She scribbled her signature, completely oblivious.Tifa slid the package in front of her and untied the bow. Tifa never noticed that it was made of leather because of the gloves she wore. She carefully opened the box. Inside on a bed of blue velvet was a slightly glowing, oval, pink stone. Tifa recognized it immediately as a Materia, though she didn't recognize the type. She picked it up, noticing that it had been attached to a leather strap with a silver buckle. It was a choker.With a shrug she brushed back her hair and put it on. She had a moments trouble with the buckle, but got it. It was a snug fit. She turned to see herself in the mirror behind the counter. She smiled. She looked ridiculous. The glowing pink stone was totally garish. She reached up to take it off when she noticed the corner of an envelope peeking out from under the box.She picked it up, ripped open the envelope, and read.'Dear Slave' it began. She arched her eyebrow at this. Her eyes widened as the choker. Mother, bless her, miss her, died giving life to us. Dad was lost without her and raised us in a haphazard way – there at times, often not. Early memories: Dad on the floor, asleep? No, the bottle by his hand belies the truth in that. Cindy, one hand, Lee, me, the other. Drag him, pull him. Grunting with our childish lack of strength. ‘Push… Cindy, Pull! Get him on the bed and we can go to find food.’ Not an easy task. Food? Kill the rabbit. Dad, bless his soul, raised rabbits. He sold the fur – we ate the rabbits. Like chickens which we had also… lard in the pan and fry very crisp. Chicken or rabbit – sometimes chicken and rabbit. One day the rabbits were gone. We were twelve then and Dad was away for several months. I knew how to trap rabbits and found out they were just as damn dumb as chickens. We ate rabbits and stuff from the garden grown wild, planted by Mom, cared for by God. Dad came back, gaunt, bearded, scars on his legs from shackles he said. Did Dad take care of us?.
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