(no subject)
[Abel didn't wake up alone.
it wasn't the fact his brother had been watching over him, or that his rooms housed children, too. it wasn't that he was in the castle, or in Paradisa -- it had nothing to do with his proximity to civilization at all.
Abel wakes up with her warm lingering on skin, as if he'd been touched by the sun. Lilith's hands cupping his cheeks... and the warmth of a soul that he loved with every fiber of his being, following him to wakefulness when he comes to. the words of a half-remembered dream come with the sensation -- and he swears... would swear with every sliver of resolve within him, that her arms were around him when he cracks his eyes to the ceiling of his room in the Satis tower.
it's impossible, of course... the true Lady-Saint, the real Holy Madonna, had departed from Paradisa months ago, now. she had returned home, to end the war this castle had allowed in some small part to be mimicked here. she had returned home... but she was with him, still. he doesn't question it, just as she had never questioned God. it was a perfect faith he wished hadn't taken him so very long to understand.
he exhales a quiet breath... eyes tilting instinctively to their mirror. he knows he's there... and wonders if he's surprised that he is, after everything.
Cain...] [end room filter.]
[action; few hours after the above: castle to town filter & open]
[there have been losses, before. his, and others' -- that have put him in uncomfortable positions. positions of pain and grief, that have exposed parts of him he would've rather forget existed. that have shown him the sides of others and left them -- and him -- reeling.
but this is different.
he offers no apologies to the journal today. he knows, by now, how hollow those are in the face of transgressions this great. if he were a better man, he might be able to find the right words to say at a time like this... ones to assuage the guilt of the 'vampires' he had ordered around and treated like cattle, or maybe words of grief to the victims he'd tossed around like playthings instead of his friends and family.
but he's not; he finds his head in a strange sort of place, not caught in what anyone who knows him would expect -- he's bereft the usual self-flagellation that typically surfaces in his self-pity. he doesn't feel sorry for himself, this time. his thoughts are not of 'Abel', but of...
...he's gone and destroyed families, again... women and children, men and--
Abel slips from his room sans cassock and dressed in simple white shirt and slacks instead, his hair free of the usual ribbon. he isn't the priest, because the priest is as much as mask as Contra Mundi had been. he is a man. a simple man, who wants to make things right. he came to terms with the weight on his shoulders a long time ago, perhaps even masochistically has accepted it. he isn't buried under the guilt, because it's old and familiar. or maybe he's deluding himself again... is he? is he simply in shock? is he numb? is he running from what he's done? running from facing everyone familiar, first? or--
he heads out of the castle and toward the City Royale, heavy weight of Lilith's rosary at his stomach... and will spend the rest of his day offering apologies and extending himself to the families of the victims. there is no crypt to hide away from the world, this time.
...and for once in his life, he's going to do the right thing without being lead by the hand. this is the right thing... it has to be. it has to be, it... what he does after this... even Abel doesn't know, but... his resolve is firm. he'll see this through.]
[ooc: town filter is open for anyone who catches him leaving the castle for the city, or heading through it, if they'd like <3]
it wasn't the fact his brother had been watching over him, or that his rooms housed children, too. it wasn't that he was in the castle, or in Paradisa -- it had nothing to do with his proximity to civilization at all.
Abel wakes up with her warm lingering on skin, as if he'd been touched by the sun. Lilith's hands cupping his cheeks... and the warmth of a soul that he loved with every fiber of his being, following him to wakefulness when he comes to. the words of a half-remembered dream come with the sensation -- and he swears... would swear with every sliver of resolve within him, that her arms were around him when he cracks his eyes to the ceiling of his room in the Satis tower.
it's impossible, of course... the true Lady-Saint, the real Holy Madonna, had departed from Paradisa months ago, now. she had returned home, to end the war this castle had allowed in some small part to be mimicked here. she had returned home... but she was with him, still. he doesn't question it, just as she had never questioned God. it was a perfect faith he wished hadn't taken him so very long to understand.
he exhales a quiet breath... eyes tilting instinctively to their mirror. he knows he's there... and wonders if he's surprised that he is, after everything.
Cain...] [end room filter.]
[action; few hours after the above: castle to town filter & open]
[there have been losses, before. his, and others' -- that have put him in uncomfortable positions. positions of pain and grief, that have exposed parts of him he would've rather forget existed. that have shown him the sides of others and left them -- and him -- reeling.
but this is different.
he offers no apologies to the journal today. he knows, by now, how hollow those are in the face of transgressions this great. if he were a better man, he might be able to find the right words to say at a time like this... ones to assuage the guilt of the 'vampires' he had ordered around and treated like cattle, or maybe words of grief to the victims he'd tossed around like playthings instead of his friends and family.
but he's not; he finds his head in a strange sort of place, not caught in what anyone who knows him would expect -- he's bereft the usual self-flagellation that typically surfaces in his self-pity. he doesn't feel sorry for himself, this time. his thoughts are not of 'Abel', but of...
...he's gone and destroyed families, again... women and children, men and--
Abel slips from his room sans cassock and dressed in simple white shirt and slacks instead, his hair free of the usual ribbon. he isn't the priest, because the priest is as much as mask as Contra Mundi had been. he is a man. a simple man, who wants to make things right. he came to terms with the weight on his shoulders a long time ago, perhaps even masochistically has accepted it. he isn't buried under the guilt, because it's old and familiar. or maybe he's deluding himself again... is he? is he simply in shock? is he numb? is he running from what he's done? running from facing everyone familiar, first? or--
he heads out of the castle and toward the City Royale, heavy weight of Lilith's rosary at his stomach... and will spend the rest of his day offering apologies and extending himself to the families of the victims. there is no crypt to hide away from the world, this time.
...and for once in his life, he's going to do the right thing without being lead by the hand. this is the right thing... it has to be. it has to be, it... what he does after this... even Abel doesn't know, but... his resolve is firm. he'll see this through.]
[ooc: town filter is open for anyone who catches him leaving the castle for the city, or heading through it, if they'd like <3]