Hymns of Struggle

4- Passover

"... Say to those with fearful hearts, 'Be strong, do not fear; your God will come, he will come with vengeance; with divine retribution he will come to save you.'"- Isaiah 35:4

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The world was murky and bleak. Drips could be heard in the distance falling from the pipes; the walls were decayed, peeling, and a hallway stretched ahead. It seemed to go for eternity and yet didn't make known a single glimpse of what was ahead.

Sheep, sheep, sheep, it's time for sleep...

A voice echoed from all around, soft like a lullaby.

Rest your head, it's time for bed...

She existed without feeling. Where was she? She didn't remember. She didn't care.

In the morning, you may wake...

Something moved.

...Or in the morning, you'll be dead.

A shadow of a man flickered in and out of sight like a movie projection aimed into her eyes. Closer and closer, closer and closer; and just as it had shown its tattered face, it was gone.

Something spewed from her mouth. She almost choked on it all and its bitter mark on her tongue had her gagging. Everything was blurry and her eyes stung.

"How...interesting."

A turn of the head soon revealed there was something very stiff supporting it upright. Another quick discovery was that there wouldn't be a way to rub her sore temples anytime soon. She thrashed, or at least tried, but the ropes stayed tight. He wasn't going to make that mistake twice. It had been a long time, but he remembered that much about his last encounter with an outsider.

There was a pathetic, elongated moment where he observed her quiver and shake while she was tied to that post. Like...a heap of wet papers in the wind. So much effort, but they just wouldn't break away. It made him chuckle, just for a moment, but it couldn't hide his anguish.

She eventually had to stop. She was so tired. Her skull banged back against the wood behind it one last time, scrunched-up eyes prickling from crying so much for so long. There was hardly room for her lungs. The fuzzy light in her peripheral view grew brighter and she heard a door creak. A light shuffle, taking all the time it wanted to haunt her. Louder, louder, louder...here. Right by her side. She snapped her eyes shut. No more, please no more.

"Well."

She bit her lip so hard to keep from screaming that she could taste blood.

"You're very...fortunate. I suppose you already know that." Absolutely not.

"It seems like you may..." She noticed the hatred in his voice, the venom. "...Have his favor."

She sniveled. She felt this man- this thing- staring at her, watching her every move. It was excruciating, even more so than-

Her stomach?

Her eyes shot open and saw her clothes were covered with something sable and sticky. It was all over her skin. She felt it in her hair. She saw it in her wounds. A throbbing ache came from her gut, but she no longer felt the stab there before nor the hot rush that filled her body and numbed it.

She was alive. She was ALIVE. The drop in her stomach at this thought was almost enough to make up for its loss of pain. She shouldn't be alive. She couldn't understand a damn thing since she had closed the first door behind her, but she could understand that.

"So much for sacrifice."

Still there was refusal to meet his gaze, even as he hissed in her ear. It emanated disgust, loathing. Her heart beat so hard that its pulse twanged her wrists, flooded her ears. She wasn't sure what she did to slight this hellish creature, and it terrified her.

After all that, nothing.

He had gone through all that trouble to bring the intruder to Bendy. He found her. He fought her. He carried her to his meticulously fashioned room of sacrament, tied her up and lit the candles. He saw the visions- his own skin again- as he stayed by her side while she took her dying breaths, waiting for his master to retrieve the offering. To set him free. And eventually, he saw this would be her own saving grace as well. The woman was already a pitiful sight when she arrived. Her bones broken, her breathing tortured. He glimpsed her even before then and saw she was still unfitting to survive among the others. And the only thing you can do once you enter the studio is to try to survive.

Even so, she was about to give- ready to give- his lord the most exalted, selfless sacrifice conceivable. He had so much hope in the brief moment they anticipated his marvelous presence together.

And then he decided to let her live on the way she was.

It was infuriating.

He couldn't blame his lord. He couldn't. He- he worked in ways that could never be fully understood. BUT!

There was a whimper from her direction as a growl rumbled his throat ever so slightly.

But Bendy let this woman live in his own domain with her body as is- a slight to his grace, his power over everyone who dwelled this place, the ONLY PRICE for his mercy- while his most faithful servant was treated like a wretch.

He felt his teeth grit and his lips curl, so he quickly recomposed. He knew his lord was still watching.

Still...it was a show of some kind from his lord Bendy nonetheless, his great omnipotence over the ever-thinning line between life and death in these halls. The shepherd had to admit that he didn't know- never had seen- anyone live again without first drowning in the puddles.

She spat up ink again.

He supposed he could be wrong after all.

But her state...this was not only unusual; it was unprecedented, and it set his mind racing. His entire, blighted existence was to apprehend his master and his ways. Just as he felt he had climbed high enough to grasp it, he reached too far and lost grip. The plummet threw his heart into his throat.

The questions from before his lord's summoning floated back with more and more urgency. Was this a punishment for the audacity to think he could finally comprehend his lord? Was this a blessing he didn't yet see, as unbearable as she made him feel? Did her broken state not please him, like offering a sick calf at the alter? Was it abhorrence of the shepherd, or was it her fault? Was he to kill her himself? But then why would Bendy not only leave her but also restore her, something that he had never deemed anyone- even his prophet- to be deserving of? If she wasn't a sacrifice...what was she for?

And suddenly- "I'm sorry."

It took him off guard. It was a feeble voice, shaken with the events that had taken place. Raspy, despondent, and scared. She didn't know what she was apologizing for, but he didn't know that.

His gaze lingered down upon her again. She was finally facing him, wide-eyed and teary, expecting something- anything. Please, just anything!

There was nothing that he could say with certainty to reply to that with, and it terrified him.