Title's

Chapter 13: Beneath the Surface

Amid the cacophony of the Merch' guild and the brotherhood that echoed through its walls, Coward the Horrible found solace in solitude. Away from the tomfoolery of his fellow guild members, he ventured into the world with a quiet purpose. Self-awareness was his ally, and he embraced his flaws as openly as he had never dared before. In this world, he had found the freedom to express himself, to admit his faults without the weight of judgment.

His days of introspection led him to a forgotten corner of the city, where a decrepit building stood as a silent testament to neglect. An orphanage, once a haven of hope, now exuded an air of abandonment. Coward's eyes scanned the desolate scene, his heart stirred by a call he could not ignore.

And then he saw her – a woman draped in a simple veil and robe; her features softened by a gentle grace that belied her circumstances. She was the caretaker of this forsaken place, a guardian of souls that society had overlooked. Her eyes, though tired, held a spark of resilience that spoke of a strength untamed by adversity.

She was a woman of striking beauty, a fact that transcended the simple robe and veil she wore. Even though the years had graced her with the wisdom of middle age, her features retained a timeless allure that would have captivated the hearts of men had she chosen a different path.

Her skin, though kissed by the sun and etched with lines that bore the weight of her years, glowed with an inner radiance. It was the kind of complexion that spoke of a life lived close to nature, under the open sky and among the shadows of ancient trees. Her cheeks held a natural flush, a testament to the vitality that coursed through her veins.

But it was her eyes that held the true enchantment. Beneath the veil, they shone with a depth of wisdom and compassion that transcended mere physical beauty. They were pools of warmth and empathy, each glance carrying the weight of a thousand untold stories and a reservoir of kindness that seemed boundless.

Her hair, hidden away beneath her modest veil, hinted at its lustrous glory. Strands of silver and ebony wove together in a tapestry of colors that reflected the passing of years and the enduring strength of her spirit. Even in the concealment of her religious garb, it was easy to imagine the cascade of dark waves that would tumble down if ever set free.

She had an aura about her, an aura of quiet strength and inner beauty that could draw the gaze of any who beheld her. It was a presence that suggested nobility of character, a rare quality that went beyond the physical and delved into the realm of the soul.

And yet, despite the allure she possessed, she remained steadfast in her commitment to her sacred oath, a guardian of souls in a place where society had cast aside its forgotten. Her beauty, though it could have conquered kingdoms, was reserved for a higher purpose, one that spoke of a love and devotion that far surpassed the allure of mortal desires.

A secret admirer of Merida, the nun known as the Martyr, was a local lord named Lord Reginald Thornebrook. From the moment he laid eyes on her, he was captivated by her ethereal beauty and grace. It wasn't long before he began to shower her with lavish gifts, each more opulent than the last, in a desperate bid to win her affections.

However, Merida was not swayed by material possessions or grand gestures. Her heart was dedicated to a higher calling, and her devotion to the well-being of the orphanage and the diverse group of children under her care was unwavering. When Lord Thornebrook presented her with gifts, she politely but firmly declined, suggesting that the resources be used as donations for the betterment of the orphanage instead.

Despite her repeated refusals, Lord Thornebrook was not one to be easily deterred. His obsession with Merida only grew with time, and he couldn't fathom why his extravagant gifts failed to capture her heart. He continued to inundate her with presents, each one a testament to his infatuation.