Dead Moon Chapel

two

THE WARM TONES OF THE pipe organ playing in the main chapel echoed through the hallways. It grew louder the closer the two priests got to the thick wooden doors, open to welcome all those who wished to join the service. It would not start for another several minutes, so Abel and Zora took their time walking through the corridors. Zora was still finishing off her parfait from breakfast, and Abel's fingers were swift as he braided the section of long, white hair that grew from the back of his head.

He'd braided it at least twice now. It gave his hands something to do other than clawing at his own skin.

"How's your promotion coming along?" Zora asked, breaking the silence that had fallen over them on their walk. "Is Father Malachi still being tough?"

"It's more so that I'm just... not good enough yet." He tied the end of the braid with a ribbon and threw it back over his shoulder, where it swayed elegantly against his back with every step. "He's right, too. Exorcizing spirits isn't as simple as just killing them."

"He's just tough on you because he knows you're better than all of us." She said it like it was an agreed-upon fact, and Abel couldn't hold back his scoff.

When she gave him a look, he elaborated. "He doesn't think I'm better than all of you. He thinks I have potential and God-given gifts. He thinks this of everyone. I'm not special, I'm just another kid who isn't doing enough."

It was clear Zora wanted to keep arguing, but she thought better of it, only rolling her eyes and nodding towards the chapel. "Come on, they're going to start in a few minutes."

Abel followed after her, his feet dragging. She tossed the parfait cup into a bin on their way into the chapel, where they were greeted by the handful of elderly churchgoers that were always there several minutes early. Abel preferred these people over his peers, which he supposed might've been a rude thing to think, but it was true. The elders were wiser than he could ever dream of being, and though many of them had a lifetime of reasons to be bitter, most of them chose to be kind. They were everything Abel wished he could be.

As the organ slowed to a stop, Abel and Zora took this as their cue to find their seats. They bade the elders a good day and settled into a bench on the left side of the chapel. An elderly woman sat beside them, and Abel offered a pleasant nod in greeting. She was not as warm as her peers, and she only offered a tight smile in return.

The doors shut in unison as the service began.

Father Malachi started the meeting with a blessing and a series of announcements, which included the events that occurred two days ago when Abel and his companions had a rather bloody day on patrol. Though Abel struggled to see things clearly this far away, he could feel a brief look Malachi gave him from the pulpit. There had been bloodier patrols by far, but Malachi was especially riled up about this one.

A hand squeezed his own, and Abel squeezed back. Zora had a way of reading his mind that he never understood, but he was grateful for it. She was the only one who knew what it was like to be othered the way they were, to be seen as the scraps thrown aside, lucky that the Chapel pitied them enough to care.

After Father Malachi left the pulpit, another preacher took the stand, and Abel could breathe again. No longer crushed under the suffocating weight of his pointed glare, he slumped into the pew, and Zora loosened her grip on him. He could focus on what was being said over who was speaking now.

"It is essential to remember what He did for us. He suffered and He died, so that we who sin might be with Him in Heaven again."

It was a speech Abel had heard many times, enough so that he could recite verbatim what the preacher was going to say next. The message was one he knew he needed to hear until it fused with the very fibers of his brain and he couldn't question it anymore.