L'Angelo Del Fantasma
A/N: I own nothing except Amelia. The title (should) mean, "The Ghost's Angel" in case you were wondering. A short and simple story about the possibilities of Silas and his life before Opus Dei. This Silas is based off of Paul Bettany's characterization (I adore that man). Not meant to step on any toes or annoy any die hard fans, just a little idea that popped into a bored writer's head whilst watching, The Da Vinci Code, with her father.
I am a ghost.
Silas emerged from his chamber, his body battered and bleeding from his self-flagellation. He was a tortured man, inside and out. He believed his work was for God, and that was enough to scar his skin, to puncture his flesh with devices fit for a criminal.
Some would call it insanity; Silas called it faith.
It seemed so long ago, that Silas had felt anything but sorrow and emptiness; an emptiness that was half filled when he succeeded for Aringarosa and his Opus Dei. He had though. A thousand lifetimes ago. When his friend and mentor, his guardian, had saved him from a life that only led to the destruction of his soul.
When he had met her, Silas hadn't been a monk. In fact he hadn't really had any idea what he wanted to do with his life yet. At the time of their meeting, Silas worked to keep the church his mentor Aringarosa presided over, in good keeping. He lit candles and picked up after services, he took the charity of the members and made sure it was safely locked away until it was needed. Normally he tried to keep himself out of sight, knowing that anyone who saw him would see that he was different, his skin lacking the tones of life that seemed necessary to prove normality.
One morning, he prepared to hand out the donation plates. A quick process that required minimal contact with anyone. This morning however, Silas noticed a new face amongst the many familiar, and very old members of the congregation. He was used to seeing the papery and wrinkled skin of the elderly patrons, sitting in the same pews, arthritic fingers grasping at the same worn Bibles. He wasn't used to seeing the healthy glow of young flesh, fingers bent only around a charcoal pencil. Plates in hand he hid behind a pillar, peering around its curve to see without being seen.
A young woman sat in the very back pew, one leg tucked under the other, which she swung gently. Her thick red hair was pulled up into a ponytail, some escaping to curl around a face that was sprinkled with freckles. In her hands were a sketchbook and a charcoal pencil. She was sketching quietly, looking up only to glance at carvings in the church's walls. Silas moved closer, attempting to look over her shoulder. For a moment he saw the charcoal outlines of several of the statues within the church. A small sketch of Aringarosa, his hands raised to the heavens in what seemed a passionate speech for the souls of every human being.
Silas was impressed by her ability to take in the tiny details and translate them to paper. He was so interested in what she was doing that he hadn't realized he had left the safety of his pillar and was now in plain view for everyone to see.
The young woman sensed she was being watched and looked up, her green eyes meeting his translucent blue ones. Silas' earlier bravery disappeared and he moved behind his pillar once more. He stayed there, heart beating, nearly out of his chest. He didn't leave the safety of his hiding place until the plates needed to circulate. He did this quickly, nearly throwing them at an elderly woman who had been listening to Aringarosa intently.
After the service, Silas finished his duties as the priest had last minute conversations with those of his flock. When the donations had been locked away, the plates back in their rightful places, and the candles blown out, Silas made his way out into the garden behind the church. The Albino man had spent hours in the patch of ground, planting all kinds of plants. Including flowers of every kind. He enjoyed the work and reaping the rewards of that work. It wasn't long until he realized his space had been invaded.
Silas looked up to see a flash of red. The woman he had been watching earlier had found her way into his outdoor sanctuary. Her sketchbook and pencil box were tucked under her arm. Their gaze met and the two stopped, looking at one another for a moment. What amazed Silas the most, was that she didn't seem disgusted that his skin held no color, that as an artist (as it was apparent she was) would find important to make a complete picture. Then she gave him a smile.
"Hello." Silas was taken aback. Someone other than Aringarosa was speaking to him. As an equal.
"H-hello." His accented voice tripping over his lips, that weren't used to moving.
"I was wondering," she began, "if you would let me sketch something." Silas shrugged his shoulders.
"You—you can use the garden if you'd like." The woman smiled again and shook her head.
"No, I don't mean the garden." He gave her a puzzled look, cautious.
"Well, anything else you—" He stopped. The young woman moved closer, Silas instinctively moving back.
"I'd like to sketch you." The absolute shock that ran through Silas nearly paralyzed him. He was sure he hadn't heard right.
"M-me?" she nodded.
"Yes, I saw you in the church and I—call it strange, wanted to sketch you." Silas looked around, positive it was a test. Aringarosa perhaps? What was he to do? The woman in front of him didn't seem like she was trying to get him to do something so sinful he'd be condemned. After a few moments of silence the young woman held up her hand in retreat.
"If you're uncomfortable, it's all right. I'll leave you alone."
Alone, the one thing Silas had been all of his life. From the moment of his birth to the life he lived now, he had been alone. A ghost. Alone was no longer an option for him.
"No, no. I was surprised by your request that is all. You may sketch me if you wish."
And so began a chapter of Silas' life, the ink barely dried from it before a new one began, the chapter that was written in his own blood and tears.