Dead Moon Chapel

eight

THE MORNING BROUGHT WITH IT much confusion. Abel's head was on fire, as was his entire arm. Every part of him was screaming. He could feel his bed shifting like it was floating in a river, and he was an unwilling passenger. In a moment of complete delusion, Abel opened his eyes to check, against his better judgment.

Pain struck his skull like a hammer. It wasn't even worth it to look, there was no water surrounding him, only his bedroom.

"Stars above," he groaned, voice thick.

He wasn't going to feel any better if he laid there all day, as much as he longed to, so he sat up. Abel kept his eyes squeezed shut as he felt around his nightstand for a bottle of pills. They were given to him several weeks ago for a concussion, but knowing how hard medicine was to come by, he was sparing with them. This medicine was reserved for times when it was absolutely necessary.

It was absolutely necessary now.

He swallowed the pill dry, then allowed himself to ease his eyes open once again. He had to get used to it at some point. While he expected to be met with clear, overwhelming imagery, his vision had returned to normal. When Abel looked up at the mirror, the world around him settled to a stop.

Looking back at him was a head of choppy white hair, longer on the top and cropped around the sides. The longer section in the back that he usually braided was undone, sticking out at odd angles. His skin was a dull, sunless olive, and his eyes were just the usual two. The absence of wings at his back was staunchly apparent.

He was Abel again. Just Abel. Just a regular priest.

Was it a dream after all?

He was only wearing his undergarments, his chest unbound, so the first thing he did was search through his wardrobe for a wrap. Once his chest was bound, he pulled out one outfits from his closet. There were three of them at all times, while one was rotated for cleaning or repairs. Each one was exactly the same as the next-plain, black, and long, covering every inch of skin from the neck down. It was a mandated uniform, a fact many young priests lamented, but it was exactly how Abel liked it.

The window was still open, a light breeze running through the thin curtains. He poked his head out to check on the birds, then pulled the glass panes shut once they were all accounted for. He kept the curtains open to let the sunlight in, what little there could be through the thick, ever-present overcast.

Abel shuffled through his nightstand until he found a tie, then sat back down on his mattress to weave his hair into its usual braid. He didn't pay much attention to what his hair had transformed into when he was... whatever he was... but it was strange to have his braid undone in the morning.

He hoped he would never get the opportunity to study it again.

It looked to be early afternoon, meaning he slept in far too late. If there was a job for him to do or an important meeting to attend, someone would've woken him up by now, so he tried not to fuss about the time. Breakfast sat outside his door, though, a cup of fruit and what was now cold toast. It was a small enough portion that he could stand to eat it.

He was working on the last few pieces of soggy fruit when his gaze fell upon the Bible sitting by his bedside. He hadn't read through it in a while. There wasn't much to do now, he had a few minutes to read a couple of verses.

Something else was nagging at him, in the back of his mind. He wanted to check up on Malachi.

The Bible went untouched on Abel's nightstand when he left the room.

Abel made his way to the stairwell at the other end of the hall, which would take him closer to the medical wing. There were two priests whispering at the top of the stairs, but their voices stopped when they saw Abel approaching. He offered them a polite nod. They only stared back. Had he done something to offend them?