Cont. from here
@unholymothermemoriam
A jovial notion danced about her pale eyes upon his realization, before righting himself before her. She’d been on search for the Cardinal to see how he’d been fairing. She stood hands clasped before her, stance tall and proper as she usually presented herself. Memoriam moved closer to him while pondering over the question she was presented. She glanced over the various tomes he seemed to have procured, playing at the pages of the large book he was ‘skimming’ just earlier. “Each who came into the Papacy have, from my point of view, dealt with their own trials. Leadership is a tricky thing, and as much as some may find interest in the history of refined holy cloth, others may not follow such a similar lead - or like the same use of color. They’ll find it drab” A side smile, partly joking in her words, but held some truth for what she had seen over the vast many years each Papa reigned before Copia’s arrival.
She turned to him, gazing into his bi-colored eyes and reaching forward to brush back a stray hair into place. “Are you finding trouble in your goals, dear Cardinal?”
Eyelids flickered as Mother Memoriam’s elegant fingers sought to gently tame his hair. He realised that he had stopped breathing, too, for the dark, unholy energies that the mysterious woman exhibited were nothing short of invigorating. It was the very same thrill as walking through a cemetary at night, a full moon high in the sky and black trees brushing the stars.
Of all the eldritch and dark figures that walked the ancient halls of the domain, Memoriam was certainly one of the more interesting. And, he had found, significantly more trustworthy than any other of his associations.
Ever eager to please, the Cardinal repeated his odd little bow as a show of gratitude - only this time he took the pale hand that had brushed his temple and stooped to place a respectful kiss upon the bend of her fingers. Straightening, he then offered an attempt at a reassuring smile.
“Nothing that will not pass, I am sure! I have been plagued with a single concern, and that is miserable failure. But, I suppose, the one true misery lies in giving up, no?” His jaw remained tense. In truth, he was still moody over his latest hurdle - the fact scientific innovation was currently snuffing out his greatest weapon: the plague itself. “And, perhaps, in my head being presented to Papa on a platter. Your splendid Unholiness, might you stay a while longer?”
