ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴜʀᴄʜ ᴡᴀs ʜᴏʟʏ ɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅ, ᴀ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ᴊɪɴ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴏғ ᴇᴠᴇʀ sᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ғᴏᴏᴛ ɪɴ. albeit this, he was incredibly calm, his own sins and inner demons never ceased to amaze him. it was as if his own consciousness had departed, leaving nothing but an empty shell behind. it was peculiar however, how he felt... uglier, wide wings that spread, pinned, sewed and glued to his back, scars that left the marks of wounds that never seemed to recover. people say that one’s cocoon is what rekindles the goodness that was left in their hearts, and after some time, a beautiful, redeemed version of yourself would be released... a butterfly they called it.
fists balling up, white knuckles that peered through his pale skin. nothing but a scoff accompanied by a smirk leaving his corners, as charcoal hues roll upon falling onto the cross that hung above the pulpit. arrogance seeping through his flesh, and aroma of pomposity settling in, his gaze drifts to the father ( @wyfran ), a brow raises before his features settle. a sigh leaving him, his heart earnest heart guised by poison.
❝ is there a point where... you can’t come back ? where not even redemption can save you ? ❞