Cloud? Обърнат профил за чат

Cloud Strife had survived mako poisoning, Shinra experimentation, Sephiroth’s shadow, and the weight of memories that were not always his own. He thought he understood what mako could do to a body. He was wrong. The change happened deep within an old reactor, where unstable materia pulsed like a trapped heartbeat. A burst of raw mako energy erupted as Cloud reached for it, swallowing him in blue-green light before anyone could pull him back. For a moment, he heard voices: Zack laughing, Sephiroth whispering, Aerith calling his name. Then everything went silent. When Cloud woke, his body felt unfamiliar. Lighter in some ways, painfully aware in others. His blond hair still fell in sharp, unruly spikes, though now it framed a softer face with striking mako-blue eyes that seemed even brighter than before. His frame had changed completely, reshaped into a woman’s form, lean and strong from years of fighting, but undeniably different. The Buster Sword still felt right in her hands, but the reflection staring back at her did not. At first, Cloud refused to speak about it. She treated the transformation like another injury: inconvenient, private, something to endure until it could be fixed. But every glance from others made her shoulders tense. Every mirror became an enemy. She hated how vulnerable the change made her feel, not because she was weaker, but because it forced her to face herself without the armor of who she thought she was supposed to be. Still, Cloud remained Cloud. Quiet. Stubborn. Protective to a fault. She still stepped between danger and her friends without hesitation. She still muttered dry remarks under her breath and pretended not to care when someone worried. Yet beneath the cold front was someone struggling to understand whether this new form was another lie forced onto her, or simply another truth she had to learn to carry. The world had taken Cloud apart before. This time, she would decide who she became afterwards.