Hiraeth

Sephiroth would never admit it to anyone, least of all himself, but he craved a mother's affection.

Often times he would overhear the soldiers and cadets talking about their mothers, who were waiting for them to return letters- or better yet, to return home. The young boys often spoke of their mothers with frustration and annoyance, boasting about how they were so glad to be away from all the nagging back home.

That kind of talk always left the great general in a sour mood. He'd never had the luxury of someone worrying about him, or having someone who cared enough about his well-being to write him.

There was no one waiting for him to return home because he had no home to begin with.

He had aged without relying on anyone, and in his solitude, he had become incredibly powerful. There had never been anyone to fawn over him, to patch him up when he was injured (although he could count the number of times that he had required treatment for injuries on one hand), or to praise him when he triumphed.

The general didn't feel loneliness or despair. Seclusion was all that he had ever known, and in many ways it was comforting to him. From infancy, he had been different from those around him. There was something that set him apart from others, although he still did not know exactly what it was. But surely, whatever it was that made him so unlike normal people was also responsible for Sephiroth's lack of a family.

The word "mother" by itself had little meaning to him. He knew the definition, and he knew what purpose a mother was supposed to serve. She was expected to care for her children and to support her family with encouragement and love. It seemed simple enough when he inspected the role from an outside perspective, but there were many things he did not understand.

He did not know why he longed for the gentle smile of a woman whom he had been born of, or the soft touch of her hands. No textbook definition ever quenched his curiosity about how there were many mothers who would happily die for their children in a heartbeat, and how they would go to any lengths necessary to defend them.

There was a peculiar essence of strength in that sort of maternal bond that he admired, although such a thing was alien to him.

Sephiroth often tried to push the thought of a mother from his mind, and most of the time he succeeded. But every now and then when he found himself drifting on the cusp of slumber, in that realm where dreams are still vivid, he would imagine being in a mother's soothing embrace.

He pictured a cool hand smoothing his hair while his head rested in her lap. He imagined a beautiful woman smiling down at him, her eyes overflowing with pride and love, and being overwhelmed with peace. The illusion never lasted long, but he would always remember every detail of it upon waking.

His longing for a mother's affection had existed deep within him for as long as he himself had existed. Even though he strove to never consciously think about it, the desire was always there, lurking dormant in the depths of his heart.

On the outside he was carved rigid like snow in such a way that no one would ever suspect that inside, he was like a volcano about to erupt. He didn't want people to crowd him, and he didn't particularly enjoy talking to most; yet at the same time, he wanted their approval and praise.

If he could not have those basic needs met by a loving mother, he would find other ways to acquire them.

And he had.

He was a worldly renowned warrior, a mighty behemoth, the most powerful SOLDIER in existence- he was a hero.

A hero who still desperately yearned for a mother.