Just a short, little one-shot. Vincent's thoughts. Kind of angsty.
Vincent looked at his reflection. Mirrors were fascinating things. The perfection of the glass, the way it was able to reflect an image exactly.
But this mirror lied.
It showed a man. A man with pale, flawless skin and silky black hair that swept past his shoulders and rolled down his back. A perfectly pointed nose and elegantly arched eyebrows. A surprisingly handsome man of twenty-seven.
Yes. The mirror lied. It did, however, show the truth of his eyes. Brilliant crimson eyes that held a strange, demonic glow.
But mirrors only showed what was seen on the outside.
If the mirror showed the monster he was inside. The Turk. The assassin. The experiment. The sinner. How hideous he would be. Horns. Scales. Demon wings. He would look like that demon, Chaos. Or perhaps one of the others? Hellmasker? Death Gigas? Galian Beast? A combination of all four? Or maybe something completely different. Worse than a metal arm. More horrible than the ugliest demon. Punishment for his sins. His failures.
Lucrecia.
Sephiroth.
Even Hojo in a way.
If he had been able to help Sephiroth. If he had been able stop Lucrecia. Tifa and Cloud wouldn't have suffered the loss of their hometown. Midar wouldn't be in ruins. So many lives would have been spared. So many killed by Meteor and Holy. So many killed by Sephiroth. Lucrecia's son.
Hojo's son. The son of an angel and a demon. Hojo wasn't as bad as him, of course. No one was as horrible as him.
This mirror. Such a depressing object. He brought up his hand and pressed the tip of one of his long fingers to the glass. It cracked instantly. Quiet snaps met his keen ears as bright white spider webs spread across the silver expanse. He was stronger than he looked.
The breaking of a mirror. He remembered Lucrecia telling him once that breaking a mirror was bad luck. She had been surprisingly superstitious for a scientist. Even if it was bad luck, he couldn't possibly get any unluckier. He traced the thin cracks in the glass. This was better. Now the mirror portrayed the broken man he was inside. A mere shadow of the proud man he used to be. It was sad really. Quite depressing. It was no wonder people tended to stay away from him.
He studied his reflection one last time. He took his hand from the broken mirror, a piece of glass sticking to his finger and falling to the floor. The rest of the mirror soon followed, each individual piece shattering on the hard cement. He looked at the glittering shards quietly and smiled bitterly.
If only he could die as easily.
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