Everyone knew nothing really grew in Midgar, but Aerith could put the lie to that rumor with ease, make the slums bloom with everything from carnations to carrots. Now she was leaving all her flowers and their whispering voices behind, and would they wither without her, their voices slowly draining away into Midgar's reactors?

Aerith's boots paused along a dusty road outside of Midgar: by her foot was the shriveled remains of something that might have been a flower once. She bent to touch it, asking softly are you there? but all she got back was the rattle of a dead thing.