06-24-2020, 05:01 PM
Philip was unmoved from the bedside for a great deal of time. There were no clocks in the room: he banished them before occupying the space. Father Ando ignored them anyway, and Patricus woke to his own internal rhythm. He frequently cited a loathing of time zones as a reason to avoid travel. It was a long, convoluted conversation to be had with his lord, and time was irrelevant. If his knees ached, he spoke more fiercely. If his neck strained with the constant crane upward, his eyes squeezed shut. Such were the habits of the priest that talked with God on a regular basis. The difference these past few days was apparent only to the outward observer. He waited on something. Whether it was a conclusion to the conversation continually deferred or if it was a call to an action with which he disagreed, all that was known was that the Pope remained in solitude, emerging from the room only to pace outside, view the children, and return to his previous state.
What none but himself knew, and himself only barely acknowledged, was the turmoil twisting within.
Finally, with a great and burdened sigh, his arms sank to his sides and his head bowed. The strike of a cross across his chest signaled the closure of negotiations, and he rose to his feet, expression taut.
Such was when he acknowledged the priest waiting on him.
“Holy Father, I did not want to disturb you,” he said quietly.
Philip grimaced, “And yet you do anyway,” he retorted.
The priest explained that the young woman of favored consequence was in the yard.
Philip crossed swiftly to the window, pulling back the curtains. The stream of sudden sunlight pinched his eyes, but below was indeed Thalia, swinging idly alongside a child.
When he came outside, it was while donning the Capello, the wide-brimmed hat of the same scarlet hue as a cape strewn across his shoulders. It wasn’t without consequence that the additional layers covered his physical body. If it was to meet any other soul, he would have obscured his face with a veil on a day like today. When he beheld the wide eyes of a child suddenly realizing who approached, his chin tilted with stern presentation. The innocence of a child always unmasked what man meant to hide.
Between them, bubbles floated on windless air, an unnatural plume.
What none but himself knew, and himself only barely acknowledged, was the turmoil twisting within.
Finally, with a great and burdened sigh, his arms sank to his sides and his head bowed. The strike of a cross across his chest signaled the closure of negotiations, and he rose to his feet, expression taut.
Such was when he acknowledged the priest waiting on him.
“Holy Father, I did not want to disturb you,” he said quietly.
Philip grimaced, “And yet you do anyway,” he retorted.
The priest explained that the young woman of favored consequence was in the yard.
Philip crossed swiftly to the window, pulling back the curtains. The stream of sudden sunlight pinched his eyes, but below was indeed Thalia, swinging idly alongside a child.
When he came outside, it was while donning the Capello, the wide-brimmed hat of the same scarlet hue as a cape strewn across his shoulders. It wasn’t without consequence that the additional layers covered his physical body. If it was to meet any other soul, he would have obscured his face with a veil on a day like today. When he beheld the wide eyes of a child suddenly realizing who approached, his chin tilted with stern presentation. The innocence of a child always unmasked what man meant to hide.
Between them, bubbles floated on windless air, an unnatural plume.
![[Image: hiclipart.com_-e1597513863757.png]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2020/08/hiclipart.com_-e1597513863757.png)