Theea
know this ain't for the weak
or for hate, it's for soul
or for hate, it's for soul
I frown when none of them even seem to sense the ROUS—despite the chewed stone, the crumb trails, the tiny scrapes threading under the hymn of candlelight. I’m not put off by their fear. My mouth opens to reassure them, to offer an arm and walk them to the doors so the Guild can do its work—
—and then Damien is there.
His hand settles warm and steady on my shoulder. I pause, breath snagging as I look up at him, perfectly grounded, steady as always. Gratitude flashes first with a warm smile; shame nips right after. My ears burn. I should’ve handled this.
“Thank you,” I murmur, too soft, eyes skimming past him as I stand. I give the elders my best smile instead, gentle and sure. “You’ll be perfectly fine to return in the morning.”
I peel off fast, heart in my throat, and cut toward the east aisle. The cathedral cools around me—stone ribs, gold-flicker candles, the organ’s shadow like a sleeping beast. I force my focus down to the work: ground, walls, seams. I crouch to trace a knick where teeth maybe have worried mortar thin; the air smells faintly of damp bread and old oil. A fine scatter of crumbs glitters near a column base.
Don’t think about the mess-up. Don’t think about what Damien thinks. And don't keep messing up.
I breathe, slow and even. I can still be useful, right? Keep people safe. Find the nest. End the pests.
I press my palm to the stone to feel for vibration, then pace along the east side in short, careful steps, eyes and ears tuned for the blind hunters: the light drag of claws, the hush of bodies squeezing through, the thread-fine squeak that tells me I’m close.
Theea leaves the NPCs in Damien's hands to search the east!Q
—and then Damien is there.
His hand settles warm and steady on my shoulder. I pause, breath snagging as I look up at him, perfectly grounded, steady as always. Gratitude flashes first with a warm smile; shame nips right after. My ears burn. I should’ve handled this.
“Thank you,” I murmur, too soft, eyes skimming past him as I stand. I give the elders my best smile instead, gentle and sure. “You’ll be perfectly fine to return in the morning.”
I peel off fast, heart in my throat, and cut toward the east aisle. The cathedral cools around me—stone ribs, gold-flicker candles, the organ’s shadow like a sleeping beast. I force my focus down to the work: ground, walls, seams. I crouch to trace a knick where teeth maybe have worried mortar thin; the air smells faintly of damp bread and old oil. A fine scatter of crumbs glitters near a column base.
Don’t think about the mess-up. Don’t think about what Damien thinks. And don't keep messing up.
I breathe, slow and even. I can still be useful, right? Keep people safe. Find the nest. End the pests.
I press my palm to the stone to feel for vibration, then pace along the east side in short, careful steps, eyes and ears tuned for the blind hunters: the light drag of claws, the hush of bodies squeezing through, the thread-fine squeak that tells me I’m close.
Theea leaves the NPCs in Damien's hands to search the east!Q
tell them to retreat
cause they ain't even close
cause they ain't even close
