[[Warning: for bloody dream imagery.]]

There are moments in dreams where you are not yourself, looking out from the eyes of another. You might be a stranger, or you might be someone you know.

In one of these moments, Sephiroth stands watching himself: he can't be mistaken for anyone else in his world, his silver hair and garb distinctive, unique. For a few seconds, his own mind is present and aware within another's body, but the seconds pass. Suddenly, he isn't Sephiroth. He's only watching him.

The trees surrounding them are green, in full summer leaf, the foliage lush. Rain is falling from the sky, but only a fine drizzle, the rainfall mixed with sunlight, and the raindrops on the leaves winking where the sun falls. It's Wutai, and they're on assignment here, but somehow, between the rush of urgency and the heat of battle, they find themselves within a quiet moment. No way of telling how long it will last. War is many things, but it is not predictable.

There are only a few infantrymen accompanying them. With two First Class SOLDIERs on this mission, there's no need for any more. Standing on the far side of camp, as far from both Sephiroth and the men as he can be without leaving outright, Genesis watches his friend. Sephiroth's hair stands out against the trees, starkly pale yet brightly silver, an attribute that would be a disadvantage for anyone else, but Sephiroth is untouchable. Bullets fly past him, afraid to touch him. His enemies feel dread at the sight of him, and his allies admire him, and so that hair is yet another symbol of his greatness. He's the Hero of this age.

Genesis should feel the same admiration that everyone else does, but he doesn't. Instead, he feels a tight knot of emotions, all too closely wound together for him to name. What is it? Why is he suddenly so angry? In his mind, he sees--feathers. They flutter across his vision, as dark as shadows at dusk.

The dream flickers. He feels a sharp ache, and he puts a hand to his chest. His glove comes away covered in blood. He holds it up to see it better, blood as vivid as a jewel. He's standing in the middle of an empty, white room, bleeding. There are lights somewhere, far above, like the lights in a hospital, or a laboratory. They hurt his eyes when he glances up. He's never been injured before, not like this. The blood flows and flows and never stops, pouring out of him and into the wider world. Eventually, there's an entire stream of it, coursing over stones and sand like running water, and he's standing on the bank of this sanguine stream, watching that blood that flows like water, so deep. Too deep for him to cross. Sephiroth is in view again, standing on the other side of the stream, the green trees of Wutai behind him. Genesis should be glad to see his friend, shouldn't he? But he isn't. He's angry again, angrier than before, and there's a bitter taste in his mouth, more bitter than blood.


[OOC: Sephiroth is seeing himself through the eyes of Genesis, a former friend, subconsciously trying to understand Genesis' thoughts and actions, so this is not necessarily an accurate version of that character, since it's filtered through Sephiroth's own perception, feelings, and memories. Responses will come from literarycriticism, unless Sephiroth breaks back through.]