#sanktere

[macawbre]

reflections {

His death by circumstance was corroded with promises he could not keep, with countless words and tears that fell to deaf ears, with a smile that could not hold. Henry had awoken from his own oblivion, as hands upon hands folded over in reflections of past lives he could not trace back. Visions overlapped, and it was only his hands that he looked towards as a beacon for where his soul stood. Exactly which life was this one? He was not cupping blood, nor holding another—neither was he at a supper where a wine chalice was passed. Now that he had been cursed to tide against the ample stream of recollections, Henry thought he ought to keep his promises. 

For reasons untouched by even himself, Henry went on with this life as though nothing had happened. Surely, he had forgotten. Surely, he didn’t need to cope. Surely, the only reason he was visiting the chapel, looking for an angel was because he wanted to ask — “Lucius, was it? What’s it like to fly?” Even in his death, he hadn’t known. 

“Oh! Right, right... introductions. I’m Henry Crowley, professor and professional dead man walking!” His smile met his eyes quite easily, glittering with circumstance and a knowing glance. Even the stars knew less than him— now that he had died and returned to flesh. Ossified and dusted, simply to return to flesh! Even Henry thought this was a little untoward of fate. Bringing his hand up to his forehead, he toted a little army salute for the theatrics of it all. Well, he wasn’t here for answers, was he? 

“Actually, that’s not why I’m here, ahaha~”

Lucius wasn’t an angel, but the mere ground he walked on emanated in holy energy. His very presence was a stark contrast to Henry’s own, and one would have to be a blind man to deny it. And it was in this reversed reflection that he had to seek some solace. ( So no, he wasn’t here for answers. He was here for action. For motion. For something beyond a solution. )

A change. Probably!

“If you can, do you mind teaching me how to heal? I’m a little tired of watching students die.”

@sanktere

[basiliphis]

❰❰ BED ❱❱ ( oh no there's only one be— NDJSF they did call this the self-indulgent meme so i'm leaning into it )

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐨, 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞. He never feared the dark sky until it produced booming thunder that shook the manor and lightning that struck a tree in the backyard. Golden eyes peered up at the boy who rested in Priscilla’s old room. Raymond ( at the time ) was perched at the edge of his bed like a cat, gazing up at him, pleading just for the night, before crawling in and covering himself with the quilt. 

          He hadn’t craved nor needed the presence of another person in bed since that night until his parents were found on the floor, faces absent of color and warmth.

          Here when he sleeps alone, he is curled up, searching for the warmth and scent of his retainer. Unmistaken and unique, he knew it like his own hand—an extension of himself. When Raven closes his eyes, he can still imagine nights pressed against him after the night has stitched up the wounds of daylight. He lied against him from exhaustion, to rebel against the cold and retain warmth during winter, and to brush back blond hair that obscured sleepy blue eyes. That is, until he awakens to a hazy morning sun where his dreams are wiped off the nighttime.

[yewfallen]

growing pains

Mission Task Board: A new student brought in an illness that is quickly spreading across the monastery. The infirmary is overloaded with sickly students and faculty in need of care. Help out the infirmary staff by gathering supplies, setting up new infirmary beds, or dishing out medicine to those too worn down to help themselves—and avoid catching the plague yourself. [Grants +1 Faith]  // @sanktere

   It hits out of what feels like nowhere. Barely has the archer returned to monastery grounds, but on his way between classes that afternoon, suddenly his body felt like lead. He can feel himself sweating even at his normal gait now made extremely sluggish, but despite the perspiration building on his skin, he can't fight how he feels like he can't get enough warmth pooling into him.

He's shivering in the beginning of spring as if it were instead the dead of winter. He thinks to look around him, to see if a late snow had been brought on or if his breath might show up as fog, but neither signs of cold weather show up.

It's him. He's the one freezing from inside out.

He grits his teeth, trying to change direction and at least bring himself back to the student dormitory, but after a few steps, his vision grows dark and he can feel himself falling, hearing his body hit the pathway with a heavy thud.

[amitieos]

[ 🃏 ] how does your muse handle being lied to?

Growing up, she used to accept it. At least to an extent. She understood the concept of white lies, that were meant to protect her. Even though she believed she could and should handle the truth, the fact that people cared enough to try and shield her made her feel guilty about wanting the truth.

As and adult though, Elincia ends up taking Crimea's throne. She cannot suffer lies and deceit. She can't rule effectively if the people around her aren't honest - it's impossible to be everywhere and see and hear everything first hand. There's no longer room for lies and whilst she can forgive people who are looking out for her she also has to be firm. They can't be in her circle, politically or emotionally for risk of their influence.

I also don't think it's 'out forever' but it would take a lot to either rebuild trust or convince her that it was for the best.