[It's in those times where he's struggling to get a grip on himself -- on reality, on what lies behind him and what has yet to be seen -- that Carlisle turns back to what he does know: his faith. He tilts his head up, his face visible to Atem now as he glances toward his little shrine on the far wall; one of his eyes is black with ink, a trail of it streaming down his cheek. It coats one side of his glasses, caught under the edge.]
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[It's in those times where he's struggling to get a grip on himself -- on reality, on what lies behind him and what has yet to be seen -- that Carlisle turns back to what he does know: his faith. He tilts his head up, his face visible to Atem now as he glances toward his little shrine on the far wall; one of his eyes is black with ink, a trail of it streaming down his cheek. It coats one side of his glasses, caught under the edge.]