Ruin Maketh Me

25 - Truth, like light, blinds

     From a certain perspective, I don't even know whether I should be thankful or wary of this cloaked man leading me away. In all seriousness I should be cautious of anyone no matter how kindly they treat me, but the constant throbbing in my arm draws on my strength like a leech and even just walking feels like a strenuous chore.
"Thank you." I say simply.
The man says nothing at my words, but he continues to hold onto my wrist with no sign of letting go.
The carved stone architecture of the Fledgling academic buildings pass us by in the blink of an eye. Instead of taking me straight ahead to where I think the servants dorms are, he takes a obscure path hidden behind a grove of trees and leads me forwards down sets of stone steps, now somehow magically surrounded by oily green trees.
"Where are you taking me?"
"My workplace."
My lips curve upwards slightly. All the people I've met in this world except from Hoplin seem to have a tendency to give brief answers. Would it hurt to explain more? Everything about this world is strange. But maybe it's the dull pain pulsing through my body or the low from the adrenaline, the common slither of uneasiness doesn't seem to emerge. Though even if I wanted to leave, I can't, not when he's holding on firmly enough that I can't slip out easily.
A hum of serenity passes over me, and I hold back the questions. The scenery around us is of a different quality to that of the academic buildings, and it is, in a sense, even more beautiful. I can't quite name what it is in all the green branches, leaning boughs, wild grass, moss covered stone steps, twitting birds, but it's calming. It's like that picture I saw on TV of those winding paths leading to ancient Japanese shrines. I had always wanted to go and though I never got the chance before, this is similar enough. A lightness steals over my heart.
This is the feeling of freedom.
We reach the bottom of the stairs and emerge into a clearing. In the center of the large space is another stone like structure... A church? Though I've never been in a church either, I've seen enough pictures to know that the building in front of me is an equivalent to a church. Compared to the scale of Academic buildings it's small, but it has a magnificently stone front with a row of stained glass windows and a tall, white stoned spire.
The hooded man leads me on a small path, through an archway — what do they call it? — a lych Gate made of dark wood and stone into the church yard. Now that I have some inkling of what he is, his long hooded robe looks more and more similar to some type of vestment with its thick material and rolling silver lining.
"You are a priest of some sort." I phrase it as a statement rather than a question.
     He lets go of my wrist and pulls open the church's heavy arched door.
     "Yes, you can phrase it like that." He says, words clear and firm,  no longer so faint.
     Half turning, he takes my hand again and guides me in. And my heart detaches from my chest completely. The floors and walls are completely made from translucent white stone with thin veins of gold running through, coloured light splashes from the stained glass ceilings onto the smooth stone floor, and a vastly high arched ceiling soars above me, throwing golden light down into the church from windows curving across the top. Numerous pillars lead up to the very front, where there lies, instead of an alter and cross, an impossibly tall and intricate statue carved from obsidian stone of a blindfolded being with long flowing hair carrying a lantern and a sword in outstretched arms. But the most breathtaking thing of all is the all encompassing gold organ stretching the entire end of the church behind the statue.
How would those wonderful keys feel under my hands and feet? How would those deep, soul wrenching notes peal and echo in this vast space?
     "I am the Lilith of the Helm. Welcome to The Cathedral." The man calls to the air, leaning against the back of a pew.
Somehow, in that slight moment of awe, the man had let go of my arm and made it all the way to the front stone benches that served as pews. I tread carefully towards him, ears ringing, chest wonderfully light.
     "I am the messenger of Merlow." The man whispers, voice carrying a thousand miles.
     I carry on towards him, footsteps clacking on the cold stone floor. Why had he taken me here? To this unearthly, holy place that shouldn't be disturbed by earthly creatures. To this place that feels inhabited by  a divine being.
     My heart seizes. No matter how magnificent this place, I won't bow to any god. Never.
     "Why have you taken me here?" My voice is magnified a hundred times, and has become, at once utterly unfamiliar again.
     The man bows his head, clasps his fine boned hands, then pulls loose a knot, and his black cloak pools down around his feet. A cascade of dazzling platinum hair swings free, kisses the floor, and his face emerges from within the shadows into the light. Pearly skin glows golden in the falling light, his features are delicately wrought like flowers encased in glass and yet, there's a harshness to the flowing lines. In the beams of brightness his grey eyes gleam a dazzling silver, and in the spectral play of butter and gold his hair shines ablaze like a halo.
     Angel.
     If there were ever angels, they must've looked like this.
     The man treads softly towards me, his white Soutane like robe flowing about him as if there's a gentle ruffling breeze.
     "Call me Lilith." He whispers.
     My feet are glued to the floor. They don't seem to know how to move. Step away. Step away! I scream. But I cannot move, I am paralysed.
      His grey eyes pierce mine like there's a wire between us both. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. In the subtle scent of lilies his long fingers clutch my chin, and a shiver runs along the surface of my skin.
     "You're not from this world." He murmurs.