39. He who is called I Am
[Shaking, scared, still half unsure of who he was and swamped by experiences not his own and yet feeling that way; there is an angel flying unsteadily on white wings from the roof out into the grounds of the castle.
As he lands, his journal falls from his pocket and lands open, unseen. He is crying, though he doesn't realise it, and the only word spoken is one that breaks a six thousand year practice.]
Fuck.
[ooc: Open over the journal or in person. Set right after this.]
As he lands, his journal falls from his pocket and lands open, unseen. He is crying, though he doesn't realise it, and the only word spoken is one that breaks a six thousand year practice.]
Fuck.
[ooc: Open over the journal or in person. Set right after this.]