He sat alone on first row. His head hung miserably and the dark hair hid his face away from the world. Thunder roared outside the building, but the sound was dulled down by the closed doors. Drops of blood trailed from the door and ended in a small puddle at first row beneath the male. The cut went from his right shoulder and ended at his ribcage on the left side. It was not a deep wound, although it would leave a forever visible scar. The issue was that it refused to stop leaking red liquid. He knew why, and he cursed himself because of his stupidity. Merely the sight of the weapon had stunned him long enough for the pitiful female to aim a successful strike out at him. Unfortunately for her, that was all she managed to do before he had caught the hand wielding the weapon and shook it out of her hand. She had managed to get loose though, and she was far away, off into the distance. He knew he would not see her again for quite a while. Dahlia was his.[/html]
He leaned backwards and sighed heavily, slightly pale under the layer of white, cream and chocolate. Both hands were placed upon the long wound, but small, lazy streams of crimson found impossible passages and wandered with the gravity. He just had to rest a bit, then he would attempt to get back to Dahlia to find the herbalist if she was present. His gaze, now facing up towards the roof and tall windows, wandered slowly. The cross frightened him, and the beautiful paintings of angels and good that covered the whole roof was ugly to behold to the demon. He had searched out the church just because of the black dagger. He had hid it in a piece of cloth snuck under the altar. No one that knew him would guess he had hid it in a holy place.
Blue eyes now decorated with flecks of yellow and crimson hid behind thin lids. God was dead, and this building was empty.
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