Most of the preparation was mental. If a confessor was not in the right state of mind, he could risk harming not only himself, but the intended. Death... was by far the worst result, and so far he had only seen it happen on the opposing party, not himself- but even he knew of the consequences. After all... his duty was to absorb her magics away, draw them out of her and allow his own powers to suffocate them into holy oblivion.
And although he was feeling more confident in this ability than he had before- he never fully felt confident enough. His training was a trial by fire at best, and with the war...
Most of his training was this way. The church had little time to waste, especially when the war was so heated those many years ago...
Kentamin suddenly felt older than he was, and...
Tired.
But.. he had a job to do. He had to cure Lily. It was the only way to secure her soul with Asngar. The only way to make true peace. And with that resolve, he drew in a breath and approached.
She was so pale looking, so small as she sat, kneeling in prayer. A jab of guilt hit him and he hesitated, though briefly before he moved over towards her side. He bowed his own head, resting am open hand upon the top of her head.
"Continue to pray," he told her softly, before drawing in another breath- and beginning a prayer of his own.
