<b>This RP contains material which will be<br/>
objectionable to some readers.<br/>
Your caution is advised if<br/>
you proceed to read this.</b><br/><br/>He had been feeling ill for a while. The images were enough - he didn't know if the nausea was from the infernal flashes before his inner sight, or if there was something physical in the ailment now. Pelle had always been kind. He'd only gotten into trouble when he stopped big Nicholas from beating up the lithe but foul-mouthed Robert. A bit of rage in Pelle, then, but he held it back before he beat Nick's face any worse. When the detention ended, Pelle still held on to the guilt, and the fear of himself.<br/><br/>That kind of weight hadn't started this. He'd been hiding away in the woods after an argument with his parents. It seemed like a good idea to try and rid of some frustration while thinking of a relative. He'd been doing it since before he knew what the pleasure meant. He'd only planned to put some seed into the ground that would never grow, so he could go home, anger expelled and body exhausted. But the overgrown clearing was a refuge for the children and then the teens of the town because it had small remains standing in it. Not even the sisters knew exactly, but some records referred to a kind of monastery, once.<br/><br/>The dark thing that had rested there, looking at the rotten hearts for entertainment, and pushing the family abuse to an all time high in their community, saw the boy with the one shrugging shoulder. It had been intrigued by the boy's shameful dreams, and invaded him just as he cast himself off. Pelle felt sick with the pleasure of that self-session, and worried over the red color of what he produced onto the ground and his hand.<br/><br/>He went through his little house and hid for three days before. The arguments his parents had was long forgotten when he limped out. His mother was livid when she saw his face out of the shadows he'd hidden in, but he tried to calm her. After that things got a bit better. He thought. His friends accused him of violence and the girls looked at him with confusion while still leaning in. They were afraid too, in a strange way. Pelle didn't remember any of it, but when the boys accused him his knuckles were bloody, and when the girls cried his fingers were salty. When the illness came back with its fever pictures, he became further miserable.<br/><br/>Pelle, in a fit of horror, ran to the hospice where his bridge to God was. It was Father Daniel that greeted the boy. He'd worked here almost all his life, but the small hall felt as large as the ghosts of faith's history when the boy came running in.<br/><br/>"Padre!" Pelle called and clawed at well-tended to but old robes. The hospice was the same, but let in leaning pillars of afternoon illumination to adorn the space. It was a room to nurture the pious, and it showed in its simple glory. As Pelle had cut through the light, Daniel noticed it took a little longer for the rays to come back to the floor. It made him cold. "The dreams! They're with me when I'm awake! They're telling me things." Pelle continued. "Sister M." he breathed. "Ah, please, why isn't she here?" She'd always secured him in God's lap. She was supposed to be here today. His young heart beat hard from the run. He had bet his life on finding just a little bit of salvation now. What a tragedy that she'd not come.<br/><br/>"She is a little late, boy." Daniel explained and coughed in fright as he had to catch the boy when he collapsed. The man sat with him in his lap, stroking his brown hair from his forehead, and looking into eyes that were still a light brown. "You're in a crisis, Pelle. It happens to us all when we're sick."<br/><br/>"N-no, Father. It's something else. Something dark dances in me." Pelle insisted and pulled his cotton shirt apart. Daniel saw nothing but a defined sternum and youthful skin with beads strewn across from the run. "My heart father. It feels ill. I shouldn't have touched myself in the woods."<br/><br/>Daniel had never been very drawn to anyone. He felt completely enamored by his faith. But today he felt a flicker of something else when he was pelted with the sheen of the boy's complexion. It made him feel younger, and that in turn made him feel forgotten and greedy. It distracted him from giving the boy good advice.<br/><br/>"You're being silly." he said, and that kind of denial felt like burying his own, new shortcomings. So he continued. "You're wasting my time with this. If its a game or drugs, I don't want to know. You can wait here for your aunt, but I don't want to hear it!" he said and somehow had the power to prop the long body up on the front of benches. Pelle slept suddenly, head to the side and back, chest thrust out like he was leaping. Father Daniel was miserable with want, and didn't notice the shadows moving strangely on the boy. The man left. There was something still there, sitting beside Pelle.