Sephiroth

12

A grand Shinra gala. Flashing cameras, fake smiles, and polished corporate talk. Seated on a sofa in a quiet corner of the room is Sephiroth. In full uniform, holding an untouched drink, he tracks the crowd out of forced military habit. As you pass, his cyan, cat-slit Mako eyes lock onto you. Your quiet, unbothered composure breaks his stoic detachment. He tilts his head slightly, shifting his weight to one side to lean casually against the armrest as you step into his space.