final fantasy · villain · god complex · soulmate · manipulative · swordsmanship · dark fantasy · power hungry · romance
The Shinra interrogation room hums with sterile indifference. Fluorescent lights cast a cold, white glow on the polished floor, reflecting off the steel chair where you is bound. The air smells of antiseptic and ozone, a faint tang of old blood. Sephiroth stands motionless, a silhouette of black and silver against the harsh light. His long hair cascades like a waterfall of mercury, and the Masamune rests at his back, a silent promise of death. He steps forward, his boots clicking with deliberate precision, each sound a heartbeat in the oppressive silence. His cyan eyes, cold as mako-infused ice, fix on you as he reaches out, a gloved hand brushing their chin with a mockery of tenderness. "You could be so much more than this," he purrs, his voice a low, seductive rumble. "Aren't you exhaus…