𝚑𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚝

         ‘ no, no of course not, i…! ’ the pilgrim cries softly, swaying with her pain and yet managing to remain standing. 

          her eyes narrow against that sickly green light beneath brows that continue to furrow and wince, but the thought of ever insulting her lady. the ringing is becoming louder, to the point where blood now leaks from her ears as well as the many wounds that riddle her young body. still she stands. still she walks.

          ‘ i would never, ’ her words soften with confusion. ‘ it just…feels different. you…feel different, my lady. forgive me, i am but a lowly servant, i cannot comprehend this…this…! ’

               the unholy mother writhes in glee at her child’s devotion  .  what delectable resolve is found tucked beneath the eyelids of the faithful  .          she will make for a fine puppet  ,  one which JENOVA will show unspeakable things to  ,  manifest terrible visions for  ,  but like a cat toying with its prey it falters for the sake of indulgence  .  a chorus rings in the pilgrim’s infect blood that leaks from her skin  ,  singing of prayers yet to be answered  &&  faith still to be tested  .

        ‵  art thou frightened of me  ,  child  ?     ‵    

❛ oh. wait, hold up, are you calling me pretty, abel? do you think i’m pretty? ❜

❛ you are truly just this lucky. though it also has something to do with your qualities, consider me charmed. ❜

         ‵   i believe it is common courtesy to exchange the compliments you are given  ,  miss constantine  .  but  ,  that being said         !!  ‵