#sanctus.

He pauses at those words, hesitates. Speaking this out in the open, right in front of the Lord. Lucky for the boy that they were alone in the cathedral at this late hour. Nostrils flared as though he could smell the sin withing this child not looking at the boy still; stood with his back to him recognizing the scent he so often was used of himself.

 Yet there was a difference smelling this on himself despite him being a man of god or noticing the faint odor linger on the boy in his youth and innocence, supposed to be pure but having these thoughts instead, where the priest eventually even was to blame for.

Was he not the reason for the inappropriate act — the thought dwelling in the head when the albino had willingly decided to sin. He could not convice the holy man that he nad not known of its indecency. He had known and had committed nevertheless. Which was what unsettled the priest the most. Now how was he going to fix this?

Not that he was against love, not that he was against jonesing for bodily desire nor against one participating in such if they thought it to be necessary. The difference in age was enough to tell him that this should not be. Let alone his religious belief that men on men should rather not indulge in intimate actions if they could so prevent it.

No, this was not alright. But how could he dare scold the boy when perhaps he did not know better. Hœnir did not wish to make him feel worse, with everyone else already giving him a hard time solely due to his appearance. The priest was the only one the boy seemed to feel alright around. The tall-grown man had to be careful with this trust, not send the child into an even deeper depression. It had been his intention to save him, not make it all worse.

Eventually the holy man turned. He looked at the boy looking back at him and reached with one hand for those silver strands so much resembling his own. Long fingers seeped through hair before starting to stroke over it, attempted to calm the child while the other hand clung to the rosary tightly. If only he knew how to best react.

Head rose at the sound of the voice. He did not turn to pay full attention and instead kept his gaze focused on the stone altar ahead; eyes staring at the marble cross reflecting the warm light of the candles in the front while being enveloped by bright  white of the moonlight shining from behind through the enormous stained-glass windows of the cathedral.

Here he was, a second time. The priest wondered why that was, what he could have possibly done this time to think that he was in dire need of absolution.

“ Do you wish to confess? “

“ Ah... “ A silent exhale escaped him loosely holding the box with slender fingers. Brow rose at the content of the box before eyes narrowed, close to asking why she had brought him the bird in the first place somehow he could already guess its purpose.

A beautiful creature, he had to admit, resting there in all its inverted glory. Hœnir could not recall ever seeing a white-feathered corvidae. Not with these ruby eyes unnatural like the rest of it. An albino, perhaps. Yet was this it not better left free than kept by the likes of him — busy on one hand and entirely not sure how to even handle this animal on the other. Which made the man of god halt. Had she just called him a wolf?

Bright cyan eyes traveled from the bird to the woman in front of him; looked down at the female smaller than him, as all of the others were compared to him, throwing a wary glare into her direction as he did ponder the witch’s intention. He could not recall ever doing her any good, surely she would not end up showing herself here with a gift out of her good will now would she.

FIRST THREE IN MY INBOX GET KISSES

He thought it would have stopped by now but it had not. Even after all this time away, whether he had been living here in the cathedral or went abroad with his mother and her new-found lover. Even after all he had done to assure the suffering would stop here sat the young boy again all bruised and beaten; full of scratches and dirt he was now carefully brushing away with a wet cloth he repeatedly wrung after clearing it out in a bowl of warm water, only to brush over the sore skin again.

It was a shame, how they could not see his true beauty like he did. This child with his porcelain skin and blood red eyes. Could they not see how special he was? How god had blessed him to not look like anyone else. Or did they. Were they perhaps not scared of him, but maybe were envious because he was different. The thought let the holy man pause. Envy was much stronger than the simple fear of something unknown. If they had been scared of the boy simply because he was different he would just have gone and explained to them that there was no reason to fear him, no reason to be resentful and go as far as hurting the child physically. Loathing him for being better than them however…

A sigh escaped the taller male as his hand came to rest in the bowl yet again. It was his other hand now that rose, reaching for those pure white strands of hair he carefully brushed aside to reveal more of the smaller one’s face. How could anyone hurt something as pretty. How could anyone cause this tiny soul to suffer solely for what he was made to be.

Eyes narrow as he eventually leaned in. Slowly and just a bit — enough to hesitantly press his lips onto the boy’s forehead. Almost as though he wished to make it all better. As if this simple kiss could make all the pain go away. Hœnirknew it could not. No actions and no words could make up for what this boy was sent through, especially if not even his mother had any chance of making him feel better. Why should he be able to?

It happened more often than not that the albino bird soared through the air around the massive cathedral; close around him too making the priest wonder whether he wanted his attention or whether it was simply playing its game. So understandingly hearing the heaving of white wings through the air was not what caught the heavenly man’s attention but the sudden weight on his shoulder, causing him to look up at the corvidae sitting there holding black hair in his beak presenting it almost proudly to the man puzzled by the sight. A hand rose; slender fingers reaching out, taking the fur offered to him between thumb and pointer hesitantly before holding fingers close to his face, examining the hair while in thought.

Touch my muse. Be descriptive or simple, tender or violent, fond or hateful - anything goes.

A wince, then a gasp. More surprised by the sudden sensation of cold keratin against his skin than the weight of the corvidae making its presence on his shoulder known. The man of god had been lost in thoughts and with his senses partly numbed by the stinging pain he had not noticed the bird settling down on him. Even less this crimson stare examining him.

Hœnircould tell solely by the eyes that looked at him what it was the raven intended. Animals had urges after all. Hunting instinct. Something burned inside their little head for generations and longer. For a second the lithe man awaited the albino bird to try taste him. Even after the gentle gesture standing there with his body tense and the own eyes set upon the gift the Witch had made him some time ago. How he had grown in those past weeks. A proud size and remarkably white plumage sometimes too pure for its intentions.