He watched her. He watched a delicate flower be plucked straight from the pampered garden it had spent its entire life in. How sad. How terribly, horribly common. Yet she would cause an irregular pattern in his heart, a foreign stirring caused by something that usually brought about only numbness. The sincerity of a get mass well card sent by a church to sufferers of the plague.
Pupils narrowed as the setting sun draped over their figures, giving the blood a morbid hue of rose and poppy. A mirage of their blooming could almost unfold upon his very eyes if not for the wilting priestess near his side. She was such a distraction.
Now, if only he could distract her from the sight that distressed her to the very bones of her foundation.
Her hiccups and tears nearly smothered the words she was managing to choke out, but Lutz understood them well enough. Casually, as if it were the simplest thing to do in the world, he reached his thumb to caress her cheek, catching a stray tear that had fallen from her misty hues. It was wiped away with a hue of unknown intimacy they may never know, yet its presence would be placed here none the less.
When the spell left her lips, he quite nearly stopped her—someone of her color, of her unmistakable hue, would surely- Though, this time, she would surprise him. Her intentions had never read into that of resurrection, -something reserved for only, as of now, Asha Rahiro- but instead of a somehow kinder desire...
A heart string was strung like a single cord off a banjo, ringing in his ears near painfully.
“Yes,” His voice is hushed, as though attending the funeral. “I am sure Yama would welcome her in no finer a state.” Clear, and laced with the slightest drop of emotion.
Before the priestess could properly register, the stone-like sleeping beauty was lifted away from her into the arms of the creation priest. He carried the corpse as gently as he would a small child, the thoughtless head laying against his shoulder as though it could stir at any moment.
His eyes were cast upon the setting sun, winds rustling their clothes form as though to gesture them back towards the city confines.
“Perhaps it is best we head back, and get her to the proper company.”
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