Sephiroth closed yet another book. Never in his life had he felt so irritated and at the same time so alone. Since childbirth, he knew he was different from the other children. All the others played on their swing sets and their jungle gyms, but he had particularly taken notice of the flowers and the grass, and other such natural things. No one had wanted to play with that quiet little child. And now, here at this very moment, something lured him deeper into the books...something lured him to find the answer to every question he had ever had about just why he was such a strange child. Who am I? He thought. Am I a paranoid human who has merely spent too much time in this dusty old library, questioning his existence....? He put the book away. Or just another science project..? He fingered the bookcase that seemed to be stretching every step he took towards it for a new book, opened one and began to skim over its contents for any keywords on his being. Sephiroth turned a few more weathered pages of the book. He slowly lowered his arms to his side and looked upwards wistfully, as if asking a silent question to the heavens above. He then lowered his head and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the floor had become blurred as fatigue and exhaust tugged on his weary body. He blinked his Mako-colored eyes, attempting to fight the drowsiness that was now beckoning him with sweet whispers. Instantly, he reached for the bookcase and leaned against it for support. But no. He wouldn't surrender to the enticement of sleep. No rest was needed, and this was far too important. Every minute that was not used for researching was an hour more of it. But now it was as if the very embodiment of sleep itself pulled on his willpower. He was now beginning to stagger backwards, trying to straighten up so that he would not fall over. However, his strength was no match for the weariness possessing him. He felt his legs weaken and at the moment he knew he could stay awake no longer. He stumbled once more. As if in slow motion, Sephiroth’s body fell, the book flying from his hand, a mass of long, silvery hair waving behind him, acting as a pillow to cushion the fall of the First Class SOLDIER. He landed on the hard basement floor with a gentle thud. In the end, sleep had won, claiming its victim, and Sephiroth rested deeply. Only for the moment. For there were more questions to be answered about Jenova, Shinra, and himself. But for that moment, the silver-haired man on the floor of Shinra’s Basement slumbered, as a veil of calmness settled over his silenced form.