I don’t stop until my thighs burn and my lungs go raw. Headlights flicker past, casting halos on wet asphalt. I step in a hidden dip and cold-water seeps over the rim of my boot, soaking my sock.
“Fuck me.” I groan, adjusting my pants again because this downpour is trying to turn me into a H2-ho.
An old church stands before me. It’s weathered and worn, a relic of better days—but I can’t imagine anywhere I’d rather be.
You are gonna burst into flames if you walk in there.
“At least it’ll dry my socks.”
Fair. I hate wet feet.
The church is small and rundown. I stumble up the steps, grip the black iron handle. The door groans like it hasn’t been touched in years.
“Sorry, Mr. Door. Just a damp bastard looking for sanctuary,” I mutter, pushing it closed behind me. The rain turns to white noise, distant now. The silence inside is heavy. Not peaceful—expectant. Pews stretch forward, swallowed in shadows. Candles flicker, casting a sickly orange glow across the stained-glass saints. One window catches my eye—Christ nailed to the cross, blood dripping from painted wounds. His expression twisted in agony.
My stomach flips.
Memories rise.
I shove them back.
A single candle burns on the altar. I collapse into the last pew, heart trying to claw its way out of my chest. Steam rises off me. I drag my hand down my face.
Still here.
Still me.
The silence presses in.
I scan the saints, the crucifix, the bleeding son of God.
I laugh at my own expense—bitter, but honest. Voices disturb the quiet. A door opens near the front. Footsteps. Heavy. A man’s voice, booming with fury.
“You will marry my anointed one, Seraphina. He will take you in hand. A firm husband. An obedient wife. That is God’s will.”
I freeze. A girl steps into the light. Thin frame, wrapped in fabric that hides more than it shows. A scarf slips from her head, revealing a tangle of red hair that glows like firelight. She turns. Ice blue eyes. Alabaster skin. Fire behind the frost. Her voice, though soft—cuts like broken glass.
“He’s older than you, Father. I’m barely twenty-one. I won’t—”
CRACK.
The sound echoes off the stone. He struck her. She stumbles, hand flying to her cheek.
My fists clench.
Heart hammering. Frozen in place.
He towers over her, a mountain of black robes and wrath.
“Youwillobey.”
He storms down the aisle, robes snapping behind him like angry wings. He doesn’t see me.
The doors slams. Silence again. Except for her breathing.
I should follow him… maybe piss on his cape or play a round of pop-a-padre.
He’s anotherone. I know the type. I rise. My boots scrape against the stone.
