I... am not sure what to call it XD
NOTE: The creativity of the story idea behind this is NOT my own!!! The story idea was told to me by Abel, aka inoli. Ever since she told me the story she wants to write/roleplay out, I've been wanting to draw it and write it. So since I already did a couple pictures already, here's my version of the story.
Rrrruuumble…
The floor of the church shook slightly as the thunder rolled on by. The young red-headed woman shook as well under her blankets, using her pillow to block out the sounds of the storm as best as she could. It didn’t help much as the sounds only came louder as the storm crept closer in the early hours of the morning.
Giving up, the nun tossed the sheets from off of herself, slamming the down pillow into the bed with a near scream of frustration. She made very sure to keep her eyes away from any windows. Her night gown shifted slightly with each breath, sticking slightly to the sweat that had started to build up on her back. Out of the corner of her eye, she witnessed a flash of lightning, and instantly her hands were over her ears, her blue eyes closed, cringing as she waited, surrounded by the sound of drizzling rain, hoping the thunder wouldn’t be too louder. When the thunder finally made it to the church, she brought her knees to her chest and whimpered.
At this point, she knew she wouldn’t be going back to sleep anytime soon, so she crawled out of the bed and dressed herself in in her white and blue habit. As she started out the room door, she cringed at the third roll of thunder.
As she entered into the sanctuary, she was met with the soft golden glow of three dozen candles that lined the isles. Making her way down, her gaze wandered over the figures of angels whose wings seemed to shimmer from the candlelight. Halfway down the isle, her eyes turned to the cross in front of her, the figure of a beaten and broken man nailed to it with the famous crown of thorns upon his head. Behind the cross and figure was a large stained-glass window that depicted the man’s holy mother, glowing with each flash of lightning behind it. She stared at the two before looking to the seats, only to find she wasn’t the only one there at the moment.
“. . . Father Nightroad?”
The silver-haired priest clad in black and white slowly turned his head up and over his shoulder. His somber expression told the nun that he wasn’t all there, his mind drifting from this world to another. It took him a moment to recognize the girl before he pushed his spectacles up his long nose to their normal position. “Sister Esther. . . Why are you here? Shouldn‘t you be sleeping?” His dry voice was nearly drowned out by the pour of the rain outside.
The young woman’s gaze softened as she smiled weakly before she took a seat on the bench behind him, closer to the isle than he had taken his position. Once she had settled into her seat, the Father turned his winter blue eyes back to the alter. With a heavy sigh, her hands came together as she started to mumble soft prayers to herself. Other than the storm that tormented her, she was hoping that whatever was bothering the priest she traveled with, would soon heal.
Several silent moments passed in the sanctuary, the only sound being that of the rain that pelted against the windows, and the occasional roll of thunder at a distance. She was thankful that she was sitting behind the priest so that he couldn’t see her flinch every time the thunder shook the glass of the church.
“There was. . . This beautiful tree in the courtyard of Saint Mathias,” she started.
The Father’s attention wavered slightly from the stained-glass window, but still he did not turn to look at her.
“When I was little, I used to lay under it, sometimes missing my studies. Bishop Laura used to get so mad at me when I did that,” the tone of her voice alone suggested that she was smiling, if even a little bit, but as she continued, the shine in the voice disappeared again.
“We would get storms constantly. There were a lot of times that the large tree would be a target for the lightning. I was always so scared whenever the lightning hit; God strikes down those who do wrong with such power. The bishop tried to comfort me when the storms came around, but I would always just keep on crying. I thought maybe we were doing something wrong, and God was warning us to do better.”
Those deep blue eyes of hers slowly turned up to stare at the back of the priest’s silver head. “As time went by, the tree started to fall apart. Half the branches on top stopped producing leaves, the tree itself started shrinking to the point that the bark kept its original shape, and there was enough space between the bark and the tree that a persons arms could slip right in.”
She was thankful that the priest still hadn’t turned to look at her. The storm outside was coming closer, and the sound of the thunder became louder. She had started to shake, and was starting to wrap her arms around herself in an attempt to help settle herself down. “There hadn’t been any storms lately. . . For a long time, actually. I was reminded of it all over again that one night. . .” She shivered as a rumble shook the church lightly. “That, Father, is why I. . .” She let her words trail off, suddenly choking on the words she was almost scared to utter.
Abel seemed to put things together a lot faster than most gave him credit for. His eyes widened just the slightest bit as he turned his head around to look at the nun sitting behind him. Her face was hidden under a veil of red hair, but he could see how much she was shaking. She was breathing through her clenched teeth to help calm her speedily beating heart. He realized at this point that she had been talking so much partially to share her story, but also to help cover the sound of the growing thunder.
But he knew deeper than that. He knew his other form, how terrified she had been when he first had her witness it. . . All by accident. He sighed heavy as he brought his arm up over the back of the seating.
“That’s why. . . You’re afraid of me. . .”
Esther suddenly shot up from her seat, her arms straight and stiff at her sides as she stared down at the bespectacled priest with her best attempt at a glare. She was hoping she could pass off the shaking as anger. “I told you before! I am not afraid of pathetic, ‘sorry’ people like--”
She suddenly wailed in fright as she threw her arms over her head, the crash of a lightning strike far to close to the church. As she fell to the floor in an attempt to hide, the priest reached out, to grab her, one arm circling around her waist as the other came around her shoulders and held her head. She was shaking so violently in his arms that suddenly she seemed so much more frail than any other time he had seen her. Tears were rolling down her cheeks as she shook.
“You know. . .” the priest started, “I told you before, I’ll always be on your side.”
Her cheeks flushed under the stain of tears as her bottom lip quivered slightly. Her arms came down from her head to circle around the Father and clench on the back of his jacket. “Thank you. . .” she managed to squeak out between sobs.
Rrrruuumble…
The floor of the church shook slightly as the thunder rolled on by. The young red-headed woman shook as well under her blankets, using her pillow to block out the sounds of the storm as best as she could. It didn’t help much as the sounds only came louder as the storm crept closer in the early hours of the morning.
Giving up, the nun tossed the sheets from off of herself, slamming the down pillow into the bed with a near scream of frustration. She made very sure to keep her eyes away from any windows. Her night gown shifted slightly with each breath, sticking slightly to the sweat that had started to build up on her back. Out of the corner of her eye, she witnessed a flash of lightning, and instantly her hands were over her ears, her blue eyes closed, cringing as she waited, surrounded by the sound of drizzling rain, hoping the thunder wouldn’t be too louder. When the thunder finally made it to the church, she brought her knees to her chest and whimpered.
At this point, she knew she wouldn’t be going back to sleep anytime soon, so she crawled out of the bed and dressed herself in in her white and blue habit. As she started out the room door, she cringed at the third roll of thunder.
As she entered into the sanctuary, she was met with the soft golden glow of three dozen candles that lined the isles. Making her way down, her gaze wandered over the figures of angels whose wings seemed to shimmer from the candlelight. Halfway down the isle, her eyes turned to the cross in front of her, the figure of a beaten and broken man nailed to it with the famous crown of thorns upon his head. Behind the cross and figure was a large stained-glass window that depicted the man’s holy mother, glowing with each flash of lightning behind it. She stared at the two before looking to the seats, only to find she wasn’t the only one there at the moment.
“. . . Father Nightroad?”
The silver-haired priest clad in black and white slowly turned his head up and over his shoulder. His somber expression told the nun that he wasn’t all there, his mind drifting from this world to another. It took him a moment to recognize the girl before he pushed his spectacles up his long nose to their normal position. “Sister Esther. . . Why are you here? Shouldn‘t you be sleeping?” His dry voice was nearly drowned out by the pour of the rain outside.
The young woman’s gaze softened as she smiled weakly before she took a seat on the bench behind him, closer to the isle than he had taken his position. Once she had settled into her seat, the Father turned his winter blue eyes back to the alter. With a heavy sigh, her hands came together as she started to mumble soft prayers to herself. Other than the storm that tormented her, she was hoping that whatever was bothering the priest she traveled with, would soon heal.
Several silent moments passed in the sanctuary, the only sound being that of the rain that pelted against the windows, and the occasional roll of thunder at a distance. She was thankful that she was sitting behind the priest so that he couldn’t see her flinch every time the thunder shook the glass of the church.
“There was. . . This beautiful tree in the courtyard of Saint Mathias,” she started.
The Father’s attention wavered slightly from the stained-glass window, but still he did not turn to look at her.
“When I was little, I used to lay under it, sometimes missing my studies. Bishop Laura used to get so mad at me when I did that,” the tone of her voice alone suggested that she was smiling, if even a little bit, but as she continued, the shine in the voice disappeared again.
“We would get storms constantly. There were a lot of times that the large tree would be a target for the lightning. I was always so scared whenever the lightning hit; God strikes down those who do wrong with such power. The bishop tried to comfort me when the storms came around, but I would always just keep on crying. I thought maybe we were doing something wrong, and God was warning us to do better.”
Those deep blue eyes of hers slowly turned up to stare at the back of the priest’s silver head. “As time went by, the tree started to fall apart. Half the branches on top stopped producing leaves, the tree itself started shrinking to the point that the bark kept its original shape, and there was enough space between the bark and the tree that a persons arms could slip right in.”
She was thankful that the priest still hadn’t turned to look at her. The storm outside was coming closer, and the sound of the thunder became louder. She had started to shake, and was starting to wrap her arms around herself in an attempt to help settle herself down. “There hadn’t been any storms lately. . . For a long time, actually. I was reminded of it all over again that one night. . .” She shivered as a rumble shook the church lightly. “That, Father, is why I. . .” She let her words trail off, suddenly choking on the words she was almost scared to utter.
Abel seemed to put things together a lot faster than most gave him credit for. His eyes widened just the slightest bit as he turned his head around to look at the nun sitting behind him. Her face was hidden under a veil of red hair, but he could see how much she was shaking. She was breathing through her clenched teeth to help calm her speedily beating heart. He realized at this point that she had been talking so much partially to share her story, but also to help cover the sound of the growing thunder.
But he knew deeper than that. He knew his other form, how terrified she had been when he first had her witness it. . . All by accident. He sighed heavy as he brought his arm up over the back of the seating.
“That’s why. . . You’re afraid of me. . .”
Esther suddenly shot up from her seat, her arms straight and stiff at her sides as she stared down at the bespectacled priest with her best attempt at a glare. She was hoping she could pass off the shaking as anger. “I told you before! I am not afraid of pathetic, ‘sorry’ people like--”
She suddenly wailed in fright as she threw her arms over her head, the crash of a lightning strike far to close to the church. As she fell to the floor in an attempt to hide, the priest reached out, to grab her, one arm circling around her waist as the other came around her shoulders and held her head. She was shaking so violently in his arms that suddenly she seemed so much more frail than any other time he had seen her. Tears were rolling down her cheeks as she shook.
“You know. . .” the priest started, “I told you before, I’ll always be on your side.”
Her cheeks flushed under the stain of tears as her bottom lip quivered slightly. Her arms came down from her head to circle around the Father and clench on the back of his jacket. “Thank you. . .” she managed to squeak out between sobs.