In terms of calmness, it is difficult to remain so with the prodding of a stick made to provoke.
However.
Some are able to withhold everything beyond the normalcy of a human.
Monks, Reverent fathers, Holy Nuns, The mother.
However even they have a point where they no longer can contain it.
Confession.
A simple practice of relief.
While there are plenty of ways to get rid of the guilt and burden, this age of revering, order, provides enlightenment.
Sometimes a small person requires the explosion of emotion.
In regards to that.
The devil is sneakily manipulatory in that aspect.
Inciting, amplifying, rectifying.
The share for their time taken.
Young children may question why they are evil.
Bias leads to skewed views.
Inherently, they are a being incomprehensible.
Forcing and coercing many yet none the wiser of all their deeds. Conveniently they know everything.
Objectively they are evil as that has been told throughout the time since the legend of God repenting for our sins.
If disconnected from that, it's knowledge is unknown.
Patience is needed for such work.
The Saint of the west is by far a master of the mind.
Careful listening and thoroughness of everything that is to be looked upon thoughtfully.
A favorite child by the eyes of heaven.
No less stronger than their fellow humans.
Many say this is the dignity of the divine incarnate. The child thought simply of only that it was their nature.
A matter of their honed craft.
Numerous years accumulate experience befitting the role.
However may the burden be, light, small, all shall be received, forgiven, and accepted.
"It has tormented me."
The tortured tell.
"Marking of things unfit for these eyes to see. Burned fully."
The Saint of the west quietly listens. Delivering their heartfelt prayers to the man not of normal descent.
"It was a mistake."
The pouring regret bleeds over.
The canvas holds firm.
The tortured left.
No call for the holy knights.
A grieving silence.
Sensual was the story of their untimely chosen torture.
Only the biting of the tongue held any forgoing of words marking the largest target on the tortured.
The talking of the spirit relaxed.
Smoothing out any rough edges left from before.
Elusive was it that this stretch of time had similar cases springing far and wide on this vast land of wealth.
The Saint of West, after losing the tortured when they disappeared as if no one like them existed, traveled the spanning land in search of these dire cases.
A pilgrimage.
The child saw that not.
All they saw was suffering. Despair. Loss. The snake slithering across the continent.
Even with each decrepit scene they pushed forward.
Their mastery of the mind along with the confiding of the Divine.
Pleas born from hope crawled around the Saint of West.
The shaking of hands. The breathlessness. The waning of their spirit.
Still they pushed on.
Discovery of monsters born from misdeeds.
Rampaging far from the eyes of the lord.
Doubt could seep in like those around the child.
Yet none could be felt.
With each darkening, the light shaped the path defined with streaks of flash.
Steps to the end of this festering.
No traces were ever found of how this could have been. Only that it had.
Like the brimming sky of blue, the white danced on end.
The shivering the Saint of West felt.
The instinct is deeply embedded to warn. They took no steps. Rather walking forward despite the hesitance of the followers.
Imperceptible was the agony oozing from every second marching steadfast whilst the relaxed attitude.
"Why?"
The look was one of bliss.
"...Why?"
A deep smile carved with many meanings. Yet none took hold.
"What has driven you to this?"
Despite no answer. The Saint of West continued on.
To keep the already crumbling Sanity. To use sharp rationality to alleviate. For the kindness given brightens them once more.
Regardless of "Him" standing the way.