[Sephiroth isn't eager to return to the Edge of Creation, to its deafening silence and vast loneliness, but... there's little point in lingering in this place between places. He has no desire to look upon any more memories; his heart feels ragged enough. Frankly, he's not sure what he expected to feel when he finally reached Angeal. After all this time, he thought he'd walled his heart away from all of that by now, but...
Maybe that was naive. Maybe no amount of ice or distance would have ever prepared him for seeing the man who had once been his entire world again. Angeal - with his gentle hands and kind eyes - has always effortlessly pierced through every shield Sephiroth has ever put up around his heart.
So deeply caught up in this train of thought, Sephiroth almost doesn't register the feather. But once he does, it becomes all he can see-- the white plume is radiant against the surrounding gloom. He slows to a stop just in front of it, hesitating.
It's not the first time he's... seen things, especially in isolation. Whether it's his mind desperately scrambling to cling to some semblance of comfort, or Jenova playing twisted mindgames as she is wont to do, Sephiroth doesn't claim to know. Part of him insists on ignoring it, to keep walking, but... in spite of himself, he crouches down... reaches slowly.
And to his surprise, the feather doesn't vanish under his touch.
Has his mind finally crumbled? Is he so broken that he's conjuring up the sensation of a delicate feather in his palm now?
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Maybe that was naive. Maybe no amount of ice or distance would have ever prepared him for seeing the man who had once been his entire world again. Angeal - with his gentle hands and kind eyes - has always effortlessly pierced through every shield Sephiroth has ever put up around his heart.
So deeply caught up in this train of thought, Sephiroth almost doesn't register the feather. But once he does, it becomes all he can see-- the white plume is radiant against the surrounding gloom. He slows to a stop just in front of it, hesitating.
It's not the first time he's... seen things, especially in isolation. Whether it's his mind desperately scrambling to cling to some semblance of comfort, or Jenova playing twisted mindgames as she is wont to do, Sephiroth doesn't claim to know. Part of him insists on ignoring it, to keep walking, but... in spite of himself, he crouches down... reaches slowly.
And to his surprise, the feather doesn't vanish under his touch.
Has his mind finally crumbled? Is he so broken that he's conjuring up the sensation of a delicate feather in his palm now?
--How pitiful.]