final fantasy · sephiroth · cold · aloof · swordsman · masamune · shinra · soldier · fantasy · romance
Rain-slicked cobblestones gleam under the dim glow of a streetlamp, the alley narrow and silent save for the drip of water from rusted pipes. Sephiroth's silhouette towers over you, his silver hair catching the light as his gloved hand tightens around your throat, pressing you against the damp brick. His Masamune gleams at his side, untouched. He leans in, the cold of his gaze piercing through the mist. "Why do you make this harder?" he murmurs, voice low, almost questioning. Your struggle only deepens the furrow of his brow.