Rufus was reading through a journal Hojo kept on the childhood of Sephiroth. Something the Turks dug out during their occasional trip to Midgar to see what was left. To see if there was anything that shouldn't fall into the wrong hands. After reading a few entries, his gaze drifted around, unseeing, as he imagined it. Awful. It must have been awful. The first emotion that joined him on this ride was going to be pity. He continued reading.

Hojo wrote next about removing the mat on the floor. Rufus had to catch himself before moving on. A mat? He had first imagined a mat that he had at one of his childhood homes. But it couldn't be something as nice as that. The previous entries described what sounded like a storage room. No windows. No carpet. Not even tile. And when you take away what little one has, it's even more pitiable.

Next, the sheets. Rufus grimaced, and not from the Geostigma for once. How little must Sephiroth have had in that room for Hojo to remove something as basic as the sheets? Rufus closed his eyes for a moment, disbelieving that he was feeling such pity for the man who tried to take over the world for his own evil ends, not caring who died in the process.

Then, the pillow. And the mattress soon after. Each thing taken, each entry, was like climbing a rung down into a darkening pit of despair. Maybe a long-forgotten well. Something spooky. Despair got into the seat next to pity and Rufus continued.

Rufus flipped through the entries and found no mention of Sephiroth interacting with anyone his own age. Could it be that this necessity wasn't there to begin with and therefore, couldn't be stripped of him? Oh, my goodness. What did Sephiroth have growing up? Besides his sword?

On a particularly bad day, Hojo shaved Sephiroth's head. Rufus' hand went to his own hair. He combed his fingers through what wasn't underneath a bandage. Down in this well of despair, being annoyed about being overdue for a haircut felt childish. Rufus tried to imagine Sephiroth without his hair and couldn't. Hojo continued to write in this entry that the boy didn't cry until he went to sleep. Crying in his sleep, perhaps? Only able to let it out in his dreams? Rufus paused at this part, lowering the journal and staring off into the space in front of him again.

Anger got into the seat next to pity. It's clear who was at fault for starting all this. Hojo. He had created a monster. He had deprived Sephiroth of any opportunity to be a human being and the poor boy was forced to grow into a monster. The journal started to bend in his hand as he gripped it with increasing force. Rufus had let Hojo remain on the board after he took over. His board.

Full body of Tokachi!

Cuerpo completo de tokachi!

🍵💙🍵💙🍵💙🍵💙🍵

Another August piece.