A bible of sorts was on the table. *make the sign*

It was bound in coarse vellum, that had curiously whisks of fur sticking out of its worn-out pages.

 

So the painter started to talk. His smile was engouraging all of the man's will out of him.

He distictly remembered talking, agreeing. Even inserting his own observations about the things he was told.

 

Later he would came about some of these decayed misty ... memories. He could not remember the room. The colours of the walls nor the Robigu standing in the corner. God of rust. Whose touch turns all hope to dust.

 

The kind of paint was so provoked from his fingers. The stars pulled his eye even as his hand moved.

"You know

 

Then it made no sense for a while.

 

A view swirled some part painted, just a nape of his hand felt like

It felt like he was partially in and out of the brush. He was pushing his feet frantically through the

 

The Diacon's apprentice made a curious sign with its hand. And blinked twice as an afterthough.

 

The man tasted tears.

__________________________

And here we leave him. A seed. Contained beneath many walls and protection. A prisoner.

They would study him. There had to be hope to avert the falling of the structure of reality on Earth.

Man was not going to succumb to unknowable without a fight. Nor sacrifice. *make the sign*

Just because he had an encounter with another. And so in being tainted became anathema.