You're not the only member of the clergy with a crush on the new Cardinal.
Siblings speak highly of him, and even the elder ghouls seem drawn to his presence. His intensity radiates from his very being. The mark of the Old One manifests in a white eye that shines sinful wisps of light.
This eye was what set him apart from the rest, the eye that only a potential Papa Emeritus could have. It's as if it can peer directly into your soul, reading your deepest thoughts and desires and tucking them away into its pocket.
His sermons are nothing short of passionate, delivered with a passion that ignites the congregation. All want to be in his presence. All want the chance to be seen by him.
You’re easily pulled into his orbit.
You find yourself eagerly volunteering for tasks you once found mundane to have a chance to speak with him and tell him how inspired you are by him.
Today, you're lighting candles in front of the newly unveiled stained glass portrait of the Ministry's dearly departed Papas. It depicts them in their full regalia. Papa Emeritus the First stands tall, his thurible in hand, smoke twisting around the brothers. Papa Emeritus the Third is captured mid-sermon, the light reflecting on the golden details of his robes. Papa Emeritus II flanks him with his staff, his face drawn in an intense scowl, his eyes somehow still burning.
You hear the snapping of the candles’ flames and the thought dawns on you that no one else is here. No one else setting up the stations for mass, no one else preparing the sacred vestments.
The realization makes you nervous.
The hairs on the back of your neck stand up as the room fills with the sound of slow, clicking steps.
The nave lights dim with his mere presence.
"Such devotion," his familiar voice hisses behind you, sending a shiver down your spine. You turn to see the Cardinal in all his unholy glory, his cassock black as the shadows that surround both of you. He moves closer, sweet-smelling smoke filling the air around you. The white eye seems to glow, shining through you to the stained glass. ”While your dedication is admirable, we mustn't dwell much on the past."
Slowly, he reaches past you, his arm barely grazing yours as he pinches out one of the flames. The wisp of smoke resembles his eye for a moment before floating off.
"The future holds so much more potential, doesn't it?"
He blows the rest of the candles out.
“Yes, Cardinal,” your voice cracks.
The future, a current theme of his sermons: “to focus on what lies ahead rather than what has already passed,” as he would say. His gaze is intense, settling on you with such force that you dare not look away. “Is there something else I could be doing?”
This is the first time you’ve found yourself alone with the Cardinal, and from the gossip of the clergy, this type of thing does not happen often. Silence passes between you, though there’s some kind of whirr in the air. Tension. Perhaps you’re imagining it, but it’s difficult to think he wants anything else other than…
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