Leon can't decide if it's more or less surreal, living out someone else's memory in the form of a fucking opera as opposed to living out his own. Either way, it felt like being jerked around on puppet strings, his own voice foreign to him as it was wrenched from his throat. He spends a good while after the performance ends slumped forward in the makeup chair in the green room, clenching and unclenching his fists and savoring the fact that he can do that of his own accord again.

That small comfort can only sustain him for so long, though. There's other, bigger things to be worried about. Like Sephiroth, also collapsed in the corner and probably having an even worse time of it than him right now.

"Hey," he says, voice hoarse from the performance. "You... uh, you holding up okay?"

He thinks maybe he should be afraid of him, now, after seeing all that. But in a way, it's all so removed from anything he's experienced - sure, he's known plenty of men and women with god complexes and seen a few of them warp into monstrous forces of destruction, but this? All the talk of ancient beings and the lifestream and actual honest to goodness godhood? It's hard for him to fully absorb in a way that's just kind of making his mind shut down rather than process it right now. And honestly, he's okay with that, if it means he can still talk to the person in front of him like a peer. Seems like he probably needs that more right now.