Turning Point: Children of Fate

A/N: Edited. Satisfied with it.

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“Looks like someone’s up pretty early.”

That voice. That cheeky grin plastered on a pale face was getting to be an all too familiar sight nowadays. Mornings, afternoons, evenings- Well, she couldn’t help that her order required her to always have him within her sights. Still, she wanted some solitude, especially at hours when no one else was supposed to be awake reading books and sitting on balcony railings.

Kiara let out a sigh. Obviously she wasn’t going to be spared from the priest’s presence today either. Might as well try not to murder him. She thought, however tempting it was to simply re-enact their first meeting.

“I should be asking you that.” the crusader replied placidly, running a hand through her ruffled hair. She was still in her nightgown, with the exception of a thin shawl draped over her shoulders to stave off the coldness of the morning. However, she hadn't bothered to put on a pair of slippers, and not once had she ever hinted if the cold was even affecting her. Most likely it wasn't, at least for now.

“What are you doing on my balcony?” Kiara asked, sparing him a small glance.

“What? We’re practically neighbours.” Saint answered, shrugging as if it were the answer she was looking for. Kiara felt her eyes narrow instinctively upon his words, but chose to still her tongue.

So much for asking in a straightforward manner, The young woman thought inwardly.

She leaned forward on the railings, looking up at the heavens. As the priest had said, it was still too early, the sun was barely peeking over the horizon. The sky was painted a murky blue, smudged with scattered grey clouds and a few lingering stars. Far below in the garden, the cricket chirps carried on, thought it was slowly being overpowered by the loud slosh of the distant waves as morning began to replace the night.

Speaking of which, it was a little unusual to see the man out of bed before breakfast. The crusader spared a glance at the priest, who had his eyes focused on a little red book. He leaned against the wall, a foot resting on the railings with the rest of him while the other foot lazily dangled over the other side. He hadn’t made a comment in all the time since he last spoke, she guessed that what he was reading was somehow interesting for him.

“... What are you reading?” And no, she wasn’t going to get started on why he was reading with such dim lighting even if this was the outdoors.

He answered without looking up. “A nursery rhyme. I borrowed this book from the Geffen library.”

... Ah, that’s right. Ever since she read him a few she had in her collection, he’d been trying to find some that she didn’t have and read it to her. In all honesty, Kiara found that rather endearing but she pretended not to acknowledge it at all. Showing the man any leeway would be like giving a gun to a kid on sugar high. That was more trouble she didn't want on her plate.

“Do you want me to read one?” He asked her. Then again, sometimes giving in did benefit them both.

It was another thing she wouldn’t admit, and that was how much she liked Saint’s voice. There was something in it that was calming and comforting to her ears, well during the times when he wasn’t being a total idiot. And that lightness, she couldn’t see how he always had such a tone even when he was being sober. Maybe that was why few could ever take him seriously. And she was one of those.

“... Just don’t be so overzealous about it.” She spoke warningly to him, to which he only laughed before reading the words aloud to her. After he read the short rhyme, he looked at Kiara who had on her usual poker face.

“Monday’s Child.” Kiara stated. The priest smiled at her. “Oh so you know this.” He quipped, eyes shining with enthusiasm.

Kiara nodded, looking away to avoid that smile and gleam. “Of course I know it.” She muttered.

He closed the book and looked straight at the young woman. “You know I heard that most rhymes are symbolical in nature.” Saint started, not catching her words. “... Or can be used for fortune telling. There’s a lot of skepticism floating around about whether or not it’s really accurate but from what I see, it pretty much is.”

She looked at him. “You believe in those things?”

Saint blinked and took no time to reply, “Well yeah I do. It’s quite fascinating the more you read about it. It's kinda funny how you look at this differently when you were a child and then now as an adult. A world of a difference.” He made a gesture of the last sentence by stretching his hands out from side to side.

“... Are you really a priest, Saint?” The crusader asked. The man grinned and laughed, which she took was his vague answer.

The man gave a loud yawn and slid down from the railings, stretching this way and that before he moved to stand beside her. “Just a curiosity. When were you born? The day I mean.”

Kiara quickly put some distance between them, eyes warily placed on the man. “I don’t believe in those, priest. At least not anymore.” Came her quick response.

Saint scoffed, looking at her with a pout and a hand on his waist. “Well I’m not telling you to believe in those. I just wanted to ask.”

She remained quiet, again retreating to within her thoughts as she stared ahead again. Was he trying to get to know her better? That... damnable priest was trying to be friendly and not annoy her for once? It was almost too good to be true. Then again, he wasn't exactly as biting as he used to be before the incident so that should hint her at something.

But then why? Why change the way he treats her when she's finally back to her old self?

She chose not understand it now. Best to allow herself a bit of ignorance, rather than go off and think too much about things that might not be true and disappoint herself in the end.

But if the priest was trying to communicate to her in a friendlier manner...

“Wednesday.” She spoke, “I was born on a Wednesday.” And she returned to her room, closing the door behind her with a soft creak of its hinges.

“Monday's child is fair of face,
Tuesday's child is full of grace,
Wednesday's child is full of woe,
Thursday's child has far to go,
Friday's child is loving and giving,
Saturday's child works hard for a living,
But the child who is born on the Sabbath Day,
Is bonny and blithe and good and gay.”
- Monday's Child

end entry.