A man who has lived 500 years has taken a century-long vow of silence after being bothered so long about his secret. The first time you meet him, he breaks his vow of silence.

“Whore!”

The words exploded across the cathedral, echoing from the rafters until mothers clapped hands about their children’s ears and shoed them quickly out of the previously silent cavern.

Spittle hung from the priests mouth, his jaw moving screaming silently as he advanced towards her. She, for all the stares now thrown her way, stood motionless. The raven hair caught the steepled light of the stain-glass windows and threw her into fiery brilliance.

“You damn whore,” the priest spat. His voice was rough, hoarse as much from the great shout as the many years before when none passed at all.

He wept and she smiled.

“You left us. Cursed us,” he said. “I waited for you. I waited for you to return. You killed my mother with grief and jealously.”

The woman held out a hand, her fingers, long and pale, curling around the priest’s wrist. She pulled him close, tight.

“Father died, old and alone because you tore them apart. You came into our village and you seduced him, you stole into his heart and his bed and you ruined my family!”

He pushed against her, feeling the flesh beneath her lose robes, the bones hard and angular, but the muscle unyielding. The nails dug deep into his flesh.

“I will not be played like my father was.”

She opened her mouth and the tongue grew and slithered and struck towards him in tiny darting motions.

“I took many oaths,” he said, staring into her eyes, the eyes that had slain countless men over the centuries. “I vowed never to marry or hoard wealth or speak again. Until I could master it.

“The secret.”

Her eyes grew wide. The tongue wretched and wreathed in her gaping maw and the talons of her fingers tore deep into his bone, but he held the sword tight and dove it deeper into her chest.

He whispered the words. The incantations. The secrets that he had gleaned and learnt and studied from men who had come and gone. He watched her skin grow paler still until a fine spiderweb of cracks began to appear.

As she collapsed to the flagstone floor, erupting into a thousand tiny pieces that skittered away beneath the pews, he fell to his knees and looked at his weathered hands.


Prompt originally posted by Dopple_Deaner on reddit and received 5 upvotes.

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