying her face. Her eyes were open, but her gaze was utterly blank. A faint, peaceful smile curved the corners of her mouth.

“Aerith,” he said, low and measured. “Wake up.”

No response.

He raised his voice slightly. “Aerith.”

She mumbled again, this time something about “planting flowers in the sky” and “the moon needs daisies.” Her head lolled slightly to one side, but she didn’t fall. Her knees must have locked in place like a soldier’s.

“We need to move her to the bench,” Tifa said, gesturing toward the old wooden pew near the altar. “She can’t stand here all day.”

Cloud nodded. Tifa moved to Aerith’s left side and reached for her arm. “Okay, let’s just guide her gently. A little nudge should—”

She took Aerith’s arm and pulled. Aerith’s body went limp—so suddenly Tifa gasped. But she didn’t collapse. Instead she leaned like a ragdoll, her spine curving impossibly, her feet still planted in the dirt. Her balance was bizarre, like she’d become a human tripod.

“How is she doing that?” Cloud asked, his flat tone betrayed by a flicker of genuine puzzlement.

“I have no idea,” Tifa said, trying to grip Aerith’s shoulders. “She’s completely relaxed, but she’s not falling. It’s like her legs have a mind of their own.”

They tried to steer her. Cloud took one arm, Tifa the other. They attempted to walk her toward the bench, but Aerith’s feet shuffled only a few inches before stopping, as if the flower bed was her home and she refused to leave.

In her sleep, she started talking again. “The sky is so blue… we should plant more flowers up there… the clouds will water them…”

“I’m not sure if I should be touched or terrified,” Tifa admitted.

Cloud grunted. He was losing patience. He stepped in front of Aerith, bent slightly, and hooked his arms under her knees and back. With a smooth motion, he lifted her off the ground.

For a moment, she hung limply in his arms, still snoring.

Then her eyes snapped open.

Cloud froze. Tifa stepped back, uncertain. But Aerith’s gaze was still unfocused, still dreaming. Without any conscious coordination, her arms looped around his neck, and her legs—her legs wrapped around his waist, locking him in a full-body sleep hug. Her head dropped onto his shoulder, and she sighed contentedly.

“Mmm… soft…” she murmured.

Cloud stood rigid, his arms still supporting her, his face a perfect mask of flustered deadpan. He looked like a man being hugged to death by a very friendly cat.

Tifa stared. Her lips twitched. She bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to laugh. “Well. That’s one way to wake up.”

“Get her off me,” Cloud said, his voice strained.

“I’m trying,” Tifa said, stepping forward. She grabbed Aerith’s wrists, trying to pry them apart. But Aerith’s grip was surprisingly strong—the grip of someone who hauled flower pots and fought monsters for a living. Her fingers didn’t budge.

“She’s like a vice,” Tifa said, now chuckling. “I can’t—this is ridiculous.”

Cloud took a step toward the bench, but Aerith’s legs tightened, and her weight shifted awkwardly. He stumbled sideways, his boot catching the edge of a flower bed. He pitched forward, arms still full of sleeping florist, and nearly face-planted into a patch of yellow blossoms.

He caught himself at the last second, wobbling.

Tifa lost it. She doubled over, one hand on her knee, tears streaming from her eyes. “I—I can’t—you look—you look like a chocobo being mauled by a moogle!”

Cloud’s face flushed. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s hilarious,” Tifa wheezed, sliding down to sit on the ground, her laughter echoing through the church.

Cloud managed to shuffle to the bench, Aerith still clinging to him. He lowered himself carefully, trying to peel her off, but she had locked herself into position. Finally, with a sharp twist and a grunt, he managed to dislodge her legs and lay her across the wooden seat.

She landed with a soft thump, her snoring continuing for a moment. Then her eyes fluttered.

Aerith blinked. She looked up at Cloud, then at Tifa, who was still wiping laughter from her eyes. Her gaze drifted between their flushed faces, Cloud’s ruffled hair, Tifa’s teary smile.

She sat up slowly, patting her hair. “Did I miss something fun?”

Cloud straightened his jacket, avoiding eye contact. Tifa opened her mouth, closed it, then shook her head.

“Nope,” she said, her voice too bright. “Nothing at all.”

Cloud echoed, “Nothing.”

Aerith tilted her head, a playful glint in her eyes. “Uh-huh. Sure. Anyway, do you want to see the new flower I grew? It’s blue. I call it a sky petal.”

Tifa stood up, brushing dirt off her skirt. “I’d love to.”

Cloud let out a long breath, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders. The three of them stood among the flowers, the sunlight warm and forgiving. The church was quiet again, save for the rustling petals and the fading echo of laughter.

And Aerith, blissfully unaware, led them toward a patch of blue blossoms, chattering about moon daisies and chocobos.