SEVERAL WEEKS AGO...
THE FACE OF THE FLESH LEADS SOLEY TO SUBUMBING AND WRETCHED ABYSMALLY: THAT IS A MERE ACT LAID BY THE HEAVENS.
'Consternation and desire will seep into the skin,' he recalled, reciting the verse like a solemn prayer woven beneath the crevices of his hollow chest like an arbour. Capitano's eyes then brush through the twinkling of fallen snow, 'thus, provision for the carnal shall turn soldiers-'
"... Into mindless beasts."
Capitano heaves a sigh, crouching to further examine the vast barren horizon of snow and the occasional rock formation. The boundless image of snow and ice seemed to paste itself from one corner to another: like the universe opting to minimize their work.
The crunch of snow and placid breathing were the only notable sounds. All else slumbered under the forbidding repulse of eternal winters. At least, Y/N would phrase it that way. Her impervious tone dripped with poetical tactical and an inkling of inner knowing. As if fate was an entity or art that she could master absent of further prodding or probing.
That, never quite registered in Capitano's prodigious mind. To firmly convict that the stars were woven into your bloodstream, that your beating heart poured with the sweetest of wine; bringing old lovers back to life from their bedridden grave. Perhaps it was that 'fate' glimmered above your head like an encore of angels humming tunes so jovial that it would appease the gods of spring. In summary, it was the notion that fate toiled with you instead of against you.
It was pure lunacy and most notably, a battle plan domed to be the laughingstock of the throng.
Capitano has resided in Cheklain long enough to comprehend a vast number of truths. However, one truth poised itself absent of much foreshadowing or abhorrence. It was merely there, plain and lacking of tricky or illustrious allegories that failed to serve their original purpose.
The visage of death, Capitano recalled, was not the enemy of the flesh nor was it the prey you would foolishly point your weapon at. It was quite the opposite. It was a distant friend roving through your home; pausing for a curt cup of tea before it departs just as seamlessly as it arrived. Then, Capitano realized, you would be gone. Now nesting like a bird having taken their final flight, a single feather acting as their only letter to the dancing snow plains of the living.
"If only you would understand," muttered Capitano to the ghost of a living friend, nevertheless, it fell on deaf ears and a crudely obstinate soul.
Y/N's soul.
━━━
"THERE IT IS."
Mutterd Capitano under his breath, a subtle spark of satisfaction reaching his face.
Reaching down, Capitano gingerly brushes the mounds of snow aside. Thus, a distinct midnight black scarf emerges from the rubble like a gemstone. Eyes scanning over the scarf, Capitano halts as he discerns the quaint yet seemingly strange cursive stitching. 'L/N', it wrote in the most exuberant shade of deep emerald green. Nevertheless, the scarf itself was an out-of-place object: an entity that possessed greater formosity than set to be.
Capitano gingerly folds the scarf with tactful poise, each corner lining up with another. Absent of struggle.
'Now she has her scarf back.' remarked Capitano, who could not suppress the subtle inkling of pleasure and kindred smile.
━━━
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."
Sister Martina back faces Capitano, yet, under the sound of her adamant assertion, eyes carved themselves into his chest, again and again. "And now, even my wings have been contorted."
Capitano eyes furrow.
"You know of my sources as I know of yours."
She turns her head, and for the first time in his life, Capitano sees the image of placid salty tears bleeding down her face. Glistening while the visage of Her Majesty looms behind her head: a halo of devastating fortitude and unspoken desires that dwell in the cage of his chest.
It was an image that burned itself into his skin.
"You must not let that happen, Capitano, you must not falter despite her foolish will."
Capitano's jaw tightens, and his fist similarly follows suit.
"For it is as they say, 'to guard our hearts and of others, we must sacrifice what we have. Then, all of this shall make sense' Capitano."
Capitano nods, swiftly exiting the room. Now he realized crimson red dripping from the palms of his hands whilst slithering to his knuckles. It was a blossoming trail of a striking truth. Thus, scampering off into an empty room, he aggressively shuts the door, the door frame rattling in response. His eyes then brim with candid tears, while his knees stumble to the floor, hands shivering in the ink of red. Capitano swallows the ache carved into his chest, the lump in his throat now readily rising.
She was right.
Wretchedly right.
"Forgive me... please."
━━━
THE FACE OF THE FLESH LEADS SOLEY TO SUBUMBING AND WRETCHED ABYSMALLY: THAT IS A MERE ACT LAID BY THE HEAVENS. CONSTERNATION WILL SEEP INTO THE SKIN, THUS, PROVISION FOR THE CARNAL SHALL TURN SOLDIERS INTO MINDLESS BEASTS.
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.
TO GUARD OUR HEARTS AND OF OTHERS, WE MUST SACRIFICE WHAT WE HAVE. THEN, ALL OF THIS SHALL MAKE SENSE.
a passage from -
NOTES FROM KYLE
wowwwww
the plot thickens LOL
thank you for reading!! hope you enjoyed this chapter <3