sephiroth is the kind of guy you'd keep a picture of in a locket you wear going to war

you'll look at his picture and smile, the warmest tears you've ever shed rolling down your face, the only regret you die with being that you'll never get to see him again

he's the kind of beautiful that you see once and never forget, the kind that'll never be a memory, the kind that consumes, the kind you'd willingly be consumed by, the one and only

you'll die remembering his name and nothing more

wishing he was there

but he isn't. he arrives when you're already gone. too late.

on the pale snow, your blood spreads, a stream of crimson flowers blooming across the winter

on his pale hands, staining them a cruel red

too late

too late.

your hand clutches your locket with a passionate intensity, even in death.

and he cries, salty pearls, delicate, delicately gorgeous

his ethereality sits in the darkness of death,

an angel kneeling by your side

his silver locks liquid moonlight spilling across the white snow

his chapped lips whispering your name

sacred, lost

never to return

he brings your hand to his lips

a parting kiss

as he lies in the snow, unable to feel its coldness

next to you