Smoke hung over the corridor, lazily sprawled over the horizon peeking through the paned glass which was made into its resting place. It wrapped its blanket of sunlight taut, nestling into cushions of blue skies and white clouds. Though if one were to follow the sleepy cloud of smoke, they would find it winding down a hall and rounding the bend into a small back room of someone's living space, and in its presence, a Kathar. They kept due diligence locked onto the flame's life, to ensure its fulfillment. Blood boiled in incense, arising to fill the home as a lonesome tapestry draped over the scent to soak it all in. Upon it, an ever-watching eye of crimson was stitched by a careful, elderly hand long ago, which now watched Valentin as they worked. A prayer was muttered in slight, hidden behind curtains of hushed tones as if to be ashamed of their devoutness. Though on a knee, pious they prayed, digits weaved in with one another which held their bowed head.
"I know that though I tire of it, it is good for me," they began, reasoning with themselves as their prayer concluded. They traced their own crimson gaze up to stare at the tapestry, brows furrowed as confusion settled in the crease. "But I fear it's waning. My willingness, my faith." Their finger found the rim of the blood-filled bowl, tracing along its edge to wipe away any excess. They came to a stand, though their eyes never left the tapestry all the while. "I suppose that's my secret. Between you and I. I'm always afraid. It's just a matter of utilizing it or suppressing it. That's my favorite thing about our talks, you know."
Then came a pause, as Valentin finally broke their gaze away from the all-seeing eye, to instead turn their back to it, facing the door. "You see me, all of me. But you can never reveal me. You have no accursed lips that spill my soul to those unworthy of its possession. In some regards – in many regards – better than a 'friend' or a 'brother' that I could ask for." They paused, a long, heavy moment of hesitance hanging over the air. So dreadful was that silence that it stirred the smoke's sleep; it brushed up against the window panes, releasing a groan as it swept adjacent, carried by a foreign breeze whose origins could not be traced. Valentin's spine arched, like a startled cat their hairs stood on end. "And yet," they uttered even still, daring not to look back behind them, "I find myself with that same want even still."
Their statement was, perhaps, taken as an act of defiance by whatever force had its grip on the room. The tapestry wavered in its place, lashing out to gently brush against Valentin's shoulder. The act begged them to turn back around, to face it once more. "How many more must be slain until satisfaction is met? Six decades of burning blood and all I have to my name is an affliction which disgusts my people, and not but one to trust." The cloth rippled once more, aggressively whipping to the side as a bout of wind from the other corner of the small room washed over its inhabitants. "Perhaps it's me, I am doing it wrong!" They exclaimed hastily, a hand outstretched, palm facing the eye which leered over them in a jealous rage. That seemed to calm the winds of the four corners, which settled down into a mere eerie whistle. "I'm going about things wrongly," they reassured, mostly to themselves the second time as they lowered their hand once more. As if brought down by some great, mighty force, they fell to their knee once more, head lowered in reverence.
"Guide me to the correct path, then. If it is truly my fault."
"I know that though I tire of it, it is good for me," they began, reasoning with themselves as their prayer concluded. They traced their own crimson gaze up to stare at the tapestry, brows furrowed as confusion settled in the crease. "But I fear it's waning. My willingness, my faith." Their finger found the rim of the blood-filled bowl, tracing along its edge to wipe away any excess. They came to a stand, though their eyes never left the tapestry all the while. "I suppose that's my secret. Between you and I. I'm always afraid. It's just a matter of utilizing it or suppressing it. That's my favorite thing about our talks, you know."
Then came a pause, as Valentin finally broke their gaze away from the all-seeing eye, to instead turn their back to it, facing the door. "You see me, all of me. But you can never reveal me. You have no accursed lips that spill my soul to those unworthy of its possession. In some regards – in many regards – better than a 'friend' or a 'brother' that I could ask for." They paused, a long, heavy moment of hesitance hanging over the air. So dreadful was that silence that it stirred the smoke's sleep; it brushed up against the window panes, releasing a groan as it swept adjacent, carried by a foreign breeze whose origins could not be traced. Valentin's spine arched, like a startled cat their hairs stood on end. "And yet," they uttered even still, daring not to look back behind them, "I find myself with that same want even still."
Their statement was, perhaps, taken as an act of defiance by whatever force had its grip on the room. The tapestry wavered in its place, lashing out to gently brush against Valentin's shoulder. The act begged them to turn back around, to face it once more. "How many more must be slain until satisfaction is met? Six decades of burning blood and all I have to my name is an affliction which disgusts my people, and not but one to trust." The cloth rippled once more, aggressively whipping to the side as a bout of wind from the other corner of the small room washed over its inhabitants. "Perhaps it's me, I am doing it wrong!" They exclaimed hastily, a hand outstretched, palm facing the eye which leered over them in a jealous rage. That seemed to calm the winds of the four corners, which settled down into a mere eerie whistle. "I'm going about things wrongly," they reassured, mostly to themselves the second time as they lowered their hand once more. As if brought down by some great, mighty force, they fell to their knee once more, head lowered in reverence.
"Guide me to the correct path, then. If it is truly my fault."
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