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A thickened fog blanketed stone pathways within the heart of a rebirthed town, the mist stirring amongst a quickened pace and fleet-footed hearts as the clanging of a bell beckoned for authority to come forth. The pounding footsteps of a running few drowned a voice, croaking and thin as it spoke hoarsely: “May Alll-mer be my judge,” it would wheeze.
Webbed and folded skin, colored akin to the bruise of necrotic flesh, would stretch and contort as the inquisitor allowed its mouths to lie agape, teeth clanking as it struggled for the words to escape past its rotten throat. The zealot hung its appendage high above its malformed features, a bell held tightly within its thin, brumal grip that clamored with each moment in which the creature shook it erratically.
“Infidel! Infidel! Bow your head in shame!” it spoke once more, tone coarse and loud, ragged and frightening. The pair remained in their haste scamper, footsteps pounding as the inquisitor remained hotfoot. The tone of a brumal voice, loud within their ears, resounded endlessly within tired, frightened minds, the pair remaining with heed to uncover a haste escape from the repulsive being.
“Down there!” The soldier cried as he recognized a familiar location of respite, out of breath and tone wracked in a song of panic. With the batter of frightened hearts singing within cranial skulls, and a warmth that felt as if it beckoned them, the pair scurried through the fog and upon descending steps within city streets.
As the pair’s hurried pace, hobbled and tangled in bouts, reached the air within the bunker-like haven, so too did the realization that the necrotic creature seemed to gain a disinterest concerning the two contestants. And as that realization reached frightened minds, and such adrenaline that previously pumped a life force within veins began to fade, only then did the soldier feel as if the empty rifle he held within his palms grew to be all too heavy, or that the occultist’s legs felt as if they had begun to grow weak.
As the pair caught their breath, weapons and supplies rearranged and fixed from a fleet-footed chase, only then did surroundings catch up to racing minds. The soldier, Levi, held his childhood within this backwater town, recognizing the underground inn as a nook he would sneak into during those particularly bad days. The staff that worked there were always glad to provide the atmosphere for the orphaned boy he once was, that he maybe still is.
He remembers being curled behind the bar, away from sight, as the bartender with the mustache, one in which he remembers thinking had curled oddly, prepared customer drinks. Levi would always begin to doze as the smooth groove of the jazz band on stage began to lull him to sleep, only to jolt himself awake to listen to just one more song. Yet, as Levi stood within that same bar he frequented as a child, now grown, he hadn’t expected to hear the tunes he’d often hum to himself in comfort.
It was odd, the sight should’ve sent a chill down his spine. Ghostly air filled the spots of forgotten bandmates, who Levi remembers were typically clad in sultry suits and ties, as the instruments seemingly played themselves in an all-too-familiar groove. Yet, a sight that Levi would typically find himself frightened of, a quartet of instruments in perfect rhythm with no one to take credit, instead left him feeling the warmth of familiar comfort.
As Levi continued to roll childhood whispers amongst his mind, just as bitter sweets against his tongue, he mused in particular thought. He had expected the place to look rugged, beaten, torn and molded just as the rest of the godforsaken Bohemian town of Prehevil had begun to look. Yet, the quaint bar remained still in time, looking no different to how Levi had left it.
“What a cool little club!” The occultist, Marina, remarked as she waltzed upon one of the stools lined amongst the wooden bar, seemingly unbothered by the ghostly instruments wrapped in song. “Almost makes you forget everything that’s going on outside,” she had murmured furthermore.
Levi watched as she shifted within her seat, settling as she brought a hand beneath her chin to rest a tired head. The occultist allowed the violet of her eyes to remain hidden as she laid them close, locked away through eyelashes colored akin to ash. Levi observed this, the way the rouge of her skin matched her skirt, or the way the curl of her hair rippled in waves amongst her shoulders.
He’d had the passing thought before, of course, that Marina was beautiful, but her presence amongst something that had brought the soldier tranquility, something that still does, provided a particular warmth within the pit of his stomach.
Levi took tentative steps, choosing to reside amongst the spot alongside the occultist. His body was slow and rigid and alarmed, a posture that—no matter how relaxed he felt—was something he couldn’t shake. Upon the creak of his weight against old wood, Marina acknowledged him.
She allowed her eyes to flutter agape as she watched the young man, who in which avoided her gaze, as he settled within his chosen spot. He looked sickly, pale, painfully gaunt in ways only a child soldier could be. Yet, he was handsome, Marina had thought as she allowed her gaze to settle upon the delicate hands that now splayed within her lap.
After a moment of silent murmur, in which all to be heard was the rhythmic melody of jazz song, Marina began to speak, “I was born in this hick town here, y’know,” she had paused for a moment, not particularly in thought, “in the church of Alll-mer.”
And Levi hadn’t told her that he knew this. Hadn’t told her that he recognized her on that train, the memory of a small girl awaiting with a tightened grip beyond the gate of that god-damned orphanage had flooded his thoughts the moment he caught a glimpse of her features.
That girl was only to be ignored. Her father, Father Domek, the priest with an iron grip upon the orphanage, his eyes akin to glass and having always withheld an expression that frightened Levi, would only walk past. Levi remembers, Father Domek would make no acknowledgement as the girl hesitated to trail behind.
And it was this way every evening. Before the nuns would slap their wrists with rulers and send them off to bed, Father Domek would take his leave and that girl with the soured expression and round, rosy cheeks would await his presence. It was this way every evening until Levi was sent to fight. It was this way every evening until Levi was sent to kill, to kill younger and younger.
“My father isn’t exactly the most moral man, he’s a dark priest,” Marina spoke once more, her lips pulling taut as a frown soured her expression, reminiscent of the little girl she once was. And Levi hadn’t told her that he would sometimes consider her a friend during particularly cold nights, despite having never spoken before now.
He hadn’t told her, hadn’t told her because people were sick of his parentless childhood, sick of his war stories. Instead, he remained with his gaze against the stained canvas of his once-white shoes.
Marina was silent for a moment, once more the smooth voice of jazz filled the quiet murmurs within Levi’s skull, who in which began to worry as such a moment only dragged on.
“My mom protected me from that path. If it wasn’t for her, I would’ve been indoctrinated into dark priesthood,” Marina had finally spoke, bringing one of the palms from within her lap and upon her cheek to rest her head once more, her soured expression fading as a small simper took its place.
With this, Levi had been confused, his brows furrowed taut as he recalled a memory, one deeper within his mind. One of the younger girls within his orphanage had a particular fascination with blood magic, with dark priesthood. She’d constantly steal from the nuns and Fathers, any book written with the name Enki Ankarian she had wanted to get her hands on.
Of course, she was beaten, screamed at. Not only for stealing—which Levi remembered having thought she should know better than to do—but, as the nun’s had said, for going out of line. Dark priesthood is reserved for firstborn sons, anyone that hadn’t fit that mold and strived for it were heretics, were blasphemy towards the grace of Alll-mer.
Father Domek had not seemed to be the kind of man to make an exception for his own family, he was strict within his ways in regards of the church. With this, Levi had raised his gaze only slightly, watching the side of Marina’s face as she seemingly counted the bottles of years-old alcohol beyond the wooden bar, his expression muddled as he spoke with a voice hoarse and curious, “I thought dark priesthood was only for firstborn sons?”
And as the quiet simper amongst Marina’s lips had stretched farther upon her cheeks, full and rosy and knowing, he had recalled the way Father Domek would mention his son, only to quickly rectify and spout daughter. Whenever this would happen, Levi remembered the priest’s expression would gain a quality of confusion, of anger, of something he wasn’t sure of, of something he was frightened of.
And it clicked, “Oh.”
“I hope that isn’t an issue, hm?” Marina was looking at him now, voice light and teasing, seemingly gaining amusement from Levi’s staggered features.
“O-oh, no! That doesn’t make you any less of a lady to me …” Levi had been quick to respond, polite and embarrassed, trailing off as his gaze shot back towards his dirtied shoes. Because, truthfully, he hadn’t cared what Marina was born as, and it felt a bit rude to indirectly ask. She was the awaiting girl beyond the orphanage gate, and she was the young woman before him now.
And Marina had laughed upon his overtly polite response, kind yet teasing, a song that hadn’t failed to make Levi’s cheeks redden. Whether it be from embarrassment or fondness, he wasn’t sure, but the creak of old wood as Marina shifted her weight upon the stool in which she sat had caused him to raise his gaze once more.
She leaned towards him now, her features taking up much of his vision as she spoke, tone light and playful, “I’m a pretty lady though, right, sleepy one?”
And upon those words, upon the feeling of the warmth of her breath against his cheek as she spoke, his face only reddened further. His heart hammered within his ribs, crying, begging to break through aching bones as he darted his gaze, unable to meet her eyes. He feels flustered, nervous, more than he finds typical, different than he finds typical.
Was she teasing him? Playing tricks to get his heart worked up in some strange occult spell?
Yet, before Levi could make sense of it, Marina had shifted her weight back, and he found himself missing her warmth. She laughed once more, light and quiet and short and with a smile that reached her gaze, “You’re handsome when your face gets red like that, Levi.”
And the young man felt as if his body might as well be set aflame. She was beautiful, too beautiful, he felt as if every moment in which he stammered to respond, the words had only caught within his throat. He must’ve looked odd as he stared, his mouth opening only to snap shut once more, nothing coming from within.
Upon his recognition of defeat, he brought his palms upon his face, heat emanating from his cheeks as it scorched the skin of his calloused palms. He hid his face away, feeling as if his head may explode if he continued to gaze upon her.
And in another moment where smooth blues was all to be heard upon his own breathing, Levi was afraid he’d put her off, that he’d made her think that her words weren’t appreciated, and he had allowed himself to wallow, to kick himself for it. There had never been a moment in which romantic words were set upon him, kindness alone being a rarity within his life. He had grown bitter, he had grown nihilistic, and Marina’s words, in which stuck to his mind like sap, made him forget this, even for a fleeting moment.
“Thanks, by the way, sleepy one,” Marina’s voice had broken through his thoughts, his racing thoughts, his worried thoughts, having continued as if she hadn’t made Levi’s heart pound within the confines of his chest, “the way I am feels right, I never questioned femininity or girlhood as a child, even known it was chosen for me.”
Her voice was genuine, it was an honest murmur that thanked him, pausing only for a moment to gather her words, continuing, “Once my voice started to deepen as I got older, it felt like something was wrong every time I spoke. I like being a girl, and it felt like that was slipping away somehow.”
And upon the solemn within her voice, quiet and subtle and something easily missed, Levi had peeked between the hands still covering his reddened cheeks, his nervous features. The way Marina had sat with a posture relaxed, impolite in ways only grandmother’s would care for, coupled with the way she dressed like a porcelain doll, the way she spoke to him with a tone of rude, teasing humor, yet always with kindness first — it had bewitched Levi, he realized.
“I started to train to speak with a higher tone after that. That’s why I sound the way I do now,” Marina spoke once more, her gaze turned away from Levi and upon the instruments within ghostly quartet. And in a moment where Levi wasn’t sure what to say, and in a moment where Marina wasn’t either, Levi took calloused palms away from their home within the groove of his sockets.
His hands shook, they were nervous, unsure in inexperience of being loved. Yet, with a tender grip, slow and gentle, he took Marina’s palm within his. She had shot her gaze back upon him, Levi could feel her widened eyes burning upon his already reddened face, his own staring upon their connected palms. Her hands were softer than his, gentler, more stable as his own only continued to tremble.
And in a moment of uncertainty, Levi brought her knuckles upon his lips, kissing the skin in the way he could recall upon the memory of the old ‘How To Be a Gentleman’ tapes the nun’s within the orphanage would force the boys to always watch.
“I … um,” Levi’s voice faltered, afraid and nerve-wracked in ways he found different from the moments of withdrawal, different from the moments in which he was reminded of war, different from the moments he was reminded of his father. Why was he saying this? Why was he doing this? Why does his heart pound within his ears when Marina was so close like this?
“I like your voice.” He choked out, his words ghosting warmth as his breath tickled Marina’s hand. Levi pulled his lips taut within a thin line, avoiding her gaze as she remained unmoving. And, as the moment of silent mutterings only dragged on, the groove of song all to be heard as Marina remained with her hand laid within Levi’s trembling palm, he began to feel a bit mortified.
Ramblings began to fill a skittish mind, ramblings of: ‘Why can’t I just be normal? She’s never going to talk to me again. I’m no good with people, why am I acting so delicate when my skills never complimented things like that?’
Such ramblings were cut off once Levi felt the warmth of a kiss upon his cheek, delicate yet firm as it made its home within the corner of his lips. And it had ended as soon as it started, because such a moment was truly just a childish one, yet not a mockery of the romance between mothers and fathers, between wives and husbands.
The pair were inexperienced, the pair found genuine, romantic love to be a rare connection within their lives, and the pair grew within this same town, and the pair grew on either side of that orphanage gate.
And as homely jazz and gentle, short kisses filled the air of a safe haven within the heart of a beast, skin upon skin, reddened and rosy, and with the warmth of Sylvian tracing gentle whispers upon the curve of ears, Levi thinks to himself that this is the happiest he’s maybe ever been in his sorrowful, war-ridden years, and he forgets all about the horrors just beyond a saloon’s walls.