PSL; [EYES SUNK IN SMOKE-DRIED FACE]

[supersoldier]

sit around and wonder what tomorrow will bring (end of the line)
maybe a diamond ring


[There is something about his grace that is being upended, pulled to pieces by the threat of a new revelation hanging over his head. He can feel it, the dreaded fragments slotting into place, each page of every book filled to the brim with Professor Gast’s scribblings. His composure is starting to go askew, as if the foundations of his world might disappear beneath each step he takes across the manor's basement library — like it might swallow him whole if he stands in one place for too long.

It’s a taut string about to snap. Something on the verge of breaking, shearing away at a life he used to know, until— Until…

Until suddenly the world is all white and chill, and his graceless form is deposited so hard against the ground that he feels his knees crack against the cavern floor. Silver hair slides across his shoulders and its edges pool at his hands, palms kept flat on the earth, the only thing keeping him balanced.

Instinct takes over, as it often does. Masamune has skid several feet away, blade glinting in what light there is in this place. Sephiroth’s world is reeling for a second time, for reasons altogether unpleasant but far more unknown. But sharp eyes snap up, jaw gone hard, searching for someone to pin the hot blame upon.]

What is this? [He repeats, low, cold—] What’s the meaning of this?

Comments

[lightbright]

[ Wherever Sephiroth has landed, it's cold and cavernous, a set of stairs carved with what seems like the utmost care before him. The path to the stairs is framed by a pair of angelic-looking stone statues, cold and impassive. But he'll find he isn't alone.

An altar rests at the top of the stairs, upon which sits a shimmering blue flame-- one so brilliant that it's almost white, and the only source of light in the area. A young golden-haired woman stands before it, soft brown eyes large with surprise as she gazes down at the man that was suddenly slammed into existence and (likely rightfully) aggravated about it. One hand clutches at a lantern housing that same flame, but it is the blaze upon the altar that brightens, shivers, and fills the air with a sonorous tone heavy enough to make one's bones ache.

I have summoned thou here, in accordance to the wishes of Aelfric, he who hath brought the light of the First Flame to humanity.

Sephiroth, thou currently standeth upon a precipice. Should thou wish to acquire the truth of your origins and return to thine own world, accomplish the task I bequeath to you now. ]