tenebrae
let everything happen to you, beauty and terror, just keep going, no feeling is final
Tenebrae weeps. It is not just tears upon his cheeks but sweat trickling down his spine, stinging as it seeps into open wounds. His back is a garish lattice that gleams ruby red slices in the lamp light. He walks as if the wounds do not ail him. They do. But the worst pain, the worst wounds are invisible, unseen. Though their agonising effects tear the man apart.
The sun gleams with her midday light. She bathes the holy mountain, reaching her rays of light into the mouth of Caligo’s temple. Though she searches, the sacred area is empty, but for Tenebrae upon his knees. He is far, far out of the reach of Solis’ seeking sun.
Dark, limp anguish bends him low to the ground. The weight of his foolishness is too much. Always the monk has been reckless and now he pays for his misdeeds in blood and tears and a broken heart. Tears drip despairingly upon the floor; black as ink. They write his every sin upon the cold stone ground. Ever the sunlight reaches out to shine light upon them.
Tenebrae cannot see for his tears and remorse and even if he had dared to lift his head and look upon his goddess’ altar, he would not be able to see it for the messy grief that films his eyes.
Is there any vow he has managed to keep sacred? This temple is full of his memories. In one he is a boy, pledging himself to his goddess. He swore to her and only her. Has only been a few years and already he has become distracted, defiling himself with the desire for women? So many have gone before him, monks in their older age who have never dared to even consider all the things that Tenebrae has done. Why him? Oh foolish, wrongful man.
The whip cracks against his spine and bites into his flesh. His shadows tremble at the sight of Tenebrae: master of his own punishment. The instrument quakes in his grasp, yet he does not lower it, nor cease with the endless crack, crack, crack. The noise cuts silence and flesh, it is a reminder - a stroke for every immoral thought. Laid low with the burden of his punishment. There is no strike that lessens his pain, his grief, his wretchedness. Does Caligo watch and know how he is unclean? Does she know that a worthless man kneels before her now, his faith too weak, his lack of self control too strong.
This is the only choice he has left himself with:
Leave the Order or renounce his ways, devote himself more fully to Caligo - if she would even keep him as a monk amidst her ranks. He has placed women above her.
Women.
It is not just for Caligo and the Order that he weeps. But for Boudika and Elena. Love, love, love. That word blistering now upon his tongue is so full of joy and yet… Oh terrible temptation. He has lead them three along a terrible path: He and Boudika and Elena. He traversed the path like a drunken man, oblivious, distorted, reckless. But he was not drunk - except upon lust, upon want.
What will it be now he has come to this time of reckoning? To be a monk or leave the Order…
He swallows her and the darkness convulses. It’s wretched black is like a noose about the monk’s throat. Tenebrae is in love and yet, is it enough? Like a fool is parcels up the box within his heart and thinks he knows the cost of shutting it away. He thinks, still high upon ignorance that he knows his feelings, he understands the costs of his next actions.
Tenebrae knows nothing at all.
He is not ready to be a man or even a monk.
