#holycharm

@holycharm​

            ❞ Too long, my dear. 

          what had been intended as a show of respect, a simple bow, had become an opportunity for mercedes to ease up onto her toes & place a kiss on his forehead. shock crosses his features, melting away his composure. soon, simple content takes its place. 

E M B R A C E !!!

birthday asks ! || accepting

❛ thank you, mercedes ! ❜

                ❛     mercedes  ,  please forgive my rudeness but if you would permit me a question  ,     ❜               soft  ,  inquisitive tone envelopes each syllable as they spill from open mouth   ;   she exists  ,  carrying upon her body her   devotion   for all to see and   /   he wonders if his father would be disappointed  ,  were he to know how the heir to their   holy kingdom   had begun to feel   doubt   festering within his chest some many moons ago .               ❛     despite everything you seem to have more faith than ever before in the goddess and her teachings .   might i ask what it is that continues to draw you to her ?     ❜

nonverbal // @holycharm

☀️ — DIVINITY cannot be easily contained under the skin of a mortal. 

He is strong; he is STALWART not only for his own survival but for his students. His head must constantly be on a swivel, his eyes fierce, his tactics never faulting. There was a weight upon his shoulders that only grew heavier with each passing month, with each additional UNANSWERED question swimming in his mind. Perhaps this pushes him further. Perhaps this makes the GOLD in his veins burn brighter. RADIANCE mingles with mortal veins, intense and aching and spilling into his lungs. 

As his sword slides from the neck of a bandit, he is reminded of his fragility to this radiance. A vision of BATTLE, but not the one he was fighting now. No, this was a war centuries old, a PAIN so ancient but so burrowing so deep it pierced the ages like a knife. 

And his eyes are closed, perhaps only vaguely feeling his body hit the ground. Instantly his heart’s pulse FLUTTERS, now not even flowing blood if only for a moment. Passed out, the memories of those he did not know passes in the darkness. It takes several seconds for the voices of ancients to fade into the white noise of reality, feeling a normally SOFT voice of his student escalate into a shout, a flash of lightning, the pages of an arcane text tearing and picked up by the wind and carried away. 

His eyes are closed again, then open halfway, more reality bleeding in, a feeling of being DRAGGED, the familiar HOLY LIGHT of white magic closing open wounds. He can at least see in minimal colors, in minimal detail, but it’s difficult to mistake the kind face of Mercedes looking down at him. He can barely hear what she’s saying - her voice was buried among others.