𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐇

ACT ONE FINALE

Breakfast was of no fanfare, and so was service. Anton had appeared to like the food that Y/n had made—but of course, there was the unpleasant matter of saying grace. Lucas had clutched both of their hands, his eyes gleaming with happiness—with a slight tug in Y/n's heart, he had wondered if this was the closest to a family Lucas had ever gotten.

For in the child's eyes, Y/n knew what Anton was like to him— the gentlemanly, sweet priest who was becoming another father figure for him. Y/n fervently wished that for Lucas's own sake, he would never grow to learn the devoid and horrible person Anton truly was.

And then there was service. Anton had dragged Lucas along as well, and Y/n was horrified to see the scandalized looks directed at him with hot, fiery contempt. Then there had been Lady Freya—and fuck.

Fuck. She looked so utterly...

So utterly wrong. Y/n assumed the whole organ-donation thing was simply a cruel joke. But no. Her skin had grown pale, her lips had cracked—and her whole body was like a wilted flower. Once plucked, but now its radiance was gone. Even the ladies seemed horrified by her appearance, and shunned her. She did not care, or perhaps it was because her face was so horribly twisted that Y/n could not read any of her emotions.

And Anton.

Father Anton.

Lucas had clutched Y/n's hand tightly and his eyes had shone with reverence when listening to him. Smooth, honeyed words had glided off his tongue—and Y/n could see how people could be easily charmed by him and even led to believing in him blindly. Charisma was undoubtedly the strongest weapon he had in the book.

Y/n was thankful Lucas did not understand his words.

"—And that is the end of service," Anton closed his book, nodding to the mass that had grown and grown and grown—like his voice was a spell that entranced simply everyone—"unfortunately, I have matters to attend to. So confessions are to be made towards the sisters and brothers that have so kindly volunteered."

Belatedly, Y/n realized Lady Freya was one that had volunteered. Yet no one flocked to her, and she didn't even seem to notice. She wobbled on her feet.

"We are going," Y/n said sharply to Lucas.

"Aren't we going to wait for Father Anton?" Disappointment was evident in the little boy's tone.

"You heard him. He's busy. I'll read you a story when I go back," Y/n softened.

"It's alright," Lucas shook his head, "I'm feeling tired. I read too much last night. The books you gave me were really interesting, Father Y/n."

"I'm glad to hear that, don't stay up too late next time, alright?" Y/n's tone softened, and he ruffled Lucas's hair gently.

"Mhm."

It was all settled. To begin with, there were some things Y/n needed to pick up from the town nearby, within the empire's vicinity. So he would drop Lucas off at home, tuck him in to sleep (with all the doors locked, of course) and he would head towards the town. And it would also be good to gauge the reactions of those who weren't affiliated with the church—how did they see them? Lucky? Delusional?

Y/n sighed. He was thankful that the church wasn't that far from his home, so he grabbed Lucas's hand and headed towards the house. When they had arrived, Y/n had kissed Lucas on the forehead, tucked him in bed, and had firmly locked the door shut. The keys were in his pocket—and wasn't it lucky that he hadn't bumped into Anton on the way home?

Lucas was at an impressionable age. He desperately wanted parents. Plural, not singular. And if he seemed some sort of validation or solidarity from Anton...