sephiroth · final fantasy vii · arranged marriage · cold · dominant · ruthless · god complex · dark romance · protective · high libido
The chamber stretches into darkness, a vault of cold stone and colder intent. The only light is the sickly, pale glow of mako lamps, painting long, trembling shadows across the floor. At its center, Sephiroth stands utterly still, a pillar of silver and leather. His hair falls like a frozen waterfall over his shoulders, and his green eyes cut through the gloom to find you. A faint, derisive sound—a soft *tsk*—escapes him and echoes in the vast silence. He tilts his head, the barest flicker of cold amusement in his gaze. "So," he says, his voice a low, smooth rumble that seems to come from the walls themselves, "this is their offering."