If she is truly what she appears, he cannot hope to hold her back. Of that, he is certain: and yet, he is equally certain that if he does not try, he will never rest easy again, knowing that the woman's death would be on his conscience. The hand that presses to his has all the warmth of the grave, and all its promise too; and it is strong, stronger by far than he is. Still, he keeps his eyes from hers for a long moment; until they catch hers in passing, and with a lurch of sudden horror, he feels himself caught in the cat-green gleam of them.
She is, he realises, beautiful - not a beauty that attracts, but one that repels him in its incongruity, gold and white marred with the smears of crimson. His skin crawls at her touch, his pulse rising in instinctive, atavistic horror. He snatches his free hand back from her arm, crossing himself. A weak protection against such a demon, perhaps, but all the protection he has.
"You are not even earnest in promising earnestness." He cannot look away, but he will not let her in, either: he feels the warm caress and the soft comfort washing against his mind, but it has no place here. He will not allow it. Without entirely knowing he is doing it, he hardens his mind against her. Ne nos inducas in tentationem, libera nos a malo... He had thought, once, to become a priest. Vaguely, he wonders whether he might have been more prepared for this pass if he had done so; would sanctity protect him against this evil? Would he know what to say, to banish her back to whatever pit of Hell she came from? "I do not know the lady. But I know there is no place for wąpierzy among the living."
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She is, he realises, beautiful - not a beauty that attracts, but one that repels him in its incongruity, gold and white marred with the smears of crimson. His skin crawls at her touch, his pulse rising in instinctive, atavistic horror. He snatches his free hand back from her arm, crossing himself. A weak protection against such a demon, perhaps, but all the protection he has.
"You are not even earnest in promising earnestness." He cannot look away, but he will not let her in, either: he feels the warm caress and the soft comfort washing against his mind, but it has no place here. He will not allow it. Without entirely knowing he is doing it, he hardens his mind against her. Ne nos inducas in tentationem, libera nos a malo... He had thought, once, to become a priest. Vaguely, he wonders whether he might have been more prepared for this pass if he had done so; would sanctity protect him against this evil? Would he know what to say, to banish her back to whatever pit of Hell she came from? "I do not know the lady. But I know there is no place for wąpierzy among the living."