𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐇

SEVEN

"I'm sorry," Lucas kept apologizing, "I didn't know. I thought because it was—because it was Father Anton, so it was okay to—"

"Lucas. It's alright," Y/n exhaled, taking the bouquet of flowers from him. Crimson, blooming roses. Something that usually meant romance—but with the priest, it was impossible. There was some sort of underlying message to it; some sort of warning that he was evidently missing...

The game offered no hint. No explanation. Anton was an enigma.

"Is it really?" Lucas fidgeted, "you look very worried."

Had Y/n reacted too harshly?

"You haven't finished eating right," Y/n smiled gently at him, "go on, Lucas. Don't worry about me." His hands threaded through the silky hair of the little boy, and Lucas immediately lightened up, clamoring to the dinner table.

Y/n observed the flowers. Something had to be wrong with them. Just something. Something.

"They smell so weird," Lucas wrinkled his nose, "Sister Helen keeps roses sometimes, but it never smells so off. It smelt the same as when I fell from the tree."

Hm? Well, now that Y/n actually focused on the smell—

Oh my god.

Holy shit. No. It couldn't possibly be—

Blood. The very distinct, fresh, disconcerting smell of blood was evident in the air. It had permeated the room and had left its unwelcome mark on it. Unease and anxiety rose up within Y/n, and he was acutely aware of the thoughts spinning around his mind, struggling to gain some sort of clarity; some sort of sane explanation to this. It was an odd, sickly sweet smell that hung in the air. Like the blood had been...purified.

His grip tightening, Y/n ran towards the sink, heart thumping against his chest as he immediately placed the roses under the running water: and watched as after a few seconds, the blood washed off the roses, revealing white ones. White roses were rare. They signified...

Purity.

Innocence.

Reverence.

Y/n thanked his lucky stars that Lucas wasn't here to witness this, then cursed under his breath—a string of colorful language that dissed Father Anton for his twisted manners.

This—

Y/n exhaled. Then inhaled. Deep breaths, he told himself. He had to survive this game, both physically and mentally. And this meant he had to have a strong emotional mindset: he had to forcibly find a reason for living to pull him towards his humanity. And that reason would be Lucas.

As he examined the bouquet closer, he noticed something stranger—tucked among the roses were a small, folded piece of parchment. The writing was elaborate and ornate, like that of a formal letter, and Y/n squinted at it in confusion.

You are invited to the gathering of the church, at Father Anton's place or worship. Consider yourself to be extremely lucky to be in the presence of the being closest to God himself.

[Address] [Date]

Y/n stared in confusion. In horror. And the feeling that had ravaged him since the beginning of the game—fear. Anton had given these white roses, drenched in blood, for a reason. He had given this invitation for a reason. But what? What reason? Did it have to do with the oracle that the scroll spoke of? And what was the correlation? What was the...

"Father Y/n," Lucas said nervously, like he was apprehensive about calling Y/n by such a close endearment, but strangely, it gave Y/n some sort of warm tug at his heart. Close to his humanity. Yes, Y/n thought, this little boy would be his savior. The one who would help him survive in this world. To make him sane.