NOVEL NEXT Chapter 138: Paint It Black
Zulema's fingers, thin and trembling, crept toward the blade as though bewitched, eyes fixated on its gleam. The moment her skin brushed its hilt, the world fractured. Walls folded inwards like paper burned at the edges. What remained was a chamber veiled in darkness.
She knew this place.
It was a forgotten corner of the Scarlet Church, secret and sacred, where light came only twice a year—filtered through a narrow window, a precise shaft of gold that kissed the twin handmaidens carved in timeworn marble. The sun, they said, shone madder here, touched by the gaze of a goddess who had gazed too long into the heart of the void. Zulema would hide here, once, in moments stolen from prayer, aching for silence. Regret would always follow her out like a shadow.
The forsaken priestess's gaze darted from the blade to the sudden darkness in front of her, frightened by the sudden shift in reality. Marie, who had been standing mere inches away, was gone. Only the memory of her words lingered like a stain in the air.
"M-Marie?" Zulema's voice trembled into the nothingness. "Please don't go. I haven't made a decision yet. I wish to repent, but not—not like this. After all my training… all I've given… would it not be such a waste when I'm still so completely devoted? S-Surely—"
"Damn, sis. Have you ever thought about stuffing that righteous mouth of yours? Aside from when you're on dates, I mean." A voice came, in a familiar snarky tone, calling back from the shadows. Not the serene voice of Sister Marie, rather that of—
"Alma?" Zula's voice curdled in disbelief. Confused eyes squinted towards the darkness. "What...? Where is Marie? How did you—How did you get inside the Church?"
"I walked," Alma shrugged, the glimmer of a grin ghosting across her lips. "My sister's a priestess. Doors open."
"I…" Zula presses a palm to her forehead, trying to make sense of a situation that was becoming less and less coherent. "Oh, but, you shouldn't be back here. Family or not, this room is strictly off-limits."
"What's to protect? Dust? Statues? Maybe a spider or two guarding the secrets of the divine? Oh no, think of the poor rattin!" Alma waved here hands around in an exaggerated manner. "Besides, you're back here. And doing what? Because it certainly isn't cleaning."
"Not that it's any of your business, dear sister, but I was praying."
"Oh yeah? What for? A guy that's desperate enough to ask you out?"
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"For absolution."
Alma clicked her tongue. "Par for the course with you gals, huh?" The markswoman paced around the dark room, before turning back to look at Zulema again. "Isn't that a bit selfish, though? Always asking asking Her to scrub away the sin? Shouldn't you be praying for your precious little sister, instead? These eyes aren't gonna fix themselves!" Alma pointed to her big brown eyes with both hands before letting out a sigh. "…Aren't you ashamed? What would mom and dad think? How do you think Lady Macha must feel about all those prayers? Driven to madness, wouldn't you say?"
"Cut it out, Alma," Zula snapped, her voice cracked like brittle ice. "I do not have the patience for your sass today. This is a very important plea that could decide the fate of the rest of my entire life. So, would you kindly please escort yourself out?"
"Wow. Must be at the end of your rope to try and escape what's coming to you. You really think She's going to forgive you after what you've done? Just do yourself a favor and take the easy way out."
"Alma? W-What are you saying? My crime was not so egregious. My Lady Madness has always stood by my side. There is no reason for her to forsake me now."
"You've gotta atone for your sins, Zula. Lady Macha's no fool. This is one transgression she just isn't gonna let slide."
"I've already told you this isn't any of your business! What would you know about what Lady Macha wants?! You were hardly ever a believer! Always teasing me for being so devout! And you expect to serve this country when you barely follow its ideals? What a joke. You'd much rather go off chasing ghosts while my service is absolute. If you'd seen what I'd seen, you'd be green with envy! You can't even begin to imagine what I've been through for my faith! There's too much work to be done for me to give up my life so flippantly! So just shut your mouth, Alma, and GET OUT!"
"Then why are you still holding that knife?"
"What? What kni—" Zulema glanced down at her hand. The entire time she had been talking to Alma, she hadn't realized she was still gripping the knife. Where did she get this knife? And why did she have the urge to—She squeezed her eyes shut. Her memory was hazy. She looked at the gleaming blade and caught a momentary glimpse of her face's reflection—Not the ardent onyx-haired priestess clad in habit and frock that she had sculpted herself to be, but something wounded. A tangle of bandages wrapped around a mess of a woman whose pale skin was marred with blood and scratches. Her lone emerald eye wept wordlessly. Zula threw the knife away in horror. She had failed to understand what she had just seen.
Her sister walked over and retrieved the fallen blade. She then walked up to the priestess and extended her hand. "You dropped this."
"Get rid of it! I don't want to see it! I don't know how it even got in my possession."
Alma smiled—the kind of smile you see in dreams just before they turn sour. "Come on. It'll be quick. Quick-ish. Maybe not clean. Or would you rather I lend you my gun? It's faster. Sorta. Less... poetic."
"Get AWAY from me!" Zula shoved her sister away, hard. Alma staggered, laughing softly before quickly regaining her footing with a playful smirk. The priestess clutched at her head, unable to face her sister any longer.
The markswoman walked up to her sister once again, knife in hand. As she got closer, the handle of the weapon lengthened and twisted as the blade on the end slowly bent and curved outward, blooming into something frighteningly familiar:
A scythe. Her sentence.