Chapter Text
The room smelled like melted wax… and something else.
Metallic.
It always smelled like that.
It had never bothered you.
Before.
Now every breath scraped your throat raw.
After your sixteenth birthday, you were chosen by the Virgin.
Apparently, you had reached the highest blessing.
You were special.
You didn’t know in what way.
After the mass, where all of them gathered with bowed heads and veils covering their long hair, they called for you.
Her voice—hoarse, rough—cut through the room from a distance.
—You.
You allowed yourself to lift your face.
You weren’t supposed to.
But you did.
Her veil was different.
Thicker. Heavier.
And beneath it… a porcelain mask.
White. Immaculate.
Like the Sorrowful Mother.
But it didn’t bring comfort.
It brought something worse.
Stillness.
Her eyes—hidden behind the hollow sockets of the mask—pierced deep into your mind.
As if she wasn’t looking at your face…
but at everything underneath.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
But they were direct orders.
And there… no one disobeyed the Virgin.
—
The floor was cold beneath your knees.
Your hands pressed together, just like you were taught.
Head bowed.
Submissive.
Pure.
Ready.
—Stand up.
Her voice wasn’t loud. It never was.
It didn’t need to be.
When you lifted your gaze, she was there.
White. Untouched.
Beautiful in a way that hurt to look at too long.
The porcelain mask reflected the candlelight without revealing anything behind it.
The “Virgin.”
The veil fell perfectly over her figure, as if the world itself wouldn’t dare touch her.
But you…
you could feel what was underneath.
And it wasn’t divine.
—You’ve been chosen —she said, stepping closer.
Each step echoed hollow through the room.
The faint rustle of fabric, the soft breath filtered behind the mask.
—It’s an honor —you replied.
Automatic.
Empty.
Her fingers brushed your cheek.
Cold.
Not like skin.
Like something dead… or too still.
—Today… you will fulfill your purpose.
And then you understood.
It wasn’t suspicion.
It wasn’t fear.
It was certainty.
You are going to die.
—
You turned.
You were going to run.
Disappear.
Never come back.
But you stopped.
You looked back.
The body.
The blood staining the cracked porcelain mask.
The altar.
And the halberd… on the floor.
No one moved.
No one dared.
You did.
One step forward.
Then another.
You bent down.
Your hands were still trembling when you grabbed it again.
This time… it didn’t feel the same.
It wasn’t a symbol.
It was yours.
You lifted it.
Blood still sliding along the blade.
And without a word…
without looking at anyone…
you walked out.
Not chosen.
Not faithful.
Not a victim.
You walked out armed.
And for the first time in your life…
you chose never to kneel again.