Sephiroth: You Know, I Really Do Have a Heart. or I Did 'Til I Lost It


Every night, the same place, the same smile.

"Would you like to buy a flower? Only one gil apiece…"

Her existence should have been impossible. Here, in this open-air dungeon that had the gall to call itself a city, someone with that kind of purity, that kind of innocence…how could she have lived her whole life and remained untouched by this place?

The contents of her basket should not have existed, either. Perhaps if she'd grown up in Kalm, or Wutai, someplace green and peaceful, I would have believed that she was real, but Midgar? I could feel her presence, as though the scent of those improbable flowers clung to the air around me. She moved among the black metal lampposts, offering flowers to tired commuters at the end of their days.

I spent the first evening watching her from the shadows of an alley. Her smile never wavered, her voice never faltered, but I knew, somehow, that she was miserable. And why shouldn't she be, living as she did in Midgar's ghetto, rarely seeing the sun, knowing that just outside the high city walls, untouchable, living plains stretched for miles? I knew the feeling. We were both trapped here.

That night, as she prepared to leave and pocketed her meager earnings, I got a call from one of my men. He claimed to have found the Ancient, and that he was going to take her with him above the Plate. I could have smiled. They were chasing a phantom, I knew, though I would have to pretend that the unfortunate soul they'd captured might actually be the one for whom we searched. The poor girl would be taken in, questioned, tested, and released within three or four days. It was what always happened. I knew my men were looking in all the wrong places.

For she stood not twenty feet from me, with her threadbare clothes and her basket of flowers.

I would make certain that my men would never find her.

The next night I watched her again. Though something drew me to her, I had not spoken to her, nor revealed my presence at all. I was the model General of ShinRa. I could be as silent and still as an object if I needed to be. She would never find me, never notice me, never…

"Sir? C-can I help you?"

I came back to myself with a start. She was standing before me, out of arm's reach, a worried expression clouding her eyes. Those deep, incredibly green eyes. "What?"

"You looked…umm, out of it for a moment. Why don't you ever say anything? Why have you been watching me?" Her hand rested on a silver canister that had been hidden by the flowers. A collapsible staff? Innocent she might be, but naïve, she definitely was not.

"I? Watching you?" I scoffed. "What ever gave you that idea?"

She smiled. Gods, she smiled. Like she knew everything I'd thought, like she knew I was lying through my teeth. "The fact that you stood here last night and all night tonight without saying anything? I can practically feel your eyes. Though, what General Sephiroth would want with me is quite beyond my understanding."

"You know me?" was all I could think of to say. And here I'd always thought of myself as witty. Of course she knew me. Everyone knew me.

At least it made her laugh. "Of course I do." She relaxed a little, that smile still curling her lips.

"I was merely curious," I covered, "How you can possibly live on the money you make from this."

It had been the wrong thing to say. Her face immediately closed up, the glorious smile fading. I was sorry to see it go. "I make do. If that's all…" she turned to go, a slight huff in her action.

"Wait," I heard myself say, catching her arm lightly before she could leave. We both looked down at my hand and back up at each other. I let her go, rather unwillingly. "I'm sorry to offend you. I just…wondered about you. How you manage to find flowers down here, and how you can pretend so well to be cheerful, when you really wish you were someplace else."

The sadness that crossed her face was so fleeting I almost wondered if I'd really seen it. "Do you make a habit of striking up conversations with strangers about their private thoughts?"

"Do you make a habit of talking to men in dark alleys?" I countered, raising a brow.

"No," she said, walking away, "But for you, I made an exception."

"Will I see you tomorrow night?" I called after her.

She looked over her shoulder, some of the earlier mischief back in her eyes. Thank the Gods. "Only if you decide to come back. I will be here either way."

And then she was gone.


Perhaps a bit of explanation is in order. I am Sephiroth, once famous for being the glamorous general of ShinRa Power's Corporate Army. I led them in the war of Wutai (more of a slaughter, really); I rode a black chocobo in countless parades (ah, propaganda); I suffered my picture to be taken and plastered on magazine covers, tabloid pages, posters for teenage girls' walls (not to mention the fashion shoots); all in all, I was a celebrity.

Celebrity. What a joke. Even then, even before I met the flower girl, I knew my life meant nothing. I was a symbol of—what? ShinRa's power? Don't make me laugh. ShinRa was a piece of flawed pottery, nothing more. Beautiful on the outside, seemingly solid, but there was nothing but air beneath the glossy surface. They owned the world, though they would eventually crumble like that same pottery—

I'm sorry. I'm getting ahead of myself.

I grew up in Nibelheim, in a state-of-the-art laboratory. My mother died when I was born, and my father—well, that's what he always claimed he was, though it didn't make me hate him any less—raised me. For the first part of my life, I trained in every combat art: hand-to-hand, spear, guns, hell, even archery. I excelled, however, in swordsmanship. The moment I touched a blade for the first time, I knew it was what I'd been born to do.

When I was twelve, the tests decreased and the training increased. I began to train with other boys my age, though none of them matched my prowess with the sword. I met one boy in particular there, a Wutaian by the name of Tseng. We were paired together once for hand-to-hand, all-out sparring. Somehow, he slipped, and caught me in the eye with his elbow. I threw the rules aside and went after him.

Girls fight to maim and disfigure. Boys fight to kill. I was stronger than the other boys then, but Tseng was fast. By the time the instructors pried us apart, both of us were bleeding, staggering from too many blows to the head. My father came running out, screaming at the instructors, the other boys, the assistants, worried that his precious "experiment" was damaged. No, you heard me correctly, not his son, his experiment.

I ignored them all. I couldn't believe my eyes. After the beating I'd just dished out—and received—Tseng was smiling! Our eyes met for a moment, and his grin grew wider. I felt my own mouth twitch into an answering grin. My father started yelling at me, too, but it didn't matter. I held out my hand to Tseng, still grinning like a madman. He clasped it for just a moment before the instructors dragged us off in different directions.

I had gained my first friend.

A few years went by. The training continued, the tests continued, and they started to teach me strategy, tactics, and leadership skills. No one bothered to tell me why my education differed from that of, say, Tseng's. He and the other boys were learning espionage, covert operations. Sharpshooting. The finer points of hand-to-hand.

Until I was sixteen or so, I thought ShinRa was a kingdom. When I began learning modern history and politics, however, I found myself proved very wrong. I learned that the President had taken an upstart electrical company and turned it into a global power in its own right. Most people called him a visionary and a ruthless yet strong leader.

Somehow, I knew it couldn't be right.

Finally, when I was seventeen, President ShinRa himself came to visit me. I stood in a richly appointed room with my hands at my sides, while "Don't-call-me-father-in-private" Hojo paced around me. He extolled my virtues, my strong qualities of leadership and strategic thought, my unmatched skill with the sword. The President let him rant on and on about societal ramifications, blood tests, results from training, until the fat man waved a hand and interrupted him.

"I just want to know, Hojo, can he get the job done? Can he whip that gods-damned country into submission?"

"Of course, Mr. President," Hojo closed his folder with a snap. He glared at me from beyond the President's line of sight, cuing me to speak. I hate prepared speeches, and this would only be the first of many that I'd give.

"I am prepared to fight for the glory of ShinRa, Sir," I said, still not looking at him. Standing at attention had its benefits. "Please let me lead your army."

ShinRa laughed, slapping me on the back. It was all I could do not to grab the meaty wrist and flip him. Then I was ignored for the rest of the meeting, which involved making plans for my future. No one ever asked me what I wanted to do, or when. I was still only a boy; I didn't know enough then to talk back. I was like a behemoth that had been raised to believe that a narrow rope would always hold it, even when it could escape with barely a tug.

A few months later, just after I turned eighteen, I was flown in to Midgar. With typical ShinRa grandeur, I was met by a red velvet carpet and two beautiful women in sparkling gowns. Scores of photographers took picture after picture of my descent (yes, pun intended) from the sleek black helicopter to the top of the Tower. I just wanted to get some rest after that long flight, but the President was there, making one of his legendary speeches. They were legendary for their length, mind you, not their content. I don't remember a single important thing he ever said in his entire life.

At last, the fervor died down and I was allowed to go to my new quarters. I had to practically pry one of the women off my arm, I was so tired.

The following day, I took a tour of the SOLDIER barracks. I was met with a mixture of awe and skepticism. I knew what they were thinking: everyone wondered how some eighteen-year-old kid would be able to lead ShinRa's army. Hells, I wondered about it myself.

The first person I met was the man I'd be replacing. Now, that was an awkward situation if I ever saw one. Zax was a big man, shorter than me, but broader. He wore his long black hair in unruly spikes, a fashion that was attempted with less success by some of the younger men. He was older than me by about six years, with the hard-edged look that came from living in Midgar. "So you're the new General?" he asked, looking me up and down.

"I am," I replied, offering my hand. Feeling a bit embarrassed, for I knew it must be killing him to relinquish his position to an untried boy, I added, "I'm still getting my bearings, Lieutenant. I'd appreciate your help, if you're willing."

He regarded me suspiciously, then shrugged and clasped my hand. "Welcome to SOLDIER, General."

That was my second friend.


But I was talking about the flower girl, wasn't I?

The first night, I had watched without even realizing who I'd found. All I could see were those eyes, that smile. For some reason, I couldn't stop thinking about her. I might have gone back night after night, except that she came to me and shattered my illusion that I was an expert spy.

Ah, well, nowhere in the list of specs for being a model General does it say I need to be good at stealth. I just have to be good at leading soldiers and killing people, and I am exceptional at both.

I returned the next night, even more intrigued now that she had found me. She glanced over her shoulder at me and gave me a wink and a brief smile before helping a patron pick several stems for a bouquet.

She collected her money and turned to me, only to be stopped by someone else who wanted a flower. Amazing how I finally got a chance to talk to her at length, and that happened to be the moment she got flooded with customers. I couldn't begrudge her, though; I knew she worked hard. That much business was a boon to her.

The last train left, finally, and with it, her last customers. She looked tired but happy. Only one flower remained in her basket. She must have forgotten I was there, for she picked it up, talking quietly.

"There, there, I'll take you home with me," she said as she raised the bud to her lips and placed a gentle kiss on the petals.

I had to own that flower. It could have been withered and brown and I wouldn't have cared. A quick search of my pockets rewarded me with a single, worn coin. One gil.

Realization at what she'd done crossed her face. Her cheeks colored when she remembered I was waiting for her. Putting the flower away in embarrassment, she approached me. "Sorry about that; usually I don't get so busy."

"It's all right," I murmured, "but you still have one left." I held out the money.

"Oh! You don't have to do that," she laughed.

"I want to buy a flower. You said they were one gil apiece." I took the hand she was using to gesture carelessly and placed the coin on her palm, closing her fingers about it.

I couldn't move my hands from hers. We just stood there in the darkness, looking at each other. Her eyes were dark in the dim light, her pale skin highlighted by the green of a neon sign. It reminded me of the color of Mako, but softer somehow, something that tugged at the edge of my memory. Something living…

She blinked, carefully pulling her hand away. Looking down, she once more removed the flower from the basket and handed it to me. "Thank you," she nearly whispered. I would have given anything to know what she was thinking as I accepted it.

It was a rose, of course, two of its petals crushed from the weight of its fellows. "It's late," I said instead of asking her where she'd kissed it. "You should get home."

"I'm sorry," she repeated, but I stopped her.

"Don't be. I will come again, I promise." I held up the rose. "Besides, it was worth staying. I got to buy a flower." I smiled at her and nonchalantly touched the bud to my lips as if to say, 'see you'.

It was just an excuse, and we both knew it. Before the cocky smirk I wore could fade under her scrutiny, I spun on my heel and walked away.

We both knew I'd be back the next night.