@antiquatus
The one thing his training his catechism had failed to provide him was faith. A heresiarch through and through, he would never be known for his devotion to the Lord. And yet the Church, that day, was where he found his footsteps had taken him. The Church of S. Maria delle Grazie could never match the churches of Florence in grandeur, but nonetheless being in a church was always like coming home, in a strange way. And indeed, when a he spotted a familiar figure among the pews it was home that he found. He knelt to the altar, brought his fingers to his forehead and across his chest in deliberate movements, and occupied quietly the seat beside his brother. “Do you remember, when we were children,” he spoke, his voice softer than his usual animated tones — even Francesco knew to quiet down in Church. “We dreamt up of a figure, a man,” The next words were spoken in a language that nobody spoke, a tongue that two young boys had created over many late nights: “The man who takes away the monsters.”