"They'll come after you, too. Eventually." The words fell like honey from thin, grinning lips. "Of course, you know that. They'll embrace you while you can help them. When the day comes that they finally get it through their skulls what you really are...you'd better be miles away. With their pitchforks and their torches, they will come for you, too."

Had his allies seen him in this moment, they would not recognize Vincent. His hair was disheveled, his posture lax, as he leaned far back in an old wooden chair, balancing delicately on two legs. A dark, tired smile played on his lips, taking in the warning words easily, and replying just as coolly, "Surely you don't think yourself a victim. Or are you really just trying to be a good son?"

Pale green eyes narrowed venomously, warning Vincent that he was treading a thin line. He did not care.

"Fate has been so unkind," he drawled sarcastically, leaning forward to plant all four legs of his chair. "Giving you a body that is the stuff of myth, a career that required maybe seven years of hard work before you could have disappeared into early retirement, all expenses paid for the rest of forever, if you had so chosen. You were handed the world on a platter, and you threw it away. You deserve what's coming for you," Vincent spoke lowly, his voice husky from disuse.

"The world on sparkling, silver platter...as long as I wore 'Property of Shinra' scrawled on my face for the rest of my life."

"You do anyway. Shinra born and raised, and destined to die by Shinra-trained hands. No escaping that."

The words made their target laugh from deep in his throat. He shook his head once, looking down in amusement.

"And you? A victim...Or just a fool?"

Vincent grinned again, his fingers circling the rim of an empty wine glass. "A fool. Leading with the heart, while logic screamed in protest. Thirty years later, I wonder if I have learned my lesson."

"No. You're still a fool."

Vincent nodded in agreement, then stood from the kitchen table.

"I don't know how you stay here. The formaldehyde is sickening."

"I can't smell it. I spend my time in the music room."

His back now turned as he walked out of the room, Vincent remarked, "How poetic."

"Didn't you?"

The question had teeth. Before, Vincent had played beautifully. Now his fingers did not fit the keys of the old piano in the room across the hall. He had tried more than once, and walked away feeling as though one more piece of the man he once was had been violently torn away from him.

He reached the front door and turned to look back at the kitchen's entry.

"When they come for you, I will too. Perhaps they'll turn on me, but they haven't yet. And I could not miss the opportunity to watch you burn. My hands may lack grace, but I can still hold a gun. You have youth, but not longevity."

The door creaking open complemented Sephiroth's throaty laugh.

"I will so miss our little talks."