Magnus sat down with a weary groan, clutching his arm with a taut grimace. The wooden church pew offered little in the way of comfort, but he didn't mind. This was a place to think, to collect his thoughts, a quiet respite from a long, tortuous day. When all was lost, and he was left with nothing and no one, he came here, to ponder before an alter erected to a god he didn't revere. The irony wasn't lost on him; rather, it made him that much more fond of this holy place that he could sully with his presence, even for a moment.
Slowly, he unwound the bandages encasing his arm up to his elbow, wrinkling his nose at the putrid smell. The blackened flesh had begun to seep, an inky, bloody mixture that soaked the wraps continually. The process was painful, but once the final layers were removed, he breathed a sigh of relief, the pain slightly more bearable now that his flesh could breath.
The thought of seeking help nagged at the back of his mind. He could go to Forseti, sure. But that would mean coming before the god he sought to kill. Daisy could offer him help, he knew she would, but his pride still felt the bitter sting of being marked by that wretched goddess.
"Why didn't you just tell me...?"
He knew why. He would have tried to kill her then, as he had recently. She tried to hide her filth from him... At least, had she been honest, perhaps he could have avoided her, left her as a part of the remnant. It would be merciful, killing her swiftly, painlessly, holding her close while she drifted off to sleep, as he'd dreamt of. An eternal sleep was better than being defiled by a god, holding council with somebody that wasn't him.
Why didn't anybody understand that? He was meant for this. This was his task, and he had been so successful. So many filthy horrors, polluting this reality. He would fix things, make the world so much cleaner. No malevolent beings would be able to rip anything from anyone again. He wouldn't lose anyone.
But, here he was... Powerless. Rendered useless, a cripple. He couldn't even use his marked hand for mundane purposes anymore, not without dressing it as if he were some diseased wretch. All of those dreams, dashed to pieces by some disgusting old hag that had his heart. Where was she now? Was she tending to that little shop of hers? Talking to her plants as fondly as she did little children, or gliding around her kitchen, her smile wide and her eyes bright as she let out a laugh that he could only imagine. It had to be the most beautiful sound in the world... As beautiful as those delicate little alabaster digits, fumbling over the signs that he had taught her. He felt a pang of longing in his chest, remembering how often she said the wrong thing, but he could never bare to correct her, not when expression was so pure and earnest...
He paused, something hot touching his cheek without warning. Wiping it away, he blinked, staring down at his fingers in confusion.
Tears.
"Damn it- why..." He didn't cry, he never cried. There was no reason to show weakness like that, it was so babyish.
He sighed, shaking his head. Shifting in his seat, he turned, propping his legs up before lying down along the pew, wincing as his afflicted arm brushed against the unforgiving wood. Damn, that stung.
Draping his good arm over his eyes, he let out a deep sigh, slowly beginning to release the tension in his back and shoulders. He never did realize how much he ached until he came to places like this, places without another soul to witness him in a moment of unguarded weakness.
He found peace, in this house of the holy.
