the seven husbands of y/n l/n ✷ gi

in which he must cut loose ends

━━━

NOW, DESPITE THE IMPERTUABLE STATE OF AN IMPASSIVE SOLDIER, ALL COMPLEXIONS SHALL CRACK. CONSEQUENTLY, CRUMBLING TO THE GROUND IN A GHASTLY SPUR OF VEILED FANTASIES.  

"She is a difficult child, isn't she?"

Capitano's hand casted itself frozen under the slight tremor of Sister Martina's voice. He was, initially, lifting ragged boxes abounding in various trinkets that seemed to circle down from the stars above. Previously, he noticed an avidly preserved sakura blossom and a bewitching shard of noctilucous jade, their quality finely maintained like a token suited to appease the capricious gods above. 'When did you find the time to collect these, Sister Martina?' 

Nevertheless, Sister Martina- in the petite sphere of Cheklain- was considered an angel whose locks of slithering black and grey hair blessed those who came under her impervious halo of blinding luminescence. Her visage was seemingly sacred as her benevolence emerged from the bereft pits of scarcity whilst constructing steadfast pillars of utter sagacity. Thus, whenever her name was uttered or simply mentioned, a stream of inclined fortitude and abrupt amiability showered down like streams of the freshest water flowing directly into your mouth. Glug by glug. 

Ultimately, it was Sister Martina who orchestrated town gatherings, attended for the forsaken children, established proper ceremonies for those who have long passed, wondrously restored the ill, and funded the bereft yet poorly ample food supply. 

Thus, as Capitano gazed at the woman whose imperceptible state of lull quivered like the strings of an instrument, he nearly flinched. 

Capitano, whose arms still cradled the box, questioned impassively, "And why is that?" 

Sister Martina emitted an airy chuckle, her laugh distinct yet foreign all the same, "I am sure you know why Capitano," she then gingerly pinned her grey hair anew, the bleeding light of fallen snow highlighting her wistful yet perceptive eye wrinkles. 

Capitano replied with silence, presuming his duties whilst subtle notions nibbled at his mind. 

'Why should I question her?' pondered Capitano whose inner monologue was similarly indifferent yet perturbed. 'Why question what I already know?'

"That is true, Capitano. Why question what you already know?"

Capitano halts his steps midway, eyes tracing back to Sister Martina whose expression was tenacious yet profoundly at ease, like each melody harmoniously coming into play. Piece by piece. However, Capitano discreetly places the box down, whilst artfully slipping the shard of noctilucous jade into his fist. 

"I know you are not an idiot Capitano. Thus, I shall not treat you like one. Not like her."

Capitano's heartbeat hastens all while his iron heart plummets with the sensations of confoundment and dread which leeched onto his bones; readily sucking away his vigour with mere words. Sister Martina was a concise woman: she selected her words like weapons or building blocks to a vision Capitano longed to fathom. However, her words tasted bitter in Capitano's mouth while his throat abruptly grew brittle. He clenches his fist around the shard of jade, his knuckles morphing into an uncanny pale white.

"I fear the girl will trip on her tongue, so young and curious, her wings will be clipped," she pauses, gliding to the stained glass window which was crafted into a looming arch. She gazes at the visage of her Majesty with an expression reeking with wist while her eyes trace each curve and stretch of pious and brisk benignity, "I too was like that."