After a while of Armen gently trying to console her, Mariette finally succumbs to slumber, still cradled against his chest. In her sleep, she readjusts her head, bringing her snout to point up to his chin, directly underneath his helmet. Her soft breathing brought a very foreign comfort to Armen. The tickling breeze from her nose flirting with the patch of goatee and mustache that encircle his own lips. He wrinkles his nose as he tries to scratch his chin against the inside of his helm, but to no avail.

  Armen closes his eyes as he holds her against him tighter, he could feel her gentle thrumming heart in her breast while her chest rose and fell with every ginger breath. Oh what ecstasy he felt as her arms unconsciously wrap around his neck and hands drape down his back. His own heart started to beat in time with hers, synchronizing their breathing with each other. In his mind he bemoaned that this were the closest that he might ever be allowed to her, and even now, he were truly testing the bounds of convictions. Still, it were not enough. He wanted more. To know her, to meld their two bodies into one. How dearly he vied for deeper affections. Haunting him with the knowledge that in a different life, perhaps, he would be able to taste that intoxicating nectar. To be in a village, small and homely, with neighbors in and family, and either of them watching their joyous children play. Something that of late, has lingered within his mind for the first time since embarking on their journey, and has never truly left his thoughts yet.

  While he sat with Mariette, Armen hadn't noticed that his hands were roaming her back. Feeling the crevice of her spine and the bump of her shoulder blades. The tight muscles that were stretched parallel with her body as she slumped against him. Only when he felt the dimples in her lower back was he abruptly shook from his wandering enticements. Armen's eyes snap open as he realizes the damning situation in which he allowed himself to relish in. Cursing in his mind at himself and his lacking resolution, he brings his hands up underneath her shoulders and guides her down to lay on the bed. Covering her with a sheet, she whimpers in her sleep. An entrancing voice of her gently groaning in slumber.

  Armen bites his lip in self-loathing frustration. The taste of blood seeping onto his tongue as he chomps with fury upon himself. He exiles himself into the corner of which he belongs, aiming to tear into his palms in prayer until he notices the nearly unrecognizable flesh of his hands. Staring into the palms, he sees the dozens of scabs and lacerations that riddle them both. "How much more might I endure until I am unable to use these foul things?” he ponders. In lieu of further marking his hands before they are healed, he wraps the chain of his rosary about his forearm, cinching it tight, tighter, until new wounds plague his body. "It seems there is never enough. My character is still lacking, and further I betray myself." he belittles internally, "You cannot be worthy if you are plagued with so many scars of your sins. Jesus will never know you. He shall rebuke your pleas of forgiveness, surely."

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  Armen winces as he tightens the bonds further. Ensuring that the flesh suffers the cost of the mind. Blood begins to trickle down his arm, collecting at the elbow and dripping onto the ever growing stain on the floor. "SINNER. Vile thing that cedes to mere urges. WEAK. UNWORTHY. Evil." he continues to ridicule in his mind. Constantly, throughout the entire night, he rotates his curses against himself. As if it were a chant within the defiled chapel that was his body. Never enough suffering could he endure that might redeem him.

  As the sunlight filters through the window, stretching its fingers of golden rays onto the floor, Armen hears the morning bell of the campanile, causing Mariette to stir from her sleep with a groan. He removes his thorny binding and wears his gloves once more. Not yet ready to rise, he still kneels. His shoulders sunken and arms resting upon his lap. Mariette, nearly silent, rolls out of the bed and rubs the sleep from her eyes. She yawns and looks at Armen, sitting in the corner looking destitute. A concerned wince lays upon her brow as she steps behind him, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Armen? Did you sleep well?" her question bore an inflection of worry, hoping that he had simply woke before she did.

  "No, sister. I could not rest. I am too troubled."

  "When are you not?” she speaks with a gentle chuckle, “Come, tell me."

  Armen stands abruptly, shaking her hand off him, "Nay, Sister. I shan't invite you to share within my woes."

  "Silence of thee," she shushes with a prodding elbow, "It is only proper to bear your burdens with friends. For to suffer alone shall consume oneself in a fiery rage."

  "Then I should hope I am roasted in my serving." Despite the cheeky jest and the risible tone in his voice, he couldn't obscure the haunting weight upon his shoulders.

  Mariette pinches the bridge of her snout, stilling a giggle. "What?" she asks with risible incredulity.

  "I assure you, Sister. My woes are tribulations beset of only myself, and I alone. Worry not for my person."

  Mariette pulls his elbow, turning him around to face her. She claps her hands upon the cheeks of his helmet, staring through the visor that hid his face, but his soft green eyes still shown through, "Armen. Ye look exhausted. Through the night you were about? Come, lay in the bed. It is long overdue for you to rest properly."

  She guides him to the bed, more stern than she normally was, unwilling to cede to Armen's protests this time. Lightly shoving him to sit upon the mattress, she further pushes his shoulders so he might lay down. "Slumber. Ye exhaust yourself and it shows, even through your helmet." Her hands glide through the air and fingertips furtively pinch the strap of his helmet as she begins to unbuckle it. Armen jerks his arm up defensively and grips her wrist. "No, sister. It remains upon my head."

  Mariette shirks back, her hands recoiling slightly at his denial. "Ye know, thou art safe within my steward. Ye needn't hide from me."

  "I know I am. Yet, I cannot bring myself to be without it."

  "But-"

  "Enough! Leave it. Please, beseech no more."

  Mariette shies away from him upon his yell. "Sorry. I meant no harm."

  "I know... Fret not."

  Mariette nods in acknowledgment, not daring to pry further, she changes subject: "Please, you should rest now. Sleep soundly for I shall go to inquire of our letter from the post. I won't be long." and as she grabs a shred of dried meat and a tomato, she leaves the room.