cathedral

@✪ Astrid Berges Frisbey ♟ The viceroy leaned forward, resting her forehead atop the back of the pew in front of her and closed her eyes, just enough to rest them even if she couldn't find any for herself. She hadn't slept for the better part of two days; not much more than quick winks in-between strategy meetings and personal endeavors, anyway. After a few moments of relative silence, just the occasional thump of a needle through thick fabric that was so quiet, it may as well have been a whisper. Releasing a tired sigh, she straightened once more, reaching past the collar of her military gown to retrieve the cross which acted as a stand-in for her lost confidant.

"It would be quite nice if you appeared before me sooner than later, brother," she murmured, finger tracing over the scratches in the metal's surface. "The other men on the king's board are...insufferable, to say the least. They'd sooner lose this war than listen to something I'd have to say. His Majesty seems to be the only one with brains.." She continued speaking candidly in that way, airing her stresses from the past week as she'd done for the past few years. She kept her voice low, soft enough so as to not disturb the cathedral's other occupants.

@✪ Shin Bora ♞ Many people came to the Cathedral to pray for mercy from the hardships of the current life. Astrid was not stupid enough to judge and disrespect the higher powers or the people who worshipped/pleaded silently toward them...but the woman was more a stagnated watcher then active attendee. When she was a child, she often helped the nuns sew and clean for some bread and milk, and now as a beauty mid age she came to sew and clean as a pure volunteer...well, sort of pure, not completely most likely.
So, sitting toward the front of the alter, Astrid hummed very softly to herself as she stitched up some older, wearing pieces of carpet from all the feet and knees that had pressed upon it over the course of half a century. New material wasn’t hard to locate in the Tradian castle, so she had a whole basket load for the tapestry. She had already been there over an hour, but time flew quickly.

Though Bora had no affiliation whatsoever to the church, having long since abandoned it in the name of all the misfortunes the supposed God had allowed her to suffer, Bora liked to visit them every now and then in the name of comfort. To her, they were akin to the warm hand-stitched blanket made with a mother's love and labor that chased away a babe's dreams as they slept. They reminded her of her brother. Sitting down on one of the empty benches, she heaved a soft sigh and the older man's cross was pressed cooly against the skin of her sternum. She was no closer to finding him that she'd been when he first went missing all those years ago; yet, the voice inside her head screamed at her not to be stupid every time she considered giving up. He was out there. Somewhere.