Dralan [On Hold]

Forty-Three

Dohmenic

He walked into the dome-shaped chapel and let the darkness envelope him. There was not a single window to show his path or to guide his way, but it wasn't needed. Many vampires had lost their nightsight, but not him. His pureblooded ancestors had managed to preserved it, so even on the darkest of nights, he would never lose his way.

Walking forward, he let his black silk robe trail behind his bare feet. The marble below him was cold, as was the air, but with each step that brought him closer to the centre of the chapel, his heart warmed.

Stopping up before the shrine, he took a moment to embrace this moment. He hadn't paid tribute to his heavenly mother for weeks, and finally being back eased the weight on his heart.

He gazed down at the shrine where just a single candle stood, a candle that was all he needed. Concentrating on the stem, a small flame came alive. As he exhaled, the flame grew till it danced as a healthy, strong beacon in the night, lighting up the dark chapel.

The instant it did, the beauty of the chapel was revealed. White roses adorned the shrine, but also crawled on the walls of the chapel, all the way up to the dome-shaped ceiling. They grew in absolutely darkness and fed only on the prayers and love that were sent to their creator here in earnestness.

And for weeks, they had been slowly wilting.

Discarding his robe, he let it fall to the ground and knelt down as naked as she had created him. Bowing to the single flame and the crown of white roses, he asserted his faith in her once more.

With everything that had happened, his dedication to The Blithesome Miss had been faltering. She was what strengthened him and brought him hope, and without either, the kingdom was doomed.

Kneeling down flat, he submitted to her powers. A Dralan never knelt, only to his creator. Nobody was above the King except for The Blithesome Miss who gave him his title. She had been his strength as he had ascended the throne, just as she had been for every ancestor's of his as well.

Exhaling a deep breath, he let his thoughts fleet his mind. He embraced the tranquil aura and the sanctity of the dome and allowed himself to fall into a trance. The smell of roses sifted up his nose along with the faint scent of candle wax and fire from the flame.

White light slowly surrounded him. Behind his closed lids, he was transported to a womb of safety, a place where harm had never set its cold feet. Warmth bathed his soul and warmed the blood in his veins, and as he rested in the white, he knew she was there, listening.

Sweet Blithesome Miss, he begun. His voice in his mind was nothing but a whisper, frail and so unlike his usual deep, resonate vibrato. Everything was silent where he was. Including himself.

Merciful Miss, my Creator and heavenly Mother. I come to you in my hour of need to humbly ask your guidance. Your messages to me lately, while blessings beyond the skies, have brought me despair and confusion. The kingdom you left me in charge of is plagued by war. The female you brought to me has taken my heart and stolen thoughts. My determination is faltering, and I am in seek of why. Are these my trials to remain your humble Dralan? Do I persevere or fall back? I beg of you, sweet Blithesome Miss, show me a path and I will follow you.

He waited for what could've been hours. He felt not the pain of kneeling nor the strain of his mentality, only the white, soothing calmness. He stood in her Eden and had no rush for her reply. It was another trial. Dedication. Did he just come here for the advice he thought he needed, or was he desperate enough to wait for hours for her guidance?