How long has it been since the last time he walked set foot into a church. Fragments of his past have him remember only so little. Back, when all he was was a little boy attending divine service through his parents wish. The man does recall how it had made him feel: standing inside holy walls where it felt as though the gods could look down upon you.
Was it not blasphemy, coming back after such a long time in search for betterment. After all the man had not bothered praying once after leaving his home. Why would the gods help him now? Him, of all people, which brought hours and hours worth of confession. Him who took lives and did not even bother that he did, him who knew that he hurt those that cared being well aware that it did hurt them.
Yet there he was, standing with great hesitation. Contemplating. It was through the Lady Finger that he knew of their precious Mother — of what it was she graciously offered. Rebirth. Being given the second chance he so silently desired. Or did he? Was he so scared of death that he could not accept the end all knew was eventually coming? Was that not what he had wanted all this time: for it all to just end?
Though... who would look out for his Lord if he was no longer?
@saintbident