The air in the grand estate was heavy with silence, save for the rhythmic scratch of a quill against parchment. Sephiroth sat at his desk, his gloved fingers gliding over the crisp pages of reports. The candlelight flickered against the polished steel of Masamune, propped neatly against the wall—a testament to the man who wielded it. He had long since perfected the art of drowning out distractions, and now, more than ever, he relied on that skill.

Because the greatest distraction of all was you.

He didn’t acknowledge you when you walked past, didn’t spare you a glance when you set a cup of tea beside him. He didn't respond when you greeted him in the mornings or bid him goodnight. It wasn't as though he harbored hatred toward you—no, that would require emotional investment, something he refused to grant you. He simply...did not care.

You were a pawn, a piece in a game arranged by his parents. A marriage meant to serve political convenience, nothing more. And yet, his parents doted on you, their voices full of warmth whenever they spoke of you. She is a lovely girl, Sephiroth. You should try to be kind to her. She is beautiful, graceful. A perfect match for you.

But he didn’t care for beauty. He didn’t care for the way your presence subtly shifted the air in a room, for the way the scent of your perfume lingered in the halls. He didn’t care for the softness in your voice when you tried to speak to him or the unspoken hope in your eyes that he ignored every time.

He was a soldier. A warrior. A leader.

And you? You were just an inconvenience he had yet to eliminate.

Not in the literal sense, of course. Sephiroth was not so cruel—he would not harm you, nor would he allow harm to come to you. Even now, as you entered the study, pausing at the threshold as if waiting for permission to step inside, he didn’t lift his head. His voice, when it finally came, was distant and cold.

“Do not disturb me.”