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Furiae leaned her head against the stone wall. The cold of the stone bricks did little to quench the warmth she was feeling as she let her imagination run. She could see how her brother would smile at her, how he would tell her everything would be alright. That he would protect her, and nothing could ever hurt her. She could feel him embrace her like he hadn’t for a long time. Tightly, lovingly. Closer than ever before. Furiae moved her wings closer to herself as she imagined how the embrace would take a bolder turn, as he would let his hands wander, and she would lean into it. She would-
A quiet noise, muffled by the door, rippled through the otherwise silent church.
She would be disturbed from her thoughts by some visitor. Again.
Furiae stood up and straightened her dress, taking care to not rip her bed sheets with the spikes of her tail. The day had already turned to evening, and most of the townsfolk were home by now, talking with their partners and family by a cozy fire, perhaps over a meal. Despite having thrown out the hopes of a future like that for herself, she would still like to keep her moments of dreaming about such without late visitors bursting in.
She stood by the wooden, simple door and peeked inside. She saw a hall most familiar to her with its rows of pews, tall windows and a statue of the Goddess, with the intricately carved markings of the seals running across the statue’s skin. And in front of the statue she saw a man she did not recognise.
She could see he was tall, but it was difficult to tell how tall by how he was curled up into a deep prayer. His shoulders were wide, and his blond hair was tied into a long ponytail. His robes showed wear and tear, and Furiae debated leaving the late night stranger to his prayer.
The man’s voice trembled. Now that Furiae was standing by the open door, she could hear snippets of his prayer, said out loud but with a voice that was not trying to communicate. A voice that felt like it was more for himself than for the recipient, rising and falling into near silence.
The prayer fluctuated. Furiae caught words of penance, of asking for forgiveness, and words of begging mixed in, requesting the harshest of punishments. She could not make out what it was exactly the man was asking to be forgiven – she suspected he had not said as much. But he was fervent in his prayers, and his desperate tone spoke to Furiae.
She had spent many nights similar to this in her own room, refusing to pray, but incapable of acting. All she could do was dream.
This man did not dream, it was clear. But Furiae could not help but wonder if he had acted on his dreams, and found them wanting. And so had chased himself here. Or maybe he had never acted either, and inaction was what had driven him to prayer. If neither action nor inaction would bring a man happiness... Furiae could not decide which option she liked less.
She opened the door.
The man fell into immediate silence as his head whipped to face her. His eyes were shut, but the trail of tears on his cheek was still visible. The dim lighting of the church offered little in the way of details, but Furiae could make out the uneven stubble on the man’s face, not quite long enough to be intentional, but not short enough to be freshly shaven.
“Are you hurt, child of the Goddess?” Furiae fluttered out her angelic wings for good measure, softening her voice to a kinder tone. One she used with visitors.
The man hesitated, clearly uncertain of how to respond.
“I… am unharmed,” he replied. Furiae chuckled.
“That is good, though I suspect you know that is not what I asked. Your soul, child. Does it not weep?” The man bowed his head as if to look away, though he had not once opened his eyes.
“I really… I should not burden someone else with my worries. Might I ask, are you… a priestess?”
“That’s one way of seeing it,” Furiae muttered, before she caught her tongue. With a smile she continued, “I am the protector of this town, the angel of this church, Furiae.”
“The angel…” the man muttered. He fell into silence, before finally standing up to his full height. A sight that might have been intimidating were it not for his cautious demeanor. “I am Leonard. A… I suppose you could call me a hermit. A title much less impressive than yours,” he added bashfully.
“Leonard,” Furiae repeated. “Have you come here to seek healing of the soul?”
The man shifted his weight from one foot to another, like a child trying to find the right way to ask their mother for their favourite meal. Furiae got the impression that despite his politeness, Leonard did not get many chances to practice his speaking. A hermit, he said… no wonder she had never encountered him. Not that she was allowed many chances to wander outside the church grounds herself. Would she be labeled a hermit as well, she wondered, in the eyes of the townsfolk.
“If it is possible…” Furiae gave him room to continue, but the sentence was left hanging in the air.
“Of course. The soul can be healed, no matter the wounds it bears. But it requires time, and no small amount of effort. You would need to return here again, if that be your wish.”
Usually she would send the townsfolk off after a brief show of divinity and a request for something to show their gratitude, but rarely had she ever seen someone pray for absolution so fervently. This man would hardly be satisfied with a half-hearted wish for health, but Furiae felt that neither would she. She had grown curious about this hermit. She knew that if she let him go now, she would likely never come to see him again, and they would both return to their own seclusion.
“Wounds, huh… yes, I understand, it only makes sense.” Leonard tasted the word like it did not quite fit into the conversation. Furiae cocked her head, but made no comment on it.
“So, how does this… how do you…” Leonard seemed to find himself at a loss for the right words again. Furiae sat down at a pew and motioned for him to come closer. When the man did not react, she requested his presence out loud, and Leonard took a seat next to her.
“Clasp your hands together. Yes, like so. At the front of the room, there is a statue of the Goddess, watching over us like she watched in life. Feel the her presence in this church. Feel her guidance, like a gentle touch taking you by the hand. Let yourself feel.” Furiae tried to focus on her innate radiance, amplifying it. It had the tendency to make the visitors from the town relax. Leonard looked sweaty.
“Think about what ails you. Focus on it. A murky presence inside of you, muddying the waters of your heart. Touch it. Take it in your hands. Mould it. See it take form. What does it look like to you?”
“Mould it…” Leonard muttered, eyes tightly shut. “Its shape is… known to me.”
“What does it look like to you?” Furiae repeated.
“It…”
“What does it look like to you?”
“It looks like me.”
“It does. But it is no more than mud in a lake. It will dissolve, but only if you will it so. If you let the Goddess guide you.”
Leonard’s shoulders slumped.
“Can you feel her?” Furiae moved her wings to graze his shoulder.
“You can.” Leonard did not get a chance to respond. “She is there, by the lake of your heart. Let her move the waters. Let her blow the wind by it, through it. It still looks like you, but it is smaller. Weaker.”
“Everything crumbles, Leonard. Even this. You just need to let the Goddess help you. Let me help you.” Furiae smiled. “We will be glad to help you again, when you come back.”
“Thank you,” Leonard breathed. It was hard to tell whether it was out of relief or need of one: his hair had started to stick itself to his face that had beads of sweat running over it, and his posture had changed from the slouch of a tall man to a lean for support.
“How do you feel?”
“I feel different. Thank you.” That did not answer her question, but Furiae suspected it was as much as she would get.
“I hope you found this fruitful.” She unfurled her tail that had started to snake itself around Leonard’s ankle. She returned it to her side with a swish, the spikes leaving a scrape on the stone floor.
“It is late. Let us meet again, Leonard.” The man rose to his feet, taking support from the back of the bench.
“Yes, let’s.” His reply sounded absentminded.
“Yes.” Furiae’s reply was firm, with enough promise to count for both sides. She watched the man make his way to the front door of the church and walk out into the night.
Most would leave her sessions with a feeling of calm, mayhap a smile or a kind word. They would praise her healing presence, and yet this hermit had seemingly left more exhausted than he had been coming in. She had put in even more effort than she had of late, so why…?
Furiae shook her head. She would learn more on the man’s next visit, which she was sure would occur sooner or later. She made sure the hall looked ready to receive anyone that might come in the morning, and retreated back to her room. She sighed. It would be difficult to fall back into her daydreams with this new encounter in mind.