'Meteor would give him his answer.' Sephiroth isn't really good at this 'sanity' thing, and Jenova isn't helping. Sephiroth/Tseng, post-City of the Ancients.
Sephiroth wondered just why was Mother so adamant about killing the Wutai-an Turk, his memories muddled and confused. His mind was a swirl of colours, white and black and green and red and blue and yellow that pained him physically when he tried to get through the confusion. When he tried to focus on the black, the oddest ache came upon his body and he felt like screaming even though he knew he couldn't, even though he shouldn't.
He watched, through his clone's eyes, as the Turk slowly, agonizingly slowly, fell after a wound from Masamune. He watched the blood red red red flow down, the quiet sounds as the drops hit the ground. The black exploded behind his eyes, showering him in memories as broken and detached as the man lie, dying, on the ground. Visions of eyes of ebony, full of seriousness and rarely of mischief, and hair as black as a raven's wings and as smooth as spider silk, assaulted his mind. He tried to capture them, trying to figure out what they meant when a loud 'clang' sounded in his head and the black faded away, much like sand through an hourglass, replaced by the yellow of Mother's eyes and the red of her rage.
Sephiroth knew, then, that the black-hair Turk leader chief Tseng meant something to him, something that Mother had tried to keep him from. For the first time, he fought his voluntary bonds, trying to search for the elusive black in his mind. The rainbow of confused colours pained him without the black, yellow of Mother's eyes and red of Her rage and white of Holy boring down upon him like Mother's burning anger. Mother told him that the man was unimportant, that Meteor and the Black Materia were more vital than anything else, that gathering the power of he Lifestream would make him God and he could search for his black then.
Black Materia. /Black/. Sephiroth nodded, trusting completely in his Mother even though a nagging voice at the back of his head said that he shouldn't. Mother had given him life, and Mother would return him his black when the time comes. And when he had his black, filling the spectrum of colours in his head, he would know just what the Turk meant to him, he could capture the illusive memories that haunt him whenever he closed his eyes. Meteor would give him his answer.
Closing his hands around the Black Materia that his little puppet had given him, Sephiroth summoned Meteor.