#templar oc

“I did not know…”

“There was no way for you to know.”

“Had I known…”

“I would never have let you see such sides of me.”

She weeps, and his world crumbles. In the dark, empty church, he kneels. For her. Desperate that she would not abandon him as God had, that his dove would not fly off at the sheer sight of blood which coats his boots and scruffy black hair, like a sticky sheen that he cannot scrub off no matter what he does. 

Pray do not leave me. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, clutching her hands so tightly. Her soft, unmarred, perfect, gentle hands. Oh how he yearns for her to touch her like he is no monster as he believes he is. But for an angel to grace him with her touch, or for him to stain her unmarked flesh— what a sin! “I’m sorry. Please stay. It doesn’t have to change anything. Please.”

“Why would I leave?” She cries out, tears blurring those doe eyes that shatters his self the more he stares. She tugs at his shoulders, trying to pull him up. Desperation blabbers on her tear-stained lips. She cries. “Stand, please! I would never— So please stand up!”

He cannot. 

This is his last act of reverence. Of love.

Just as he does not dare raise his head to meet her eyes. Eyes blessed by Demeter herself, of the worldly calm he so desires to be a part of.

Yet why does she still plead to him, when it should be the other way around? “You have done no wrong. Why do you apologise, still?” Her voice is strained with anguish, her hands digging into his shoulders, his arms, anything, anything to get him up. “Antonio, for the love of God, please stand up and face me as you should!”

He cannot. 

He weeps. Tears feel like the angry hot whip’s lashes that scar his back, as they trail down in rivulets down his cheeks, dampening the dusty wooden planks beneath him. His hands curl into fists, nails digging into the flesh of his palms until he feels the sting and dampening of his skin, and the way blood seeps under his nails.

God, does he deserve this?

I can offer you so much, my dear. If it is my warmth, you may siphon it all. If it is my heart, you may tear it out. Your love is mercy, and every bit I spend basking in it is my elysium.

She collapses to her knees. Chest heaving with ache, as she runs her hands up his cheek, forcing him to lift his shameful head.

Yet my presence to you is the filth of the earth ruining your pretty hands and soiling the ground you stand on. My selfishness and greed unbecomes of you.

“Forsake the thought.” Her voice, yet her voice, surges another wave of tears to burn his eyes. Her gentle touches, which he is so undeserving of, covers every inch she can see of him, as if to replace His— “You are here. You are with me. I choose to be here, no?”

He can hardly respond, not when sobs wrack his shoulder and he heaves for air, her air. Sounds of anguish fill the stale building, flooding the wretched place with his cries. He cries his heart out, like a child of grief and torment.

Why does she not leave?

Yet all she does is pull him closer, embracing him tightly as he rests his head against her shoulder. Her hand caresses his hair, combing out the treacly locks of its mire, while the other keeps him close.

“They were so, so cruel to you.” Her voice trembles, and his sobs deepen. “Oh God, I am here now. Let me wash you of your past, let me relieve the burden from your shoulders, my dearest.”

Still, you look upon me as if I am worthy of the commonfolk’s gaze. As if I am worthy of being a human.

“If I could not help you then, at least let me help you now. I will lower myself if I have to, if it means I get to see your face and hold you in my arms. I will kneel and beg and plead if it means you will be at peace.”

What can he provide her in return? But whatever pathetic scraps remaining of his lean body and deteriorated mind?

Finally, he dares enough to meet her gaze, and lifting his head feels like a tremendous task, yet he does. Because, by Jove, he would do anything for her. If it pleases her, if it makes her happy—

If it is I that you require for contentment and merriment, I would. I would.

Her eyes. Once so innocent, and now she bares herself vulnerable to him. As he does for her.

A hand rises to her cheek. The other clutches at her arm.

Even now, she stares at him with hope. So much hope that it makes his heart clench and twist.

“I love you.” A pitiful whisper from his chapped lips.

His vows. For her.

———