UNPROMPTED ! ✞ always & forever accepting.
@of-forossa has sought the old blood: Here he kneels, here he serves, a pillar of faith and strength even as steeped as he is in the blood. Before the candlelight his eyes burn like warm coals, before the altar of their church his hands curve like claws... but when he adresses his Vicar, when he presses a kiss to her hand, he is no beast-to-be but a man yet. "My Lady Vicar, let this night trouble you no more. Not while your Holy Blades yet remain."
SOMETHING SWELLS, deep within the cavity of her breast ── And she swallows it before her interlocutor can further pierce through flesh and bones with his gaze, before he can realize just how DECADENT the Vicar has ultimately become in the face of adversities ( a flower caught between winter and spring, wilted yet still proud enough to flaunt its petals ) . Utterly desperate are her attempts at pretending that this graveyard of doleful monochromes is, in reality, a lonely and melancholic paradise that will - one day - reward its most faithful servants with sentimental fulfillment: she metaphorically becomes the witch that puts an hex ‘pon the nauseous marsh to deceitfully transform it into an idyllic lake.
The malice within ashen eyes dims, features of frigid marble soften and the cleric mercilessly forces her mind to momentarily halt its pursuit of self-destruction in pursuance of focusing solely ‘pon the tender gestures and the comforting words of the Holy Blade: unfaltering is his LOYALTY towards the Church, towards the HALCYON HAND THAT GIVES AND THEN TAKES TENFOLD, towards those twisted beliefs that seem to have been carved into the very marrow of her tired, aching bones. ❝ Certain nights are really darker than the others, ❞ whispers in response the priestess, hand leisurely moving back to her lap whilst her fingers unconsciously furl inwardly and her long lashes flutter below half-mast ; it’s almost ironic, how touch-starved people long and fear contact with every fiber of their feverish beings, at the same time.
❝ PATIENCE IS A VIRTUE and yet, I have never truly mastered it. It matters not how many times I repeat to myself that a brighter morrow awaits us all, my eyes have grown tired of this all-devouring darkness. ❞ Eyes that have long begun to see beyond the physical realm, eyes that have long begun to reflect the luminescence of the quivering candles and that no longer glimmer with stolen stars when in front of the mirror / The BEAST stirs, uncomfortable and restless, much too vast for such a petite cage. ❝ I pray that you may never lose yourself, your faith and your sentiments. MAY YOU CONTINUE TO BE STRONG, for all of us. ❞
