a catalogue of what still bleeds

what still bleeds ... is it your soul and mine while entwined?

indie multimuse blog featuring original, and canon characters from the arcana • soon adding muses from : witch hat atelier ; deadlock ; league of legends & a long etcetera. catalogued by V ( mun is of age and will only write with people over 21 ).

hilliard felt his spine melt and his insides churn in a way the body reserved only for panic attacks.

any questions about what the hell the nightmare was doing taking his hand died on his lips in a choked scream. and as he watched the end of the cigarette scorch the skin beneath it with a hiss, filling his mind with half-uttered prayers, hilliard felt utterly and completely unable to move. stiff as a rag doll, his arm fell to his side as the entity finished its show, and with his mouth half-open in a grimace of disbelief, morello blinked a couple of times, trying to snap out of his stupor.

❝ well… for a starter, i can guess you’re pretty fucking rude— ❞ he seems surprised that the first sounds he produces aren’t screams of horror, but his lips turn into a pale, almost invisible line afterward. the wheeled suitcase he’s carrying, as black as his clothes, his hair, and his stupid soul, is instinctively placed at his feet, as if he were trying to create a barrier between them. he doesn’t find the question amusing, studying the faces as if his eyes were only just getting used to what they provoke in his mind, almost like trying to look at a very bright light—only in this case, the light isn’t a light, but the door that leads to each and every one of his most real nightmares. damn it. ❝ i can sense—i can sense you’re not a mere demon… i’ve seen lesser ones, they’re not like you, so—shit, i don’t know... greed—? ❞ apprehensive, unable to resist playing the damned game that has been presented to him, the priest speaks with a choked voice. ❝ one of the princes of hell, yes... maybe lu- oh god ❞.

he sighed—maybe it just wasn't his day.

that day, the visions of twisted figures and little devils perched on monsignor sullivan’s shoulders during mass had caused hilliard to spill some of the consecrated wine at the feet of one of the lovely old ladies who joined them every sunday. the young priest’s face wavered between the pallor brought on by the horrors and the blush of shame. recalling the situation there, standing on the church grounds’ lawn, with the twilight sky above him and the cold numbing his own cheeks, had made him shut his eyes tightly, pitying his own misfortune and praying that the nicotine would take away his desire for the earth to swallow him.

when hilliard opened his eyes, the figure in front of him startled him, and the first thing he did was let out a cry of surprise. but once his eyes adjusted, the priest instantly recognized that the figure, while having a ‘human’ appearance, could be anything but that word. to the priest’s eyes, his façade seemed like a thin film covering the man’s true form, and if he narrowed his eyes, the protruding lower canines were hard to miss on that kind face.

with the cigar hanging from the corner of her mouth and having listened intently to every single word he said, hilliard couldn’t help but open her mouth a little, thinking to herself ("he's cute”) and immediately wanting to strangle himself for thinking it. ❝ ... oh, right! morello, it’s father morello or—or you can just call me hilliard, because that’s my name, uhm- ❞a nervous laugh catches in his throat as he holds deok-su’s hand with cold, thin fingers and all the firmness he can muster ❝ hilliard morello—the pleasure is totally mine. nice cane, by the way... ❞

as they talked, the sky gradually lost its color until it turned into a mass of darkness and thick, grey clouds. when he lets go of his hand, hilliard goes about lighting his cigarette, illuminating his pale, smooth face with the glow of the lighter’s flame. a thoughtful, audible ‘hmmm ’ escapes him, his eyes half-closed as he gazes at the clouds, exhaling the smoke and taking care not to blow it in his companion's direction.❝ no, you're good. i'm not offended by the question oranything ❞ he gestured with his free hand, playing it down. ❝ at least you had the tact to ask me ❞.

the priest begins to shift his weight from one leg to the other, restlessly, tapping his cigarette. ❝ there are people who would agree with what you say, though no one has been as kind as you to say so. in my book, i like to believe that god is a little more forgiving towards his followers and won’t make a big deal of one of his sheep relieving a bit of stress in this way. it’s not my worst sin either...❞ there isn’t a hint of sarcasm in what he’s saying, but from the smile on his face, you could tell he’s a bit embarrassed to say it.

when he looks up, there is a renewed curiosity in his eyes. ❝ ok, my turn ❞ when did they start playing 100 questions? ❝ are you human? and- have you come for me? ❞ wow, he was also a cheater! but his words showed no sign of judging his strange guest at all.