Information
Infidel
Legacy Name: Infidel
The
Angelic YaherraOwner:
HADESAge: 4 years, 11 months, 2 weeks
Born: May 1st, 2019
Adopted: 2 years, 2 months, 1 week ago
Adopted: February 5th, 2022
Statistics
- Level: 1
- Strength: 10
- Defense: 16
- Speed: 10
- Health: 10
- HP: 10/10
- Intelligence: 0
- Books Read: 0
- Food Eaten: 0
- Job: Unemployed
Sin, hot as flame licking up her skin, dipping, caressing, searing and branding. Temptation, soft as a feather, dragging and gliding, unfurling, changing.
There is not much we wouldn’t do for love. Not when it starts, a small glimmer of sunshine on a dark day, the smile hidden behind hands, and the hope for a better future. Not when it changes and fans into an inferno of desire and hunger, to have what the world says one should not possess. Love is a fickle master, and when unequal, she only demands obedience.
The monastery is built on the skeleton ruins of a religion long abandoned by those who sought to conquer and suppress lives that came before. The bones of the stark white and black building tower into the sky, reaching with desperate hands for heaven. The village around is sparse, houses clustered around the rotten core, buffeted by a wind that seems to declare that they are not wanted. Nature itself rejects them, rocks and cliffs crumbling underfoot, storms digging deep trenches and gashes into the homes of those who came after. If one lives in fear of losing what you love, then it is easy to give up the things that your conqueror does not. Gods, forsaken and forgotten, hide in the depths underneath the monastery, waiting and longing for their moment to be free.
But the nuns do not know this, do not know of their history entrenched in blood and cruelty, of those burned at the stake to destroy all that came before them. No, to them their existence is love, love to their fellow man, and love for a man that proclaims himself god. But what is love if not fickle, if not given the attention it desires, to grow and fan from embers to a wildfire. Love needs breath, and if not given any, dies and leaves once again, lost sheep in need of a shepherd.
And this is how we find them, forgotten by the bishop, and barely remembered by their town. Isolated in a building that reeks of death, and ash, and the spark of something tantalizing hidden underneath. It is through all this misery and false joy, that Caterina finds herself in the place we all go when we die; the catacombs, a place silent and solemn where all have respect for those who have passed, divine and mortal alike. Stumbling her way down the dusty stairs, there is something in the air that pushes and pulls, and Catarina cannot stop herself from following deeper into the quiet, into a place where few dare go, be it due to fear or respect. She does not know what lies before her, but she knows that it is different.
Through the smoke and dust, she catches glimpses of fire, of an allconsuming vision of heat and death and renewal, and she feels the tears come to her eyes. There is no fear, even as she finally hears the soft, whispy voice whisper.
Who are you?
Catarina returns every night, long past the time the last prayers have been said, and the last hymn sang. She runs through the hallways of the dead monastery, with heat under her feet, and the embers of something alive in her chest. It glimmers, and quakes, like a newborn bird, just learning how to sing. Down into the catacombs she goes, brown curls bouncing and swaying in the moonlight, the moon a kind face in the sky. She lopes down the steps, deeper into the void that all seek refuge from. Deep, deep under the cold bones of an unborn god, she seeks the warmth of one alive.
The fire licks at her skin, but she feels no pain. It is heat and love, and home all rolled into one, and she sighs into the hand cupping her cheek. Beautiful, the voice whispers, and Catarina smiles, open and wide, and cannot help the way her cheeks burn. She looks into the being’s eyes, and sees nothing but a goddess, for else could she be, phantasmal and resplendent in her cloak of glory and fire, in her eyes that shine like molten gold. Her skin that crackles and breaks, only to reveal the rivers of fire that run in her veins. Catarina feels a rumble through her feet, as the goddess laughs, delighted and free, and unrestrained of all the expectations that Catarina has learned to know, and to love.
She is freedom and fire, the end and the beginning, and Catarina cannot help but fall in love. Together, they are an inferno, desire and hope and all that is right in the world. Beloved, Caterina whispers against her lips, her heart full and beating like a runaway horse, exhausted but yet daring for more. Vittoria, her goddess whispers back, and Caterina can feel it etch into her heart.
One day, Catarina does not leave the catacombs again. Infidel, they brand her, when the other nuns and priests go to look for her, and find nothing but her clothes laid on the altar of a goddess that should have been forgotten long ago. They whisper and imagine what became of the slight young woman - had she been eaten, devoured by a beast? Had she simply gone insane, and left to die alone in the catacombs? They could not help but wonder, even as their hearths burned brighter and longer, as the sun shined deeper and stronger, and life seemed to return to their quaint little town.
For you see, Catarina knew that she and Vittoria would not be together if they remained in a place of death without end, and so she kneeled before her goddess, and offered up all she was, and all she ever would be, as she would not live without her beloved. And a love of equals, of those who cannot go without the other, demands respect, so Vittoria soft and gently, with lips of embers, placed a kiss upon her brow, and melted away into ash and dust. Two hearts can become one when there is nothing but love between them.
The Catarina that left the monastery that night, with the moon as her constant companion, was not the same who had entered. No, she carried something precious in her heart, a flame that would smother any self doubt or hatred, the heat of a goddess made of pure flame and hope, and the love that exists between them. And together they would be, for all eternity.
There is not much we wouldn’t do for love. Not when it starts, a small glimmer of sunshine on a dark day, the smile hidden behind hands, and the hope for a better future. Not when it changes and fans into an inferno of desire and hunger, to have what the world says one should not possess. Love is a fickle master, and when unequal, she only demands obedience.
The monastery is built on the skeleton ruins of a religion long abandoned by those who sought to conquer and suppress lives that came before. The bones of the stark white and black building tower into the sky, reaching with desperate hands for heaven. The village around is sparse, houses clustered around the rotten core, buffeted by a wind that seems to declare that they are not wanted. Nature itself rejects them, rocks and cliffs crumbling underfoot, storms digging deep trenches and gashes into the homes of those who came after. If one lives in fear of losing what you love, then it is easy to give up the things that your conqueror does not. Gods, forsaken and forgotten, hide in the depths underneath the monastery, waiting and longing for their moment to be free.
But the nuns do not know this, do not know of their history entrenched in blood and cruelty, of those burned at the stake to destroy all that came before them. No, to them their existence is love, love to their fellow man, and love for a man that proclaims himself god. But what is love if not fickle, if not given the attention it desires, to grow and fan from embers to a wildfire. Love needs breath, and if not given any, dies and leaves once again, lost sheep in need of a shepherd.
And this is how we find them, forgotten by the bishop, and barely remembered by their town. Isolated in a building that reeks of death, and ash, and the spark of something tantalizing hidden underneath. It is through all this misery and false joy, that Caterina finds herself in the place we all go when we die; the catacombs, a place silent and solemn where all have respect for those who have passed, divine and mortal alike. Stumbling her way down the dusty stairs, there is something in the air that pushes and pulls, and Catarina cannot stop herself from following deeper into the quiet, into a place where few dare go, be it due to fear or respect. She does not know what lies before her, but she knows that it is different.
Through the smoke and dust, she catches glimpses of fire, of an allconsuming vision of heat and death and renewal, and she feels the tears come to her eyes. There is no fear, even as she finally hears the soft, whispy voice whisper.
Who are you?
Catarina returns every night, long past the time the last prayers have been said, and the last hymn sang. She runs through the hallways of the dead monastery, with heat under her feet, and the embers of something alive in her chest. It glimmers, and quakes, like a newborn bird, just learning how to sing. Down into the catacombs she goes, brown curls bouncing and swaying in the moonlight, the moon a kind face in the sky. She lopes down the steps, deeper into the void that all seek refuge from. Deep, deep under the cold bones of an unborn god, she seeks the warmth of one alive.
The fire licks at her skin, but she feels no pain. It is heat and love, and home all rolled into one, and she sighs into the hand cupping her cheek. Beautiful, the voice whispers, and Catarina smiles, open and wide, and cannot help the way her cheeks burn. She looks into the being’s eyes, and sees nothing but a goddess, for else could she be, phantasmal and resplendent in her cloak of glory and fire, in her eyes that shine like molten gold. Her skin that crackles and breaks, only to reveal the rivers of fire that run in her veins. Catarina feels a rumble through her feet, as the goddess laughs, delighted and free, and unrestrained of all the expectations that Catarina has learned to know, and to love.
She is freedom and fire, the end and the beginning, and Catarina cannot help but fall in love. Together, they are an inferno, desire and hope and all that is right in the world. Beloved, Caterina whispers against her lips, her heart full and beating like a runaway horse, exhausted but yet daring for more. Vittoria, her goddess whispers back, and Caterina can feel it etch into her heart.
One day, Catarina does not leave the catacombs again. Infidel, they brand her, when the other nuns and priests go to look for her, and find nothing but her clothes laid on the altar of a goddess that should have been forgotten long ago. They whisper and imagine what became of the slight young woman - had she been eaten, devoured by a beast? Had she simply gone insane, and left to die alone in the catacombs? They could not help but wonder, even as their hearths burned brighter and longer, as the sun shined deeper and stronger, and life seemed to return to their quaint little town.
For you see, Catarina knew that she and Vittoria would not be together if they remained in a place of death without end, and so she kneeled before her goddess, and offered up all she was, and all she ever would be, as she would not live without her beloved. And a love of equals, of those who cannot go without the other, demands respect, so Vittoria soft and gently, with lips of embers, placed a kiss upon her brow, and melted away into ash and dust. Two hearts can become one when there is nothing but love between them.
The Catarina that left the monastery that night, with the moon as her constant companion, was not the same who had entered. No, she carried something precious in her heart, a flame that would smother any self doubt or hatred, the heat of a goddess made of pure flame and hope, and the love that exists between them. And together they would be, for all eternity.