Title: Colours
Author: CrisisChild
Summary: A collection of a blind Sephiroth's introspection with the theme of colours attached.
Rated: T
Beta'd: Nope.
Disclaimer: No part of the FFVII Compilation is mine.
Colours
Black
"You are perfect, Sephiroth."
Those were words recalled from his earliest memory of his infanthood.
They were spoken with such reverence and warmth, that one could almost hear something else buried underneath all the pride within the man's voice. Ah, how he had latched onto them as a little babe, barely a few years, not yet supposed to be developed enough to understand. Yet he did and he remembered those breathy adulations all too well. Such sweet, torturous words that would form him throughout the years.
Later, there would be bitterness. Years of resentment, anxiety, disdain and condescension all wrapped around each syllable when they were sent his way (and returned, for Sephiroth was a quick study). Clinging to something that was slowly slipping away, because nothing could go back – back to that time – back to darkness. Back to that dark, inky blackness when his world was only sound and touch.
As a child who saw nothing and saw everything, those words were the sweetest ever spoken. Accompanied by a latex covered hand stroking along his head soothingly. Like nothing was wrong, like everything was just fine. No haste was in that gesture, no hurry for the babe to develop and grow beyond what was expected of him.
"You are perfect, Sephiroth," repeated the words daily.
Dry, chapped lips would press to his skin, leading the babe to giggle and smile. Tiny hands grasped at the air until they found oily strands to latch onto. No face; just hands and lips and hair.
And those words.
"You are perfect, Sephiroth."
Affection unlike any other. Perfect, true and subtle amidst the cold steel, the recycled air and the many, many hands that handled him. Every day, without fail, he would wind up within those particular hands (thin, wiry, yet strong and keeping firm; unwavering) covered in gloves so that their skin rarely touched until he felt those same lips near his ear, whispering softly.
Almost broken, almost like a sigh.
"You are perfect, Sephiroth."
His only taste of a love he would never witness again once he gained his sight; words hidden in words, hidden in enigmatic meanings, buried under pride and vanity.
I love you, Sephiroth.