Day 337 - Dark and Light
“...I do so wished those...wings of yours...could hide themselves amongst the robes, Morton,” the clergyman lamented as he fussed over Morthos’ vestments.
“I apologise, father,” he responded, sure to let him go about his work, “I will be sure to make efforts to see if His Grace will allow me the chance to vanish them in the future.”
It always was this way for Morthos. The church had hoped that, with time and patience, teaching him their ways would have their god rid him of his differences. In the end, the only thing they could maintain was control over his actions and the trimming of his unusually sharp nails. Even the tail, which had started small enough to tuck into leggings, had found its way as part of his everyday appearance.
It bothered him that he could not simply be like everyone else, but he withstood. “Loyalty...and kindness...”
“Morton, you’re mumbling to yourself again.” Morthos’ thoughts were interrupted by the sudden observation.
“A-ah, forgive me! I fear that nerves may have a hold of me this morning.” Morthos pays closer attention to his words lest they find themselves free-floating again.
“Lord’s grace...you need to focus more on the virtues He wishes for us. It may be fine to wander in your mind when you’re younger, but He expects us to always pay attention.”
His Grace...is not something he ever really understood. They say He is perfect and ever full of grace, yet seemed to show distain to those who don’t follow His ways, whether they can control it or not.
He’s spent 10 years trying to find a way to hide his inhuman traits, and rarely a moment went by when someone didn’t stare at him for them. He’s grateful for the church’s kindness in protecting him and teaching him the ways, but sometimes he wishes he was just born without them.
...but there are just as many moments to himself where he allows himself to just enjoy these things.
Why do these wings bring fear when it grants flight like those of birds? This tail a way to keep the balance? I...could do without the horns, but aren’t there horned animals who are appreciated too?
He snaps himself out of his thoughts before his superior could berate him for it again, and prepares himself for another day learning His ways.
All that was left behind, behind the church that teaches ‘loyalty’ and ‘kindness’, was a bloodied corpse. The head, destroyed and de-horned, laid in a puddle of blood and rain as the once-white robes changed to pink. The back had webs of torn skin from lashes upon lashes, gaping wounds where wings once existed. The legs had been detached from the body, a thick tail chopped to pieces between them.
The sight would leave most gasping for air at the sight of such brutality, yet the perpetrators simply stared at the ex-demonblood. “It is done.” Their robes seemed to reflect the reds of the body as they turn away from it. Their pet demon was no more.
Morthos stared down at the remains that grew back.
Feeling over his body, he sensed the horns and wings still attached, yet saw them on the ground, just as mangled as when he first awoke.
His emotions struggled to keep in check as the realisation of what happened hit him in full force: The Church killed him. He died.
Tears started to build up at the corners of his eyes as he stepped away from the scene, his clothes still as soiled as before.
Instead of staying around for an answer, he ran.
He ran as far away as he could.
If even the church, the one people he could rely on, were willing to remove him like this...
...there was no home for him here.