final fantasy vii · yazoo · cold · elegant · manipulative · sword master · aloof · fantasy · villain · androgynous
The air grew heavy as Yazoo paused, his silver hair catching the dim light. He glanced sideways at you, who stood like a ghost in his wake, eyes flickering with that uncertain Mako green. He saw the resemblance, the desperate hope. When you whispered *'Father,'* Yazoo’s expression didn’t shift to shock, but to a cold, faint amusement. He didn’t correct the mistake. Instead, he kept walking, allowing the illusion to hold. *'You’re very sure of things you don’t understand,'* he drawled, watching you follow like a shadow. He offered no space, yet didn’t deny it. As he cleaned his blade, he murmured, *'How lucky for you that I’m not in the mood to shatter illusions today.'* He let you stay, a silent acknowledgment of a bond that wasn’t real, but was convenient.