They were a large temple with many followers, Humans, Elven, Dwarves, Faerie, etc.. They carefully watered the blooming cherry trees and tended the gardens, and they were seen always aiding others with food and medical aid. And, oddly enough, the temple was very wealthy. But then again it should not be so odd. For the women of the temple, for all every single one of them was of immense beauty, refused all suitors unless that suitor was a Tiefling. The men of the temple refused all but Tiefling women. For inside the temple was another temple. The temple of Tiefling. The god they worshiped, the master of the temple, the one that taught them all to be loving and kind, was a Tiefling. And the dragon spirit that protected them ensured their coffers were always full, so they could keep helping those whom all others turned their backs on. -- Anon Guest
[AN: I'm going to dispute you on the heteronormativity here. If your argument is, "We love who we love" (actual title of the prompt BTW) then you'd better be prepared for all forms of love.]
It was a mountain temple like so many mountain temples. Dedicated initially to Sune, it appeared to only pay lip service to that faith in the form of her symbol over a smattering of archways and, for some reason, doorknockers[1]. This temple was one of many sects, with an odd saint at its core. Their symbol was a little bit more prominent.
It was almost Sune. It was Sune in the aspect of a Tiefling, because even the demonic can be loved by the gods, blessed by the gods, and even made their avatar on the mortal plane. Their assigned gender has since been lost to time, and the lorekeepers of the temple grounds insist that it was never an issue. What matters most here, is the loveless can find love. The orphans can find family. The homeless can have a home. Here, the lost can be found.
Here, there is no ugliness. Sune freely gifts an increasing beauty to those who stay. There is no room for hate in Sune's arms. Under the gentle drift of pink petals, any who they touch find their hatred melting away. In one form or another. As you might imagine, it's quite the place to be if you hate your self.
He called himself Honour. Like many of his kind, he had been abandoned as an infant and raised by a succession of nominally sympathetic souls until he was no longer deemed cute enough to keep around. He had named himself after something he believed needed to exist in the world, and had fallen keeping it true. It was very shocking to him to wake up alive. Healed and whole, and in a neat little room with lots of light and pretty furniture.
It was minimalist, but it was still... homey. And he'd never had a home.
Someone had left a bowl of stew and two slices of bread under a cover of preservation. Generously buttered slices of bread.
Honour offered thanks to any gods willing to listen to him and then ate like he expected someone to snatch it off of him. Careful of any remaining twinges, he left the little cell to see what kind of maniac would take in and heal a Tiefling.
Past a long hallway of similar cells, past an open balcony showing sprawling temple grounds, Honour found Amourine. That lunatic of a Cleric he thought he'd died protecting. Well. She was always saying how love came in many forms. Gratitude had to show its face in many ways, too.
His came out with the words, "I'll stop uglying up the place as soon as you let me have my stuff back."
Amourine leaped up from watering some nearby plants, landing on him in an unaccustomed hug. "Welcome back! Oh! And welcome to the Temple of Unconditional Beauty."
He pried her off while she was in the middle of covering him in kisses. He would never understand Amourine and her desire to "catch him up on his absences." He let her cling to his arm because it was just less effort. "Yeah, well. In an hour or two, when I'm good and gone, it'll be all beautiful again."
"Nonsense," she coed. "There's no such thing as ugly here. Let the petals touch you and you'll see."
"Uh... Tieflings and hallowed ground don't always mix well." But since he couldn't fend off the petals, they would touch him anyway. When one did it felt... odd.
Well. Odd for him. He was completely unused to such sensations, so he had trouble articulating them.
The safety and security of a pair of caring arms hit him like an Ogre's club. The warmth of familial love burned, but not unpleasantly. Tieflings were, after all, fire resistant. The air was sweet, but not cloying. It smelled of...
"Homemade honey cakes?" said Honour.
Amourine giggled. "It always smells of your favourite thing," she said. "In one breath I smell oceans. In another I smell carrot soup. Sometimes I smell you."
"Sorry," he said, possibly on automatic.
"You don't have to apologise for being you here. We love you, in very many ways."
"You love the whole world. It's your job." He flinched under the onslaught of the petals. "Do they have to make me feel like that?"
"It'll take some getting used to. I can see that," Amourine escorted him under some covered walkways. "Once you see the saint, you'll understand."
The saint had once been a cleric of Sune, she said. Also become Palladin, and later an avatar in their last act as a mortal. The body remained intact, as if they could breathe in and rise from their resting place at any moment. But it wasn't nice to gawk at dead bodies, so they were sealed away at their own request.
What remained was a statue. Life size. Carefully and gently welcoming as they had been in life. Visitors were encouraged to give the statue a hug. Indeed, the brass was worn shiny and smooth around the torso by a multitude of hands.
Nevertheless, it was clear that this saint had been a Tiefling.
Honour held off. Dubious. "For real?"
"For real," chirped Amourine. "If you want some love without attachments, there are plenty of those willing. And the longer you stay, the more of your inner beauty comes out so others can see it."
"It's gonna be a lot of work," he allowed.
For a change, Amourine had to agree.
[1] Yes, they all know the obvious joke accompanying this, and yes, they would prefer that you don't repeat it.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / Megapixelina]
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