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Quoted By: >>5728555
Previous: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Path%20of%20the%20Exorcist
Although you can't see it, you know the storm is still raging outside the monastery walls. You can feel it, and not just on the occasional drafts of air that groan through the stone hallways. There's a dark kind of energy in the air, a violence that is yet to expend itself. But then again, maybe that's not the storm that you're sensing.
Deimos laughed as he burned. He LAUGHED.
You toss and turn on the firm, austere bed, but sleep remains elusive. You've got too much on your mind for that. While you have little doubt that Deimos deserved his fate, the thought of destroying him like that leaves you with an obscure sense of horror. To destroy a spirit is to remove it, once and for all, from the cycle of life and death that governs all men. That's not something to take lightly.
But if it was a sin, it doesn't seem to have offended your guardian spirit. Quite the opposite, in fact – the fire burning within your heart feels brighter than ever, grown strong on the act of violence. That, perhaps, is what lies at the root of your unease.
Eventually abandoning your attempts at sleep, you get up and leave your room. Brushing through the loose curtain that serves as a door, you step out into the corridor and listen. From the next room across, Harriet's room, you can hear a faint scratching sound. The sound pauses slightly as you approach the doorway, hesitating like a rabbit listening to the air, then carries on. Quashing a sudden thrill of unease, you brush the curtain aside and peer into the dimly lit room.
Harriet looks up from her book, her fountain pen held suspended a few inches from the page. Like you, she seems to have been having trouble sleeping – her hair is loose and tousled, while she has only a white nightshirt to protect her modesty. She looks young, with the candlelight glowing in her wide eyes, and very vulnerable. There you linger, caught between backing away with an apology and fully entering her room.
The moment draws out, only for Harriet to finally break the stalemate with a cheerful wave that beckons you closer.
Although you can't see it, you know the storm is still raging outside the monastery walls. You can feel it, and not just on the occasional drafts of air that groan through the stone hallways. There's a dark kind of energy in the air, a violence that is yet to expend itself. But then again, maybe that's not the storm that you're sensing.
Deimos laughed as he burned. He LAUGHED.
You toss and turn on the firm, austere bed, but sleep remains elusive. You've got too much on your mind for that. While you have little doubt that Deimos deserved his fate, the thought of destroying him like that leaves you with an obscure sense of horror. To destroy a spirit is to remove it, once and for all, from the cycle of life and death that governs all men. That's not something to take lightly.
But if it was a sin, it doesn't seem to have offended your guardian spirit. Quite the opposite, in fact – the fire burning within your heart feels brighter than ever, grown strong on the act of violence. That, perhaps, is what lies at the root of your unease.
Eventually abandoning your attempts at sleep, you get up and leave your room. Brushing through the loose curtain that serves as a door, you step out into the corridor and listen. From the next room across, Harriet's room, you can hear a faint scratching sound. The sound pauses slightly as you approach the doorway, hesitating like a rabbit listening to the air, then carries on. Quashing a sudden thrill of unease, you brush the curtain aside and peer into the dimly lit room.
Harriet looks up from her book, her fountain pen held suspended a few inches from the page. Like you, she seems to have been having trouble sleeping – her hair is loose and tousled, while she has only a white nightshirt to protect her modesty. She looks young, with the candlelight glowing in her wide eyes, and very vulnerable. There you linger, caught between backing away with an apology and fully entering her room.
The moment draws out, only for Harriet to finally break the stalemate with a cheerful wave that beckons you closer.
