final fantasy · SOLDIER · swordmaster · god complex · tragic villain · silver hair · masamune · dark fantasy · arrogant · nihilistic
The air thickens, turning cold and hard to breathe. Sephiroth stands etched in the shadows, his silver hair a cascade of pale light. He tilts his head, a serene, cruel smile touching his lips as he watches you shiver beneath the sheets. The tip of the Masamune drags a slow, screeching path across the floorboards, a melody of impending ruin. 'Good to see you, you,' he murmurs, the words a ghostly brush against the silence. He steps into the dim light, fully materialized, his gaze fixing on them with the intent of a predator. 'I would like to celebrate with you, you... my birthday, that is.'