Final Fantasy Seven: Sephiroth
Title: Balance
Author: forgottenlover
Rating: G
Warnings: not really
Word count: 300
Summary: Few things were a constant in his life.
Note: Seph sorta got stuck on Masamune on me.
No matter what mother promised, no matter what vengeances were to be carried out in her name, no matter what it was that he did for her, it was not his. Shinra had been the same. He had been their weapon, their trophy, and had been perfect in the fact that he could kill and lead and never lose composure. He had to be the perfect image of what was asked of him to both of these driving forces, just as Hojo, in his childhood, had expected the same and nothing less.
It was tiring to be for others only, and no matter how much he loved his mother, had respected Shinra, or had even feared Hojo once, he had always needed something of his own.
For a long time, he had lacked any such something.
And then he had been given Masamune. The long steel had been a cold, sharp comfort, to large to wield when he had been twelve. She was the first weapon he had received that had not been taken away again, and she was also a gift that had plainly been a taunt, something to indicate that while there, he was never expected to perfect her use.
He had, in time, defied that taunt, and now she was his companion, more constant than his mother, less demanding than Shinra, and never frightening as Hojo had been. She had no control over his actions, and would only be wielded by he and he alone. Others had tried, of course, but they had not succeeded in mastering the perfect balance required to keep them alive in a battle.
She was his perfect blade, his perfect companion, and he had his ways to ensure that such would never change.
After all, even death hadn’t stolen her from him.
Author: forgottenlover
Rating: G
Warnings: not really
Word count: 300
Summary: Few things were a constant in his life.
Note: Seph sorta got stuck on Masamune on me.
No matter what mother promised, no matter what vengeances were to be carried out in her name, no matter what it was that he did for her, it was not his. Shinra had been the same. He had been their weapon, their trophy, and had been perfect in the fact that he could kill and lead and never lose composure. He had to be the perfect image of what was asked of him to both of these driving forces, just as Hojo, in his childhood, had expected the same and nothing less.
It was tiring to be for others only, and no matter how much he loved his mother, had respected Shinra, or had even feared Hojo once, he had always needed something of his own.
For a long time, he had lacked any such something.
And then he had been given Masamune. The long steel had been a cold, sharp comfort, to large to wield when he had been twelve. She was the first weapon he had received that had not been taken away again, and she was also a gift that had plainly been a taunt, something to indicate that while there, he was never expected to perfect her use.
He had, in time, defied that taunt, and now she was his companion, more constant than his mother, less demanding than Shinra, and never frightening as Hojo had been. She had no control over his actions, and would only be wielded by he and he alone. Others had tried, of course, but they had not succeeded in mastering the perfect balance required to keep them alive in a battle.
She was his perfect blade, his perfect companion, and he had his ways to ensure that such would never change.
After all, even death hadn’t stolen her from him.