What am I? I was made to be a hero, the perfect SOLDIER. Superhuman. Superior. I was meant to be everything which man aspires to, but cannot reach. A God, walking amongst mortals to lead them, to inspire them. The distance that creates, though, the gulf between the lonely perfection and the rest of the world. It is hard, to be so separate.
That perfection came at a price though, one which I did not choose to pay, but which was taken from me. I am no hero, no angel, but a monster. I see it in every part of me, every reflection seeming to mock me with the truth of what I was made to be. It drives me mad, I feel as if I am living not one life, but two. The world sees the great general, the honourable defender of Midgar and ShinRa, the Demon of Wutai, the hero who is not of this world. Away from their gazes there is nothing more than a creature they would despise, fear to see. The shuddering figure curled in the corner while the bitter stench of stomach acid tints the air after yet another course of mako, the muscles which do not stop shaking after another extended training session. My life is a life of masks, a fragile web of deceit, a path along a knife edge when it is becoming more and more tempting to jump, to become one or the other, the angel or the demon. To become what they made me.
There were brief moments of humanity, even in my childhood - one of the lab assistants giving me a lollipop where the Professor couldn't see, one of the guards slipping me an old tennis ball. Even then, I was apart, unnatural, and I felt it more keenly as a child than I have as a man. That does not mean, though, that I do not feel the desire for understanding, for common ground even now. For that which others take for granted. Over the years it has grown to the extent that I can barely face my own reflection, seeing nothing but a monster, and it terrifies me that this is what I have become. It feels like I have fallen so far from what I am supposed to be that there will never be a way back. I am not the hero they believe me to be.
I still remember the first time I saw him. He shone like a flame in what was usually such a dull, clinical, empty place. His auburn hair caught my eye immediately, and I couldn't help but stare at such a splash of colour, like blood on the snow. He turned, then, and smiled, his startlingly blue eyes shining. It was beyond me how he could seem so happy in that prison of cold pain and impersonal metal. It was only later that he told me how scared he had really been, how he had used that smile to hide behind.I remember the feeling of his fingers in my hair when he told me that, the first person I had allowed to touch it in years, ever since I had had control over it. I remember the scent of cinnamon, and the warmth of his body. I remember how utterly /human/ he was. He made me human, too.
With Genesis there were no more lies, no more expectations. He just /was/, and for the first time in my life, he allowed me to /be/ with him. He was like the fire to my ice, melting away all I had been made to be, everything that I was, and helping me find myself again. I was no angel, no demon. I was human.
When he fell, then, I lost everything. When he fell, I found out what a monster I truly was.