[A version of him. The distinction is clear, and it’s similar to the point Cloud had tried so hard to drive home. A variation of himself, whose mind splintered under a misguided truth, is not the same as the one who stands before her now. A small mercy, a faint glimmer of hope that things might not remain the same for him — that fate is not etched in stone, should they return.
Comfort, maybe, on another day. But Sephiroth does not seek comfort, raw as the news remains, like a healing wound he can’t quite stop picking at. It isn’t surprising that he still asks questions, still seeks them from her even after learning of a dread future that makes his stomach turn. Even as she hints at an even more violent one, an all-encompassing, almost-destruction of the Planet itself. One more stifling revelation to add to the pile.
He does it to himself; just like he might in the future, days and days sequestered in a manor’s library, splintering his mind with every book opened, read. Sephiroth seeks the truth even if it shears him in half. Obsession becomes more prevalent after his fall, but it still sleeps quietly now, even under the bulwark of sanity.
This makes her question frustrating to him. Incomprehensible.]
Why wouldn’t I want to know it? Wouldn’t you?
[He shakes his head, but through his own willpower, the world doesn’t quite tilt.]
Why wouldn’t you have told me earlier? You know what it’s like to live in a lab. To have information taken from you but never given. [The berry plants turn his words into sweeping generalities, but he knows, deeply, that she would understand his meaning. That cyclical dehumanization, so prevalent that it became mundane. Normal.] I’m tired of being fed lies.
no subject
Comfort, maybe, on another day. But Sephiroth does not seek comfort, raw as the news remains, like a healing wound he can’t quite stop picking at. It isn’t surprising that he still asks questions, still seeks them from her even after learning of a dread future that makes his stomach turn. Even as she hints at an even more violent one, an all-encompassing, almost-destruction of the Planet itself. One more stifling revelation to add to the pile.
He does it to himself; just like he might in the future, days and days sequestered in a manor’s library, splintering his mind with every book opened, read. Sephiroth seeks the truth even if it shears him in half. Obsession becomes more prevalent after his fall, but it still sleeps quietly now, even under the bulwark of sanity.
This makes her question frustrating to him. Incomprehensible.]
Why wouldn’t I want to know it? Wouldn’t you?
[He shakes his head, but through his own willpower, the world doesn’t quite tilt.]
Why wouldn’t you have told me earlier? You know what it’s like to live in a lab. To have information taken from you but never given. [The berry plants turn his words into sweeping generalities, but he knows, deeply, that she would understand his meaning. That cyclical dehumanization, so prevalent that it became mundane. Normal.] I’m tired of being fed lies.