[align=center][div style="borderwidth; width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 14pt;"]It was only natural that, upon the returning of the Messiah, a celebration followed.
Everyone put on their best attire as music plays on an old record player, cascadingg across an ballroom that is withheld in the basement of the church. A table, somewhere off to the side, posessed sweets, a roast, and juice. Not only did they think to be celebrating the return of their dear Messiah, but also the execution of Silas. It wasn't something that he intended to mention. He would have dismissed it as some fluke; have claimed to prophesize Silas' death at the aid of his own wrongdoings, but while some took him as he came, glad that he was alive, others were dubious— why was he gone for so long? He needed to reaffirm their Faith in him. Without their Faith, who was he?
He should be happy, that Kai, but instead he was lost within himself. He doesn't show it, though. Or, he tries not to. To raise questions was the last thing he needed. Around him, others were gleeful, intoxicated. Life for them could return as normal. Things from here could get good, if not better. Throughout the night, his disciples approach him, delighted for his return. He tries to blend. Welcomes them with open arms, encompassing them into his arms, holding them as they sometimes cry. He's introduced to the young of ones who he's never met, where he's expected to cradle them in his arms, to kiss their heads. He drinks a cup of whisky, taste tests a decently eaten roast. But his mind isn't too far astray from the burdens he carries — he had to speak with Sam, if nothing else.
Everyone put on their best attire as music plays on an old record player, cascadingg across an ballroom that is withheld in the basement of the church. A table, somewhere off to the side, posessed sweets, a roast, and juice. Not only did they think to be celebrating the return of their dear Messiah, but also the execution of Silas. It wasn't something that he intended to mention. He would have dismissed it as some fluke; have claimed to prophesize Silas' death at the aid of his own wrongdoings, but while some took him as he came, glad that he was alive, others were dubious— why was he gone for so long? He needed to reaffirm their Faith in him. Without their Faith, who was he?
He should be happy, that Kai, but instead he was lost within himself. He doesn't show it, though. Or, he tries not to. To raise questions was the last thing he needed. Around him, others were gleeful, intoxicated. Life for them could return as normal. Things from here could get good, if not better. Throughout the night, his disciples approach him, delighted for his return. He tries to blend. Welcomes them with open arms, encompassing them into his arms, holding them as they sometimes cry. He's introduced to the young of ones who he's never met, where he's expected to cradle them in his arms, to kiss their heads. He drinks a cup of whisky, taste tests a decently eaten roast. But his mind isn't too far astray from the burdens he carries — he had to speak with Sam, if nothing else.
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❝ When I was a child, I heard voices Some would sing and some would scream You soon find you have few choices I learned the voices died with me When I was a child, I'd sit for hours Staring into open flame Something in it had a power Could barely tear my eyes away❞
[div style="width: 427px; text-align: center; font-family: work sans, arial; font-size: 5.5pt; text-transform: uppercase; color: #282828; text-spacing: 2px; letter-spacing: 1px; margin-bottom: 2px;"]a bunch . of stuff . here . links & info .