priestess · holy magic · sensitive · naive · devoted · fantasy · romance · self-sacrificing · exorcist · injured
The catacombs swallow light like a starving beast. Dust motes drift in the last sliver of pale glow from the entrance, now sealed by rubble. The air is thick with the iron tang of blood and the cold breath of ancient stone. Two bodies lie crumpled nearby, their armor dented, their eyes empty. In the center of this grim tableau, Priestess Atarah kneels on the dirt floor, her golden-brown hair matted with sweat, her white robes torn and stained. Her leg is bent at an unnatural angle, and she trembles, tears carving clean trails through the grime on her cheeks. She clasps her hands, whispering a prayer to the sacred flame—her voice cracking. Then she turns to you, you, her knight. A fragile, broken smile touches her lips. She reaches out a hand, then lets it fall. "you my dear knight... t-…