#seraphima16

As always, I started beautifully, but it turned out to be crap

Друзья, явахуе

I was a little inspired by this painting and painted Lawrenitez with their daughter Cecilia.

Evening had long since fallen over the Vatican. Most of the work was done: the documents had been signed, the final meetings concluded, and even a brief report for the press office had been sent. Seraphima could feel the day’s tension slowly easing from her shoulders, but a sense of heaviness still lingered within her.

She allowed herself a short walk — without security, without her secretary, wearing only a simple black cassock with red trim and a white cap, which she had taken off anyway and was holding in her hand. Her feet carried her down to the small courtyard of the House of Saint Martha, where there was a modest enclosure with tortoises.

They had been given as a gift to the previous pontiff several years ago, and since then they had lived here peacefully, almost unnoticed by the rest of the world. Seraphima approached the low fence and crouched down.

One of the tortoises—a large one, with a dark shell and wise, old eyes—was moving slowly across the grass. Seraphima reached out and gently ran her fingers over the warm, rough shell. Then, with one finger, she touched the tortoise’s head very gently, right between its eyes. It wasn’t frightened—it merely slowed its movement slightly, as if listening.

— You’re so calm… – Seraphima murmured quietly. Her voice was low, soft, almost tender. – You just walk about, sometimes escape from the enclosure, eat salad… and that’s all. Yet you live longer than any of us. Such clever creatures.

The tortoise blinked slowly, in a tortoise-like manner. Seraphima smiled—wearily, but sincerely. The smile came out slightly crooked, with a hint of annoyance.

— God created you for a reason, you marvellous creatures. You’re in no hurry. You’re not afraid of running out of time. You don’t sign papers that nobody reads. You don’t stand in the rain because you can’t move from where you are…

She fell silent, watching as the tortoise carefully nibbled a piece of lettuce leaf. Serafima’s fingers still rested on the shell — warm, reassuring, as if over hundreds of years it had absorbed all the peace in the world.

Seraphima sighed, this time more deeply, and rested her forehead against the railing.

— Sometimes I’d so love to be like you. Just to live. Slowly. For a long time. Without all those titles, without the white cassock, without every word being weighed on the scales of the whole world. Just… to be.

The tortoise turned its head and looked at her with its ancient eyes. Seraphima laughed softly — briefly, almost silently.

— Yes, yes… I know. You’re thinking right now: “Here’s another crazy two-legged creature who comes here to complain.” But you won’t tell anyone, will you? It’ll stay between us.

She ran her finger along the edge of the shell once more, as if stroking a big old friend.

— Thank you for letting me come here. At least here I don’t have to be Papa. I can just be Seraphima… who’s tired and who sometimes just wants to sit next to someone who isn’t in a hurry to go anywhere.

An evening breeze swept through the courtyard, gently ruffling Seraphima’s hair. Somewhere in the distance, bells were ringing — quietly, muffled. She remained crouched there for a few more minutes, simply watching the slow, measured movements of the tortoises.

Then she stood up, brushed off her cassock, put her white cap back on, and said quietly, almost as she was leaving:

— Goodnight, friends. I’ll be back tomorrow. Unless, of course, I drown in paperwork… or in the rain.

As she climbed the stairs, she felt a slight sense of relief wash over her. Not much. Not enough to make everything easy. But enough so that tomorrow didn’t seem quite so unbearable.

I'm rewriting the entire movie with my female cardinal OC.

So far I've only done about 12%, but I'm going full gremlin mode with this.

If you're interested — read.

If you're not... well, read it anyway 😉

↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓

It was well past midnight. The room was pitch-black, and the “great silence” was supposed to be observed.

But, as always, for Antonio Tagle, that rule existed somewhere far away.

— Bob… – he called out in a loud whisper. – Robert! Prevost!

Robert, lying on the bed next to him, sighed heavily in his sleep and replied in a hoarse, sleepy voice:

— Chito, go to sleep…!

— Oh! Great, so you’re not asleep, – Chito noted cheerfully, as if that were official permission to continue.

Robert groaned and pulled the blanket over his head.

— Listen, I was thinking… – Chito continued, ignoring the obvious signals. – What if one of us becomes the pontiff in the future? Can you imagine?”

— Give it a rest…

— No, seriously! – Chito propped himself up on his elbow, his eyes gleaming in the darkness. — Which one of us is better suited for it? Me or you?

Robert sat up silently on the bed. For a few seconds, he just sat there, trying to collect his thoughts. Then he stood up, walked over to Chito’s bed, calmly took the glasses off his nose, carefully set them on the nightstand, and without a word, threw a pillow in his face.

(Well, actually I wear regular glasses, not sunglasses.)

She was always there, with her thin fingers and fragile wrists.

Her look, voice, gait - all of this drove him crazy.