she granted the former professor a quiet observance, as one would look on during a mass or — klaudia peered closer — a funeral procession, family and friends in mourning. the only memento, a diary, held onto like a lifeline, scoured for meaning. and from the ashes, a rebirth, an ascension, divine apotheosis. of that, she was as certain as she was of the familiar tingling at the back of her mind.
the mention of the church’s truths piqued her interest immediately as one who oft doubted their intentions. despite the fact that she’d unwaveringly stood at dimitri’s side, the existence of the church was but another thorn in her own side. the enigmatic order filled her dreams, sowing more and more distrust the more cryptic such visions grew. ( were these just another set of delusions to weigh her down ? ). of course, of course, it was important; of course, of course she wanted to know. however … it was neither the time or place.
❛ you cannot fight two wars at once, ❜ she spoke after a moment of deliberation. ❛ even if i should desire that knowledge, i know that it will not be worth the lives an end to this war would save. ❜ for a fleeting moment, just one, she pondered what the old klaudia would say to that. surely … she’d have laughed and deemed the woman mad. the dramatic irony. ❛ then we can focus on the church. ❜
❝ are we not already? ❞ a curious tilt of his head, emerald gaze shifting slowly from words ‘pon a page to another standing near to him. saint seiros, she’d stolen everything from him. mother, father, thine own heart; his body was not his own anymore. progenitor god, are you not among us now? he stands amongst them, human in appearance ... but he knows. the goddess knows. he is of a different breed. there is divinity in these veins, coursing through him like a flowing river. the church would dare say his way of thinking neared heretical, foolish. to have been merged with the creator of the world ------ none but sothis would believe. ( he can hear her laughs in the back of his subconscious ------ or is that his own laughter now? he could hardly tell the difference. )
perhaps, if anything ... he’s bitter. he was birthed with purpose / given a part to play whilst in the womb of a nun. born only to fulfill his role of host to a goddess; born only to become the god of the new age. if they saw him now, what would his mother think? his father? a gentle shake of his head, thoughts disperse. ❝ well, i suppose you’re right. ❞ the journal closes, he stands. his stride begins shortly thereafter, and he ends up beside the other. ❝ we will all have the truth soon enough. ❞ a rather ominous admission. as if he, himself, would dare reveal the truth once this is over.
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