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The belfry is dark and cold and full of thunder. You feel the heat of him like a whip lash across your back before you hear him.
"And here I thought to enjoy some peace and quiet."
It's loud as hell up here. The ancient curves of the stone amplify the rain. Make it scream across the sky even as the rumbling behind the clouds threatens to undo the very floor beneath you.
You shrug, proffer the silver goblet you plundered from a dark corner somewhere in the cellar. It's brimming with the crimson contents of a mediocre bottle of wine.
He surveys it with a dark chuckle.
"Communion wine? Dear Usurper, that's simply blasphemous! Marie will certainly string me from the rafters."
He takes it. The tips of his fingers brush yours
He's wrong though. This cup. This fleeting touch. This drink shared between the two of you is sacred.
-
The first Transference feels like climbing into a burning coffin. The heat is all-consuming yet you know you will never find the soft release of ash. He will burn forever on this self flagellating pyre if you let him.
You don't let him. You pour yourself into him like cooling water, fill every inch of him with blessed stillness. He exhales slowly. Almost as if he has forgotten how.
And though those wild and violent missions through Grineer infested plains and Corpus corrupted wrecks are fiery, neither of you burn.
-
I forgive you, you tell him. Whispered between his lips and drawn with fingers along his spine. I forgive you. It is written in the gentleness of your void embrace, even as a platoon of Scaldra turns to soot on the pavement before you.
This you offer him over and over in a thousand different ways.
Because, perhaps one day, even the devil can Believe.