[Melitele. Some goddess, he guesses. Not hard to figure out with the statue at one end of the temple. Though he's not exactly into it, the woman's still a breath of fresh air, four arms or not. Nothing used to annoy him more than looking at that ugly, gaudy giant statue of Sparda in the main theatre. Worshipping a demon while they killed them. It always felt so fuckin' stupid. (And now he's supposed to just accept that demon's his grandfather? Come on.)
He traces a sun on one of the pillars. It's almost like the gold might come off if he rubs too hard. Maybe he's used to fake-gaudy, not the real thing.]
No blood, huh?
[They used to have him drag the possessed back to the church if he could manage it, and where he thought the elder exorcists had been taking care of it, it must've been that bug bastard experimenting on them. Writing his sick little notes. Figuring out how to convert that into a ritual.
He's never had a single good memory with religion, huh? Except Kyrie. The first time he heard her sing.]
I met Kyrie in a place like this. [He pauses, flashing Geralt a look.] My girl. I mean, the church was way bigger, with a little podium. But her voice carried. I remember thinking her voice was wasted on hymns.
[He doesn't mean to do it. It's sort of how Nero's domain has always been; it does what it wants. The Horizon picks and chooses what pops into his head. Maybe it follows him, the same way that Shadow does. But as he looks at the gold-painted star, he can hear her voice filling the halls, the space of the arches, around them, and he knows Geralt can hear it too.
Listen to my voice calling you... Calling you out of darkness... With the wind you go, still I dream of your spirit leading you back home.
Leading him back home, huh. His hand drops, fingers curling into his palm. It's the one thing he's wanted to hear more than anything. And yeah, maybe he could come here to hear it, but he'd never let himself.
His tail goes still. He's still facing the pillar, but his voice is... wet.] Sorry. Stuff just happens to me in here sometimes. You know how it is.
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He traces a sun on one of the pillars. It's almost like the gold might come off if he rubs too hard. Maybe he's used to fake-gaudy, not the real thing.]
No blood, huh?
[They used to have him drag the possessed back to the church if he could manage it, and where he thought the elder exorcists had been taking care of it, it must've been that bug bastard experimenting on them. Writing his sick little notes. Figuring out how to convert that into a ritual.
He's never had a single good memory with religion, huh? Except Kyrie. The first time he heard her sing.]
I met Kyrie in a place like this. [He pauses, flashing Geralt a look.] My girl. I mean, the church was way bigger, with a little podium. But her voice carried. I remember thinking her voice was wasted on hymns.
[He doesn't mean to do it. It's sort of how Nero's domain has always been; it does what it wants. The Horizon picks and chooses what pops into his head. Maybe it follows him, the same way that Shadow does. But as he looks at the gold-painted star, he can hear her voice filling the halls, the space of the arches, around them, and he knows Geralt can hear it too.
Listen to my voice calling you... Calling you out of darkness... With the wind you go, still I dream of your spirit leading you back home.
Leading him back home, huh. His hand drops, fingers curling into his palm. It's the one thing he's wanted to hear more than anything. And yeah, maybe he could come here to hear it, but he'd never let himself.
His tail goes still. He's still facing the pillar, but his voice is... wet.] Sorry. Stuff just happens to me in here sometimes. You know how it is.