Rating: PG-13 for suggested incest and slight squick.
Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy VII, or any of the places and characters mentioned in that game and this piece of fanfiction. No profit is being made, I write for free.
In his dreams she is beautiful, stunning mother with poise and grace above her age; protective father with a smile always roughly to hand; giggling, flittery sister – his whole family, wavering through the spectrum of sleep. Just like he always wished; she has soft hands and soft words, thick voice and strong hair, eyelashes brushing cheeks as she laughs and smiles at her wonderful son. "Mother," he breathes, twisting in his sleep.
In his dreams she has shame, the blessed gift of clothes and morals; and she knows when to stop pushing, pushing, a mother's instinctive trick for simply knowing when he is about to cry, fall, graze his knees.
(In his dreams she holds him, cold and tight and eyeless like a deep-sea fish glittering in the invisible dark, his promises of eternal love hitting her scales and exploding in a rain of dead night. In his dreams he needs no light, no sight, though when Jenova kisses he sometimes likes to listen.)
Of course, his dreams don't last long and, before Sephiroth has time to forget, he is awoken by the harsh rasp in his ear. "Time to wake," Jenova whispers, "you're not done yet."