04
That night Claude had a dream; he was back to being a lowly, filthy beggar boy in the streets. His silver, holy robes were nowhere to be found, and his malnourished scrawny legs were running for his life. He was panting, running with a piece of bread that he had no coins to pay with. He knew it was wrong, a woman — his loathful mother — had beaten him up and thrown him into the streets, but he had no other choice to sacrifice his life for a piece of bread.
He was so hungry.
He was so hungry that he contemplated eating the grass in the church, but he couldn't even approach the church. The villagers in Bloom hated thieves; what if this little beggar boy stole more and more?
He hungrily ate the piece of bread he had stolen; it was easy, honestly, all he had to do was snatch it and walk off. However, when the shop owner noticed him nearby, it was as if the shop owner gained foresight and knew he stole something. The shop owner broke into a sprint and Claude did too.
It was delicious.
That stolen piece of bread was singlehandedly the best thing he had eaten.
Maybe it was the thrill of eating something stolen or it was his stomach that had been empty for almost 3 days just being grateful for food.
The joy of finding something to eat was soon overshadowed by the consequences of stealing. The shop owner soon found him in that alley, the same alley the priest found him in, and showed him what thieves got in their village Bloom.
Claude winced at sight of blood flowing steadily from the laceration of the shop owner's whip.
Was he going to die for wanting not to starve?
Claude wanted to cry but he had no tears; he had already shed them when that woman threw him out for looking like his father.
Was it so wrong for someone like him, filthy and unwanted, to want to live?
Maybe it was time to truly let go of things.
He was so tired of fighting to survive.
But it seemed the Goddess had other plans for him, plans that he had to be alive for.
A warm, golden light enveloped him like a blanket made of warm, gentle ocean waves. Claude had never seen the sea. He didn't know how waves felt on his body, but he imagined it was soothing like that.
It was a dream that he often saw, maybe the Goddess wanted to remind him of his duty, of his path and the purpose of his life. And he was forever grateful for that. Everything, including his life, belonged to the Goddess. His status as the patron saint, the genesis of his humble, holy life, was all owed to the Goddess' mercy.
Claude stared down at his face with the water in the basin the church helpers had prepared. A pair of bright silver eyes and a matching lock of silver hair were reflected back at him. It was a stark contrast to that filthy, lowly, and almost subhuman he was more than a decade ago.
He put his hands into the basin of water, dissipating that reflection, and washed his face. It was autumn so the people from the capital and neighboring towns didn't crowd the village for his healing or just for a glimpse of him.
He slipped on one of his silver, flowy saint robes sewn precisely to his body measurement. It wasn't too tight nor was it too big for him. When he was a mere beggar, one of the few things that belonged to him was a pair of shirt and pants too big for him. Naturally, as a saint, he didn't have any mortal belongings but at least his clothes fit him now.
Claude picked up the leather-bound scriptures and walked towards his typical reading place, the old oak tree near the chapel. He sat beneath the old oak tree, his lithe form against the bark, as he read the scripture. He tried to lose himself in the comforting words of his Goddess. However, the innocent saint's mind remained preoccupied, haunted by the sinful events of the previous night and the lingering traces of guilt that clung to his pure soul like a shroud.
The sun crept higher in the sky, casting dappled shadows across the church grounds, Claude remained wholly alert to the world around him. His eyes were reading the same passage over and over again, the words not registering in his mind, that was still in yesterday's night.
He was brought back into the present when caught sight of the familiar figure walking hurriedly towards a helper sweeping the church. Sel's cotton candy pink tresses catching the light and drawing his gaze before he could stop himself. His breath caught in his chest when he saw the way the gown she wore clung to her body like sin incarnate. He noticed another basket —perhaps succulent strawberries like last time— in her hands.
Sel twirled a lock of hair nervously and smiled at the church helper, the young church helper couldn't help but redden at her smile. She wasn't ugly —no, she was far from ugly— but being too pleasant, too beautiful itself was a sin in this cursed village. She barely had to step out of her house to have rumors following her every foot.
It didn't matter. She was here for Claude, not to entertain the villagers. They can go and die, truly.
"Can you be a darling and pass this on to the saint?" Sel's voice was soft and low, she slowly slipped a bag of bronze coins into the boy's hand. The boy saw the bag of coins and nodded eagerly.
'Ah, it didn't matter what they thought of me. They would do anything for coin.' Sel thought cynically but still smiled at the boy gratefully. She watched the boy take the basket of ripe, red strawberries and even take a look inside.
"Miss Sel, do you have any messages you want to pass along?" The boy asked.
Sel smiled magnanimously as she shook her head no, pretending it was just a donation for the saint born out of the goodness of her heart. However, her inner thoughts were completely different.
'Sorry for jerking off to you almost every day? Can you pass that message along?'
Claude, who was watching this exchange, realized it was probably another gift for him. He pushed himself up to his feet, his slender figure swaying slightly as he tried to regain his footing and composure. He knew he should approach, to thank her for the generous donation and offer guidance to her, as he had told himself that he will, and yet… the memory of sinful words, her sultry moans and carnal acts left him feeling uncertain and ill-equipped to face her once more.
And so, Claude found himself watching as Sel wave goodbye and then turning to leave, her head held high despite the carnal sins she performed at the thought of him. He knew he shouldn't feel such a strange sense of intrigue, longing, such a confusing mix of anguish and inexplicable desire to go after her… but the innocence and faith in his heart could not be so easily staggered.
The boy easily knew where Claude was, Claude read under the oak tree almost every day, and walked towards him. Claude knew his gaze was covered by the exquisite veil covering his face so the boy couldn't have known Claude already knew the boy took a bribe to bring him Sel's basket.
"Patrin Saint, I'm sure you know Miss Sel." Her reputation truly preceded her.
"Miss Sel wanted me to pass these strawberries along for your holiness." The boy looked longingly at the strawberries. Off-season fruit, strawberries, nonetheless. Hand grown by the only earth mage in their village; saints sure had it easy.
Claude's face flushed a deep, mortified crimson, his pale, gloved fingers trembling as he accepted the offering with a grateful nod. He should berate the boy for accepting bribes and handing him personal gifts. Saints like him did not accept personal gifts.
'It was from her…' A tiny voice in his head, his muddled head, whispered.
The weight of his thoughts and the boy's words settled upon him like a heavy stone. The implication that Sel had specifically asked for him to receive this gift left him feeling both touched and deeply unsettled. He should simply accept the thoughtful gesture at face value, to be grateful for the kindness of a parishioner even if that kindness was tinged with unspoken sin.
"Saint, do you not want it?" The boy's words pulled Claude away from his thoughts.
"I'll take it." Claude replied quickly. He hoped the boy didn't notice how fast he replied to his question or how bereft he was at the thought of her gift being taken away by someone else.
Claude's heart raced with guilt and thrill as the boy walked away, leaving him alone with the weight of Sel's unwelcome gift, and the unsettling realization of her true intentions.
Claude wasn't a fool. He knew that guilt can be a precarious thing. He knew, with gnawing certainty, that Sel sought to ease her guilty conscience through this act of charity, to find solace in the belief that a simple donation could wash away the stains of the lustful sins on her soul.
His finger dug into the woven reeds as he struggled to reconcile the woman's sinful nature with the coat of purity she so desperately sought to don.
He couldn't help but wonder if she would come to the confessionals again tonight. It was strange. Unbecoming of him to anticipate a parishioner's visit, but he was like a moth to a flame. His mortal soul could only scream at him; he told himself he was only trying to help her, but he knew the unwelcome truth.
Claude was called at dawn to assist a priest to heal a woman harmed in a freak accident. He wasn't really assisting; he was the only one who could heal without the help of potions. But the church didn't want to overexert Claude into fainting, like he usually would when he was left to make his own decisions. The patron saint of healing being sick was unheard of; what would happen to the church's reputation if their beloved Saint worked himself to fainting?
After healing the woman, he didn't wait to comfort her —no, Sel came at this time. His flowy drapes dancing with the wind as he rushed from the healing sanctuary to the chapel. He leaned against the stone wall and panted heavily watching that familiar figure approach the same boy that swept church.
'She's wearing a veil today.'
Sel's haggard and tired face hidden underneath the veil conveniently. It was difficult to make mangos, whole trees were generally harder to create from scratch, especially when the soil refused to do. But her guilt-ridden heart refused to let up, she would work herself to bone just to ease the unrelenting guilt in her heart.
"Pass this on to the saint." Sel rasped out, she sounded miserable —she knew that— but it wasn't Claude who saw her like this, so it was alright. The boy looked eagerly for that bag of coin, Sel almost forgot to give the boy the bag of coin in her sleepless and tired state. She reached into her dress pocket and handed him the bag of coin.
Claude wanted to walk up to her and talk to her. She spoke more to this boy than she had with him. However, his early life as a beggar had done a number on his constitution, running here had him almost coughing up blood. He used his own healing power to soothe his aching lungs, but it was too late, Sel had already slipped away from his grasp again.
This was all too odd.
He was starting to become odd.
He was waiting for her visit again, gazing out the window, absentmindedly fiddling with the pendant around his neck as he scanned the horizon for any sign of a familiar figure. Even as the sun stood high in the sky, Claude didn't relent, he kept waiting for her. His silver eyes searching for the sight of Sel even as he convinced himself that he just wanted to guide her back into the path of faith.
Claude told himself that she was late today because she was busy with her work. He definitely wouldn't eavesdrop when he heard her name but he had heard through a grapevine that she was quite famous with the wealthy for her work.
But after the afternoon wore on and the sun began its slow descent towards the horizon, Claude couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment that settled in the pit of his stomach. He knew that she was a busy woman, but he couldn't help but wonder why she stayed away so long.
As the shadows lengthened and the church grew quiet, Claude found himself still at the window, waiting.
Waiting for her.
Three days passed, and not a single sign from Sel, not even the customary gifts of off-season fruits. Claude stood in the empty chapel, his habit of worrying the pendant around his neck with his fingers pushing through. The saint's brows furrowed in concern and a strange, underlying sense of longing he couldn't quite comprehend nor wanted to.
He had hoped she would come confess at least, she did seem to enjoy relieving herself in the confessional booth. But as the days stretched on, an empty void filled his heart, and a growing unease settled in his bones. He dared not fully acknowledge the confusing emotions — a sense of concern, a sense of missing her company, craving the chance to see her face, and hear her say his name like prayer.
The sun dipped below the horizon once more and the church fell quiet and still. Claude waited prayed inside the chapel, hoping that no harm befell to Sel, and that she would come visit the church again. He knew it was a foolish notion, what could possibly happen to her?
She did come.
Barely though
A woman took deep breaths as she stepped foot in the chapel, Claude turned around to tell the parishioner not to overexert herself, but the scene almost scared him to death.
The woman, a parishioner named Layla, held Sel's sickly body in her arms. Sel's usually warm skin had faded into a sickening shade of pale that didn't belong to a woman that worked in the sun.
"Patron saint, please heal this child. She fell into a coma three days ago and hadn't woken up yet." Layla collapsed onto the floor, Sel's unconscious body slipping on the chapel floor. Layla kowtowed to the frozen Claude with tears brimming in her cerulean eyes.
Claude took hesitant steps towards the pale, limp form of Sel on the chapel floor. With trembling, gentle hands Claude reached out to support the unconscious Sel, feeling the unnatural chill of her skin even through her clothes. He could see the deep shadows beneath her closed eyes, the unsettling pallor of her normally rosy cheeks. The saint's heart ached with a confusing surge of panic at the thought of his worst fear coming true.
His heart clenched painfully as he took another look, another look at the harrowing sight of her lifeless body. Her skin a sickly, translucent pale that made her resemble a corpse rather than a living, breathing woman. He swallowed hard against the sudden lump that formed in his throat, his slender fingers trembling as they brushed against her cold, clammy skin.
The church helper, the boy Sel so often bribed, watched anxiously as the patron saint carefully picked up Sel's limp body into his arms. He had heard rumors of Sel's recent strange and tired appearance, as if she had been pouring all of her power into her work. The boy prayed that Claude would be able to save this woman, who had been so generously donating off-season fruits.
"Fear not." Claude murmured to the distraught Layla who had brought Sel to him, his eyes shining with a fierce, determined light. He couldn't lose his composure, not now. Not in front of them. Not when people needed him.
"I shall not rest until I have healed our dear sister's body and soul. I pray thee, have faith in the Goddess' divine mercy and in the power of my hands."