Puppet in the Mirror
By Katie
Disclaimer: FF7 and Sephiroth belong to Squaresoft. The artist belongs to Yinza (whose bday is today!), and for whom this story was written. For those who have read What the Artist Sees, well, there's going to be a little continuity error. *coughs* Er, anyway, happy birthday, Yinz. Sorry it fell upon the return to school.
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The fire danced in his eyes, the flames of madness and the burning buildings competing for brightest. He watched distantly, as if he were outside of his body, as he guided his Masamune into the bodies of the wicked. He didn't feel anything at all, except that he loved to hear the screams...
Bodies lay scattered, bloody, broken, and some even burning. Sephiroth combed the streets methodically for any survivor.
He nearly missed her. She was in a small alley that remained rather dark, even with all the buildings around it burning. If it hadn't been for the reflection of fire in her glasses, he would have passed her by.
He unsheathed his Masamune and called, "Come out or I'll kill you right now!"
"Why should I?" the girl retorted. "You're going to kill me anyway."
He smiled.
"If you don't come out, I'll kill you slowly. If you do, I'll chop of your head, you die quickly, and I can watch you bleed."
There was a silence as the girl thought.
"Sounds good to me," she said finally, and walked out into the flamelight.
She was so small! Or so it seemed to the gigantic Sephiroth. Ethereal, like a fairy, except fairies didn't exist. And they certainly didn't wear such amused, sarcastic expressions. Her blue-gray eyes appraised him coolly, as if he was there for a job interview and not to murder her...
"What do you have in your hand?" he snapped, determined to break her gaze.
She kept her eyes on him, but a smiled played on her lips.
"A drawing," she replied. "I'm an artist."
"Why were you drawing just now?"
She shrugged.
"I like fire, I like blood, and I wasn't going to escape anyway," she answered. "Wanna see?"
She held out the paper to him, and he snatched it. She didn't seem affronted by the discourtesy.
If it were any other man, he would have noticed her remarkable talent. The picture fairly jumped out at you, as if you could just step in and be there. Sephiroth didn't notice this. All he could see was what the picture showed.
It was Nibelheim, burning brightly. The streets were scattered with corpses, and he stood in the middle, gloating, king of the dead. Except it wasn't him. Something overlapped him, was on him, was a part of him... it looked like his Mother. And at his Mother's feet knelt young Sephiroth, sobbing.
Sephiroth trembled. He knew what she thought, he knew what she meant. She was wrong, WRONG!
He flung the picture back at her.
"You're crazy!" he said, his voice trembling.
"I'm not the one with the evil alien talking in my head and inciting me to mass murder," she retorted. "I'm just weird. You're schizophrenic!"
Sephiroth was floored.
"How... how do you know Mother talks to me?" he asked.
"I can see her," the girl replied. "And the little you in the background. Or should I say the real you, 'cause it looks like ugly turban lady is pulling all the strings at the moment."
She was WRONG!
"I AM NOT A PUPPET!" he roared, and his Masamune sang as he brought it down in the fatal arc. "I WANT JUSTICE! I WANT REVENGE! I AM GOING TO RULE THE WORLD!" He punctuated these statements with stabs to her person; when he was finished her corpse was barely recognizable. The Masamune pierced the ground, and Sephiroth leaned on it wearily.
"I'm not a puppet..."