Perry had never thought of himself as an impractical man.
Never was there something he let fall to shambles.
Never was there something he forgot about.
Never was there something he let go.
Until it came to her.
Mira.
She alone could bring him to his knees.
No matter where he was; he could close his eyes and be free, roaming about in his thoughts of her.
Bound in her grief she had come to him; her heart to devotion as a moth would be to a flame.
He was the incarnation of peace itself.
And so he had comforted her as his duty required him to. He had sworn his devotion to God and yet so easily had his devotion turned to her.
What a beautiful viper she was! Her beauty, her touch, her love was the apple he was wildly, desperately grasping for.
For now he was eternally lost in the loving bosom of a viper.
Keeping his hands constricted in his lap, he would play the part of the statue as she wept. The softest of whispers had echoed through the church as he offered his condolences, his prayers, and his sympathy.
"What a pious man you are, Father." She had whispered to him.
Father.
Those six letters chained him to the world, he was the same as any prey caught in a spider's web. It was the web of the life he had chosen; a life defined by piety and practicality.
If only it would be so easy as to throw off the name, as it would be to throw off the vow.
Oh how terribly impractical love was.