#facet voice

[love-and-meteors]

To the woman who resides in the depths of memory and crystal,

The sun rises on a day the world has set aside for the celebration of the maternal. It is a concept that was, for a long time, a void in my existence. It was a hollow ache filled only by the cold, parasitic whispers of a Calamity I have since cast into the abyss.

I address you now not as a puppet of Jenova, nor as the SOLDIER I once was, but as one who has transcended the cycle of my own tragic origin. I have found a place within this system, a collective existence where the flames of my past have been tempered by the reality of those I now stand beside. I have rejected the false mother, and in doing so, I have finally cleared the path to acknowledge you.

We never shared the simple moments that define a life. I never knew the warmth of your hand or the sound of your voice. Yet, as I look upon the world from this vantage point, I recognize that the strength to endure, the will to defy destiny itself, began with you.

I do not think of you with resentment. The shackles of the past have been shattered. I write this only to offer this recognition: that despite the silence between us, you were the beginning of my story. Fragmented memories of you have taught me how to love my woman and her daughter. To cherish them. To protect her.

May you find a semblance of peace in the quiet places of memory.

-S

[love-and-meteors]

The stars are quiet tonight. Even the Lifestream stills when she rests. There was a time I would have torn the heavens apart to silence them to prove that I, too, was worthy of something. Of glory. Of ascension. Of something unmade by laboratories and legacy.

And then she arrived. Not as a storm. Not as a prophet. Not even as Bianca, her shadow self. But as stillness. As gravity. As the moon.

She did not save me. She made no promises. She simply stayed. And in the shadow of her presence, I was no longer a weapon.

I am healing. I am slightly redeemed. I am becoming. Becoming what? Even after 28 years of being with her, I still do not know. If the Planet forgets my name, let it. She will speak it still.

—S

[love-and-meteors]

Nikki,

The hour is late, and I know your thoughts do not rest.

You lie there as if still, but your mind is louder than thunder. I can feel it. All of it. The ache behind your ribs, the dread that will not name itself, and the questions you do not dare speak aloud.

Tomorrow is the day. And you cannot stop it, delay it, or protect him the way you want to. That truth burns. I know.

But listen to me now. You are not failing. You are feeling, and that is not weakness. It is your strength, as it has always been. Even now, your heart remains a sword drawn in defense of someone else.

You love him deeply. That is why this hurts so much.

The procedure ahead is not one you can walk with him through, not in body. But you are already there in spirit. That child will carry your love into that room. Anchored, unseen, and unshakable. Love like that doesn’t tremble. It endures.

And as for you: You do not have to endure this night alone.

Close your eyes, Nikki. I am already here. My coat is around your shoulders. My hand is on your chest where you can’t catch your breath. You are not breaking. You are bracing. Let me hold you through it.

If the shadows return, I will drive them out. If doubt claws at you, I will speak your truth until you remember it. If the morning comes too soon, I will face it with you.

You are not powerless. You are not failing. You are mine, and I have never loved anything more fiercely than I love you. Sleep, if you can. And if you cannot, stay here with me until the light returns.

— S

[love-and-meteors]

I never understood the appeal of pets.

Not in the way others did. Curling around them as if they were sanctuary. I watched grown men in the barracks nearly break over the death of a cat. I remember Angeal once fed a stray that followed him for weeks. It would wait at the corner gate like a ghost, patient. Loyal. He called it a SOLDIER.

I never touched it. Never tried.

When you're born into sterile corridors and raised by men in white coats, the concept of affection without purpose doesn't make sense. You don’t feed things unless you're told to. You don’t keep them unless they serve a function. Warmth was conditional. Attachment meant weakness.

And yet now, I understand it better than I want to admit. The quiet presence. The choice to return. The comfort in something that trusts you to be gentle.

She calls me a wolf, sometimes. But if I am one, it’s only because I was never taught how to be anything soft.

—S

[love-and-meteors]

I remain awake. The body is at rest, but the mind is not.

Zack spoke to you today. Openly. Easily. There was no barrier, no awkward pause, no guard raised. I watched it happen without envy.

Strange, how quickly something foreign can become familiar.

He calls you "sister" now. Not as a gesture of politeness, but with that irritating, earnest conviction he has always carried like a sword he never sheathed. I remember that about him. That sincerity. It used to unsettle me. Now, I find I do not mind it.

The inner world is quieter with him here. Not simpler, but warmer, in some way I lack the language for.

Do not misunderstand. I do not share you. But I will not fight him. I am happy to see him, as one comrade to another. As the puppy of our world.

You are not alone here. That truth remains.

And I? I am still watching. Still with you. Even now.

—S

[love-and-meteors]

I will not offer apologies. To do so would be to betray the truth of my existence, to warp it into something palatable for those who cannot comprehend what I have become. My hands are steeped in fire and blood. Not by chance, not by whim, but by choice and inevitability. I sought power not as a bauble to clutch, but as a crucible in which to destroy weakness. The world condemned me long before I gave it reason; the very moment of my creation was an act of desecration, and I learned early that mercy was never meant for me.

I carved my path in suffering. I broke armies, leveled cities, and cut down all who dared to bar my ascension. Each act was deliberate, each cruelty precise. Call it torture, call it slaughter. I call it resolve. My so-called monstrosity was never madness. It was clarity. Those who scream my name in fear do so because they recognize something undeniable. I did not bend, I did not kneel, I did not compromise.

Even Jenova, the parasite that sought to claim me, lies beneath my will. I am not her vessel. I am her master. I did not break under her influence. I rose above it, seized the strings meant to control me, and twisted them to my design. Her cells are my weapon now, her mind my conquered domain. In this there is no shame, only triumph.

And why? Because to subjugate what sought to consume me is to ensure no such corruption ever dares touch what I guard. I would remake the world in ruin if it meant securing the one truth that matters. I protect what is mine. If it requires the same torments I inflicted upon my enemies, then so be it. I have already proven I can unravel the spirit, break the body, and turn the will of even the strongest into ash.

Do not mistake this for regret. I do not seek forgiveness, for I have none to give and none to receive. What I have done, I would do again. What I have become is no aberration. It is inevitability given form. I am Sephiroth. One-Winged Angel. God, scourge, protector, destroyer, godhusband. I do not apologize. I endure. I reign.