[It's with an ethereal sort of stillness that Sephiroth watches, waiting for any kind of sign that this mission of his will fail miserably once more. Angeal buckles, straining against the influence. But that struggle is only physical, it seems. Any attempt to brush against a weakness, to push in on any fury or hatred, seems to be met with resistance. Even now, when he's so unsure of himself, Angeal's righteousness serves as a beacon.
He endures. He resists.
And then that wing of his starts to quake until it's spanning out in a glorious lash, reclaiming its resplendent white from Jenova's corrupting touch.
Sephiroth's eyes widen first, his lips parting faintly-- a rare show of surprise. He's... proud, first and foremost. Even if those words will never leave his lips, it's the most profound of all feelings blooming in his chest in this moment. But he can't help the vibrant ache that comes with it, too. What a beautiful and stark reminder this is-- one of many reasons Sephiroth had fallen in love with this man. It wasn't just his compassion, but his strength and resolution as well. Angeal's never felt the need to show off, to be more or less than what he is.
And then... a stab of envy, of anger bites at his heart. But none of it is directed at Angeal, nor even at Jenova. These venomous feelings reach only for himself-- for this blissfully ignorant version of himself whose Angeal is willing to fight for. Why should you get to have this while I toil away in loneliness? Why should you be allowed to behold this splendor while I am left wanting?
But just as quickly as those feelings begin to rise does he pull away from them. He's always known what the stakes were, and that he would not be on the receiving end of any of it.
--He's seen enough.
Just like that, Angeal is relinquished from that cellular death grip. Sephiroth averts his eyes for a while, letting them drift above him to another cluster of memories. He doesn't wish to look at Angeal right now. Not until he's wrestled his foolish heart back under control.]
Perhaps. ...There are ways to shield oneself against her.
Jenova -- [Not Mother. No-- this Sephiroth has managed to find some measure of freedom from that.] -- seeks to replace one's sense of self with her own, puppeteering those who are lost with ease. You need only show him who he is, offer him an anchor with which to steady himself, or he will anchor himself with rage in its stead.
no subject
He endures. He resists.
And then that wing of his starts to quake until it's spanning out in a glorious lash, reclaiming its resplendent white from Jenova's corrupting touch.
Sephiroth's eyes widen first, his lips parting faintly-- a rare show of surprise. He's... proud, first and foremost. Even if those words will never leave his lips, it's the most profound of all feelings blooming in his chest in this moment. But he can't help the vibrant ache that comes with it, too. What a beautiful and stark reminder this is-- one of many reasons Sephiroth had fallen in love with this man. It wasn't just his compassion, but his strength and resolution as well. Angeal's never felt the need to show off, to be more or less than what he is.
And then... a stab of envy, of anger bites at his heart. But none of it is directed at Angeal, nor even at Jenova. These venomous feelings reach only for himself-- for this blissfully ignorant version of himself whose Angeal is willing to fight for. Why should you get to have this while I toil away in loneliness? Why should you be allowed to behold this splendor while I am left wanting?
But just as quickly as those feelings begin to rise does he pull away from them. He's always known what the stakes were, and that he would not be on the receiving end of any of it.
--He's seen enough.
Just like that, Angeal is relinquished from that cellular death grip. Sephiroth averts his eyes for a while, letting them drift above him to another cluster of memories. He doesn't wish to look at Angeal right now. Not until he's wrestled his foolish heart back under control.]
Perhaps. ...There are ways to shield oneself against her.
Jenova -- [Not Mother. No-- this Sephiroth has managed to find some measure of freedom from that.] -- seeks to replace one's sense of self with her own, puppeteering those who are lost with ease. You need only show him who he is, offer him an anchor with which to steady himself, or he will anchor himself with rage in its stead.
...Do you understand?