Hours Steal Our Guise

Hours steal our guise near by…moreover while thy eminence is common, and thine instincts we’ve seen in an eternal grin above our shoulders; subsequent every essence yon inhabitants thee papacy wrests, within its mean hallow until its time…therein mine confidence earns.

Brought onto him is she beside them, behest they’re pressed as one and follow every man. Who is slaked whilst discretion is yet undone, leading our mortal sins unto us and our braving Hell…as we must will our lives under now is our God, praying beyond Eve we cannot tell.

The blood of your faith slates our thirst, as we have lead in your history the triumphs of conflict, such has thence a better way to censor our take. Inclining over victory our beds in yours, whether ye lay in silk or nay, it’s thee whom sires our taste.

Engage on me I present you, a finesse of honesty, my prey. Our curiosity is mutual between our worlds of light and darkness, tell me what you’d know of me and you shall do in kind *extends his hand to offer first*.

The pope was fading, and with no choice granted per his lord he asked timorously “what are you? And is this evil you speak of to be our kind’s damnation”? Graates laughed and bow, following with his answer. “We are Kindred far and wide, though there has been those of us are evil. Do not contend to know these truest of heathens, for slaughter is their trade. They are thus our enemy, baleful to the Kindred. So yes, and doubtful to your latter question.

A thoughtful expression shifted the Pope’s weary lines, and when Graates smiles mildly he asked, “Now, how do you protect and serve the public from the supernatural, when here I am at your window just as easy as my will”? Leaning forward to exceed his point his eyes burned “has old devised your protection from others like me? Cannot your priests defend with else but their cross? Have your prayers faltered to supernatural evolution, to which a city sleeps that They have vanquished every other soul? Only for those then left behind to wake to have their spirit’s festered”? Graates lifted, holding Paul as he traversed this ghostly town.

Grounded upon the church he beckons on “admire your fallacies, where your children endure their shells whilst their vicar dies, while crying for their neglect”. His eyes were cynical steel, “trust this Paul, if anything else matters it will be this. Your housed sacraments and dire traditions have not lay eyes upon them”.

Back in the lavish rooms he set him down, and the weeping pope designed upon reliance to guide in religious conviction begged. “Even I am restricted to help them all”. Graates nod and let go. “This, vicar, is most obvious. You will leave it to the Kindred. And after your passing we will have forgotten you. But be not discouraged overall, Paul the II…for you are only human after all.