Chapter Text
Sometimes, in her most sinful of moments, she wished it was more difficult to follow the laws of priesthood.
Sometimes, she heard how others had their faith tested, and how their faith was all the more stronger because of it.
Sometimes, those in doubt came to her, begging for hope when the Lord put their faith on trial
The trial was not easily won, they claimed, many could not handle it.
People gossiped. And if she happened to overhear claims of her protecting the sinful? Well, there was only her and the groundskeeper, after all. He kept his distance, she kept hers.
Nobody had to know
Other priests spoke of devil-worshippers begging to be saved despite living such sinful lives. She never denied them.
These pagans, they said, found delight in deceiving the divine rule of god. But she found no fault in their actions. A face turned to God is a face turned to God, regardless of the past.
She wondered if her sins would dehumanize her to these other priests. Perhaps she was no more then a pagan.
The groundskeeper seemed to know her sins better than she knew her own.
She locked her door at night, only to find it swinging open in the morning, with no breeze.
Sometimes she couldn’t remember the groundskeeper's name.
She was a priest, she did her duties. Mass was held, certainly, but few came, many opting instead to only attend church with the loss of a loved one. So the forest was thinned and orders were taken.
The church was modern, of course. But the power was flickery at the best of times- if she ignored how the morgue never had problems, it was fine. If the candles sometimes blew themselves out and the shadows became creatures? Well that was just her brain playing tricks on her.
She was a priest, and she buried bodies. A priest, of course, was to maintain a respectable distance between himself and his- patients. For lack of a better term. But sometimes the shadowed faces of the dead woke her in the night, and- sometimes- just sometimes- she could’ve sworn a body he had just buried was gone.
Those nights, it seemed the faces called her a liar.
She was a priest, and never had she doubted.
Never.
No nights spent staying up at the seminary trying to ignore each horrible thought.
Not one single night.
Not one single thought.
People would often ask, upon finding out her priesthood during rare visits to the town, what the hardest part of it was.
The more daring would ask it directly:
“I could never stay celibate! How do you do it?”
She didn’t answer. Not once. Not once had anyone accepted a lack of answer as an answer.
She didn’t have an answer.
Sometimes, the faces in her dreams called her a liar.
Sometimes, a sinner.