I'd be the immediate forgiveness in eurydice

Emile was on a brief foray outside of the shrine's alabaster forest, gathering herbs and taking in a change of scenery. In the rare moments of solitude, the lavender marked priest was meditating in the late winter sun. There was a pot of tea still steaming on a flat stone just off to the side, a small bowl of the cinnamon infused concoction resting in the snow to cool from it's boiling temperature. The chill of the winter air on the metal piercings through his ears and nose anchored him to reality as his soul wandered, an aimless drifting beyond his own consciousness. The last dregs of this morning's tincture were wearing off, he could sense the pull of his mortal coil growing stronger. Slow, even breaths began to catch in his ears as his spirit was pulled away from its wanderings and communions. He preferred the small doses of psilocybin for his meditation and vision seeking, steeped in a mint or rose-hip tea to make the taste more palatable. Sometimes he elected for herbs which he knew to cleanse his aura, so that he was kept safe on more pointed spiritual forays.

Violet and cerulean eyes flickered open, pupils dilated from the psychoactive mixture that lingered in his blood. He squinted at the reflection of sunlight against the light blanket of snow around him, noting the subtle change in hue as his gaze drifted to the violet waters of the shrine on the edge of his sightline. He let out a long breath, though it caught in his chest for a moment as his body adjusted to the return of his spirit. He coughed once, then again, clearing the catch in his throat. Another deep breath in, and then out, and then in. He flexed his forepaws, feeling the blood coursing through them and warming his cold digits after a long time spent in deep trance.

The tea was a little too cold for his tastes as it trickled down his throat, but what warmth it still held was still welcome. The lingering spice of cinnamon on his tongue strengthened his tether to his flesh, woke him properly from his trance. He rolled his hind legs to rest on one hip, long limbs splayed in the snow and toes splaying in a long stretch of half-asleep muscles. He let out a soft hum, a contented sound as he refilled the bowl with piping hot tea from the pot.

"Pontifex" || "Hallux" || "Pollux"