#coercitxr

          How futile. It all would lead to nothing but despair.

          "And why have you asked me to come out here now?" Appearing as if Kishou would speak towards a spirit hiding somewhere far away from him [ as nothing was even remotely visible ]. But questions still, as she should know, it wasn't always easy for the young man to slip away, to wander off into seemingly nowhere and meet with one he should have killed so long ago. "You know that I am not fond of playing your games." Maybe he would grow it over time, yet for now? His voice becomes a little bit harsher by the day. Hushedly whispered, filling to the brim the intricate designs of stone and rock.

    ◆ ---but he knew him to be of the CCG's wretched conglomerate of the 'rightful'. "Good evening~" So much for that, perhaps, as he was about to close the shop and merely wander off for this or that night-filling indulgence. That could wait { so he thinks }. "Is there something you need~? You are a bit late for the opening hours, but you seem as if there is something on your mind~"

♙          "Is there something you need?" One would expect for such, as not seldom the young 'prince' would come close when only in need for information or that one specific inclination of diversion the Grandmaster was even only willing to offer, now that he had retired for the evening, strain of the time and upcoming war only marginally visible on visage staring out into the nothingness. He didn't particularly bother with the youth in his grace and care { wasn't essentially bothered by him either }, but sure enough, would not extend friendliness past that softened and comforting voice of his.

♙           And even that all this time had passed, his own eyes would glance carefully over the seated form, arranging and adjusting what he could decipher to be of that old and revered language, all these little bits of information collected over countless hours, melting into days and weeks - that still feel like a mere drop of water upon a hot stone in brightened sunlight. It's odd to think, that his own voice would to this day { even though he had been chided for it time and time again } whisper with that certain form of veneration so hard to ignore and brush off and away like piece of attire to be discarded for a night.

         And so it was easily enough to make him stop in tracks as far as shifting movement had only been commenced. Lifting a hand, long fingers that hold a match delicately with its little red tongue dancing in the barely shifting shyness of travelling air. It’s only a split-second short of lightening another one of these uncountable candles placed around the Priest in the subtle quietude of a churches’ sanctuary. And it’s a breath later for the soul of another one long deceased to be brought to life on a quickly blackening wick enveloped by the thick white of a holy light.

         “So I see, my son.” That word itself falls softly from his lips that twitch up to a barely perceptible smile and finds itself still turned away and obscured by broad back only moving once with exhaling softness of a well-hidden delight. He does not perceive, nor know, what brought up such abrupt changes in one that seemed forlorn and quite so lost towards the brutality of unrelenting lies and forces corrupt by believing what should not dwell in beliefs of pure and honest souls [ and shall it not be a flickering turmoil’s everlasting rage? to stand here now, and offer thoughts and prayers for those soon damned? ].