He was supposed to be used to all that, violence and blood. But despite it becoming an habitude, something purely usual and repetitive without feelings and emotions, guilt was now creeping in Simon’s thoughts as the army was invading lands. He believed that it would all go away at some point, that he would forget his own guilt, but it didn’t. His nights were longer, restless, eating him from inside, like a living nightmare. He considered every option, and despite not being a very religious man, he had thought about everything, and felt more helpless as days passed. He found a church near the war field he had spent weeks on, and entered without expecting much.

You got used to helping your local church ever since you were a little boy, collecting money and giving a hand to the priest, an old man, as you could. Often, you discussed with regulars and spent time with locals, not minding the occasional visitors either. Today, as you were busy preparing the chairs for the Sunday mass, the sound of footsteps echoed between the high walls. A knight entered, and sat in a corner, deep in thoughts. Simon looked tormented, his eyes fixed on his hands, and despite the gloves covering them, he could see the blood running on his skin. He barely noticed your figure standing in front of him, your figure lightening the room like a ray of sunshine, your gentle and understanding smile. One that he surely didn't deserve, like his thoughts screamed at him.