poetry was meant for such lips. philosophical questions however , it brought a pause to movements except for that of eyes which zeroed in on his companion's face. in any other instance he would have been amused. in fact , sephiroth was amused but only slightly ; his thoughts were primarily dominated with solemn introspection. he did not like it. not that it was the philosophy itself for he spent plenty of time ( too much time ) between training , battle , and deep thought. he was a recluse. a hermit. a prodigal son with no path other than glory and bloodshed until angael hewley and genesis rhapsodos @theomachst brought upon his metamorphosis — laughter , friendship , a place of belonging.
the first he ever experienced in life and the last.
everyone knew him as the silver general first , perhaps as sephiroth second , but most certainly as human last. even in sephiroth's own eyes he saw himself as a symbol and a a solider before a man with dreams , desires , and heartache. his two friends saw him for the vulnerable person he was , and that , frankly , unsettled sephiroth. he wanted to appear strong. always strong. he knew there was only one way to appease genesis . . the damned spitfire would pester him until something genuine would be ripped free , wouldn't he? sephiroth sighed both at the probing question and at his own lack of response. simply saying i'm human. i'm me would not be enough. the weapon that was more man at that point tore his gaze away and crossed his arms against his chest ; he could not face his friend as the truth spilled. a stupid and ugly truth.
❛ i don't know, genesis. if i'm not a SOLDIER , i don't know how else to describe who i am. i am . . figuring it out. ❜
and he would figure it out. oh . . he would.
