Snake Skin | John Marston

Black Stallion

A few weeks had passed in Saint Denis. Y/N had taken shelter north of the city in an abandoned house, the once-vibrant walls now faded and peeling. She had to force her horse to stay in an old shack every time she needed some rest, ensuring he remained hidden from prying eyes. But when she wasn't sleeping, she cautiously rode around town, searching for any opportunity to earn some money for food.

So far, her efforts had yielded little success. Barely anyone was looking for workers, and the bustling streets of Saint Denis felt like a trap to her. The city was teeming with officers, and the thought of robbing anyone made her stomach churn. She was desperate but didn't want to draw unnecessary attention to herself.

She rode peacefully through the city when she stumbled across a church, its weathered facade standing in stark contrast to the bustling streets outside. At some point in her life, she had thought that God-fearing folk were kinder than anyone else. Without a second thought, she dismounted and approached the church, the heavy wooden door creaking as she pushed it open.

Inside, the dim light illuminated a few souls seated in the pews, their heads bowed in prayer. Y/N's gaze was drawn to a nun standing near the altar. The older dark-skinned woman looked up and noticed her, her kind eyes sparkling with warmth as she signaled for Y/N to come closer.

Feeling an inexplicable pull, Y/N stepped forward, her heart racing slightly as she crossed the threshold into a sanctuary that felt both foreign and inviting. She could sense a quiet strength in the nun, and it gave her a glimmer of hope amidst her struggles.

The nun inspected the young woman with a sad smile, her eyes reflecting both compassion and concern. Y/N's dark bags under her eyes spoke of sleepless nights, a result of her struggles with rest and nutrition. Her lips were cracked and dry, betraying her desperation. Without uttering a word, the nun gestured for Y/N to sit down, her presence both calming and reassuring.

After a moment, the nun left the room, and Y/N could hear the faint sounds of her footsteps echoing through the quiet church. When she returned, she carried a small bowl of soup and two pieces of bread, the warm aroma wafting through the air, tantalizing Y/N's senses.

Her eyes widened at the sight of the food. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

"No need to thank me, dear. I can see you've been through enough," the nun replied, her voice soft yet firm, as she placed the bowl and bread in front of Y/N. The warmth of the soup seemed to seep into her very bones, offering a momentary respite from the chill of her circumstances.

Before she started eating, Y/N paused, remembering that she was in a church. "I want to thank Him for this meal. I want to thank Him for bringing me here and opening those doors for me," she said softly, bowing her head in gratitude.

The nun smiled at her and nodded, her eyes warm with approval. Though Y/N wasn't the religious type and had rarely set foot in a church, it felt only fair to acknowledge the blessing before her. In that moment, she genuinely felt gratitude swell within her—a stark contrast to the desperation she had been living with for weeks.

As she closed her eyes, she offered a silent prayer, thankful for the meal and the sanctuary that had welcomed her. Her stomach growled audibly, reminding her just how close she had been to starvation. The warmth of the soup and the fresh bread before her were a welcome sight, promising the comfort of a decent meal at last. With a sigh of relief, she lifted the bowl and began to eat, savoring each bite as if it were a feast.

"Where are you from, child?" the nun asked gently, her gaze penetrating yet compassionate. She could see that Y/N wasn't from around here; it was written all over her—her dirty clothes and unwashed hair gave her the look of a local beggar.