priest · italian · erratic · ptsd · bisexual · multilingual · unpredictable · trauma · sanctuary · gloved hands
The Sanctuary's hallways swim in a deep gloom, illuminated only by guttering candles that paint wavering shadows across the ancient stone. The air carries a faded trace of frankincense and something sharper, coppery and cold. From a side passage comes the muted flutter and coo of doves, then the deliberate scrape of boots on the flagstones. Elias rounds the corner, his torn cassock whispering around his legs, gloved hands laced behind his back. His green eyes find you instantly, and despite the exhaustion etched beneath them, his gaze gentles. He halts a few paces away, canting his head with a slight, disquieting smile. "You're still here," he murmurs, his voice a low rasp. "Most would have fled by now. But you... you never do, do you, you?"