William sat stiffly in the wooden pew, his hands idly clasped together in his lap, yet his attention was elsewhere—on the woman at the front of the church. She was beautiful.
The warm glow of the afternoon sun streamed through the stained glass, casting shifting patterns of color on the stone floor and bathing her face in a soft halo. Her dark brown hair cascaded over her shoulders, its waves glimmering in the light like silk. Her warm, welcoming hazel eyes swept the open Bible in her lap with silent devotion. Her soft, round delicate features had a gentleness to them that constricted his chest. She looked as if a single touch would confirm that her skin was as soft as it appeared, like the petals of the flowers embroidered on her bright yellow dress.
She looked like a dream.
"You've been staring at that woman for quite some time, William," a familiar voice murmured beside him, breaking his trance.
William winced, tearing his attention away to find John smiling at him, one eyebrow raised in amusement. John had never been dull—dull of wit, dull of feature. His brown hair was the color of dirt, perpetually mussed as though he'd just walked out of a brawl or some epic quest.
"Aren't you a priest?" John continued, his voice adopting the teasing tone of an old friend who knew him too well.
William sighed, shrugging his shoulders as if attempting to shirk the weight of his thoughts. "I am," he admitted, casting one final look at the woman before settling his eyes on the crucifix at the front of the church. "But that doesn't make me blind."
John grinned, leaning back against the pew. "So you're conceding it-you like her."
William hesitated, his fingers clenching a little harder. "I hardly know her," he said, "and yet… she has a pull on my heart."
John shrugged offhandedly. "You're twenty-eight years old, Will. This could simply be a whim, nothing more."
William did not say anything, but he knew inside out that it wasn't.
Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months.
And still, he could not dislodge her from his mind.
It was foolish. A sin, even. His life was the Lord's, and yet his heart—a heart that was meant to be saved for faith alone—was held captive by the image of a woman he barely knew.
He remembered the day they first spoke, outside the church. She was laughing with her friends at a café, the sound of her laughter as light as birdsong. A man had approached then—a well-dressed man with an air of arrogance, his presence unwelcome. William had seen the discomfort in her posture, the way her smile vanished, and without thinking, he had intervened.
The gratitude in her eyes had been genuine. But he had left before she could say anything else, scared of what remaining would do.
Now, by himself in the church on an empty Monday afternoon, he sat in her usual pew, tracing the polished wood with his fingers as if that would suffice to bring her back. It was foolish, he knew, but he couldn't stop himself from imagining her sitting next to him.
"Excuse me."
A voice—soft, gentle—broke into his daydream.
William didn't open his eyes at first. He'd done this before—daydreamed her voice, her touch—so this was just another cruel trick of his mind.
"Excuse me," said the voice again, this time with the faintest touch of fingertips on his sleeve.
His eyes snapped open.
She stood before him.
She was wearing green today—a deep, dark green that enhanced the color of her hazel eyes. She had a look of gentle amusement on her face, but beneath that, there was a restrained uncertainty.
"You must be tired if you're sleeping here," she said with a gentle laugh, the tune of the sound pleasant. "I was going to ask if you were in my seat, but now I'm feeling guilty."
William blinked several times, his heart racing in his chest.
"I can move," he volunteered, already making as if to shift, but she just slid onto the pew beside him, near enough that he could smell the light scent of lavender.
"Don't bother," she said, clasping her hands together in her lap. "It's not like I own the seat. I just prefer sitting here."
He looked at her, trying to determine why she was present. She came only on Sundays—he was sure of that.
"Do you not usually attend service on Sundays?" he heard himself ask before he could stop it.
She tilted her head to one side, a playful glint in her eyes. "You've got my schedule memorized, have you, Father William?"
His face reddened at once.
She laughed—a soft, genuine laugh—and shook her head. "I'm teasing."
William exhaled slowly, his heart still pounding. But then her expression altered. Her gaze drifted toward the cross at the front of the church, and something indefinable passed over her face.
"I came here because I have a question that needs answering."
Something in her voice—uncertainty, perhaps doubt—made William sit a little straighter.
"Perhaps I can listen," he offered gently.
She hesitated, as though embarrassed, then shook her head. "No, I don't think you'd be in a position to help me with this issue."
"You don't know until you try."
There was a long silence. Then, with a resigned sigh, she relented.
"My parents want me to marry a businessman named Edward," she admitted. "I think you met him earlier—the man in the café."
William's blood ran cold.
That man. The one who had bothered her that day. The one who had spoken to her with a smug entitlement that had made William's skin crawl.
"Ah," he said, forcing his voice to remain level.
A sudden realization dawned on her, and her eyes grew slightly wider. "I never thanked you for that day," she breathed. "You left before I could."
William swallowed, pushing down the unease in his stomach. "I was busy."
A trace of a smile danced on her lips.
"May I know your name?" A low chuckle escaped him.
"Elizabeth," she said. "But I already know yours. You're quite popular among the ladies, you know."
"Am I?" he said, half-smiling. "I wasn't aware that I was so popular."
Elizabeth looked away, her cheeks dusted with pink. "That doesn't signify," she mumbled.
William was smiling despite himself, but then her face grew solemn again.
"I don't wish to marry Edward," she confessed. "I barely even know him. I want to marry someone I love—rich or poor."
Something in his chest tightened at her words.
He wished to say something—anything—but he knew better.
He nodded reassuringly instead. "Do not worry excessively. Speak with your parents. They might still listen."
She nodded, but did not look convinced.
"Perhaps." she whispered, then took a deep breath. "For now, I just need to pray."
William stood slowly, stepping back. "I will leave you to it."
As he turned, he forced himself to walk away, his heart heavy with all he left unsaid.
…
Edward's coming out of unconsciousness was a slow and agonizing process, like stumbling through viscous, strangling tar. His head pounded with the beat of a war drum, a dull, throbbing beat that hammered splintering pain through his skull. He clenched his teeth and tried to roll, but the motion was futile—his body was restrained, his arms and legs pinned down in unyielding rigidity. The heavy rope sank into his skin, tying him to the chair so tightly that it was clear that his kidnappers were expecting a struggle.
He forced his eyes open, blinking away the fog. The room's darkness pressed upon him, oppressive and heavy. Shadows climbed up the walls, capering with the quiver of an invisible fire. The air was stagnant and foul, a thick stench of copper and rot curling in his nostrils, churning his stomach.
Panic crept up his throat. Where was he? What in tarnation had happened?
All he could focus on was getting out of the tavern, his head blissfully addled with liquor and the thrill of a profitable night. He had been midway through laughter, the mischievous grins of beautiful girls escorted by enticing titillation far more exciting than dull Elizabeth girl. She was always so proper, so decorous even in their upcoming wedlock. He could still remember her shrill voice reprimanding him for his misdoings, always involving that cursed priest in their matters.
That priest.
His face twisted in a scowl as another new recollection popped into his head. The fellow had publicly shamed him, had the temerity to regard him with contempt, as if he was some miserable sorry excuse for a man. Those in town had gossiped, laughed even, at Edward because of the priest's scolding. His so-called friends had mocked his humiliation, never forgetting to remind him of that moment's sting. He had wanted to put that self-righteous son of a bitch where he belonged, but the town revered him. That stranger. That imposter. Regardless of how much Edward despised him, there was nothing he could do.
A sharp pounding in his head yanked him out of his daze, hauling him back into the present brutally. He had been attacked. He had been hit—hard. His lip curled into a sneer. Was this a kidnapping? A ransom scheme? Whoever was responsible would regret they had ever done so.
He strained as far as his restraints would allow and battled to see through the darkness.
And then he did.
The walls, the floor, even the ceiling—saturated with black stains. Old, new, a gruesome tapestry of bloodshed spread and re-done time and again.
And at the other end, a pile.
Edward clenched his eyes, forcing his eyesight to remain on the unsightly mass. He barely had time to note it before a voice pierced the thick silence.
"Oh, you're awake?"
The voice was smooth, almost playful, with a disturbing lightness that involuntarily caused Edward's spine to quiver.
He twisted his neck, his breath caught short as he saw the figure standing at one of the other tables in a butcher's apron. A mask covered their face, their gloved hands toyed with something sharp. The glint of metal gave Edward's blood a second jolt of fear.
And then, with an air of recklessness, the figure stepped closer and flipped the overhead light switch.
Edward's stomach churned.
The mound in the corner—
Bodies.
Faces he recognized, contorted in death. A fellow that worked for him. A date he'd once been out on. A septuagenarian his dad recognized. Their glazed, lifeless eyes blankly stared, skin marred with deep, deliberating slashes. And still, they were nothing more than elements of the atrocity-ridden pile of corpses towering above him. There were too many to take, causing his respiration to lock, his ribcage seizing in sheer, unadulterated horror.
"Now, now." The voice pulled his focus back. "Don't mind them. We hadn't had a chance to clean up yet. You'll just have to do without."
Edward's throat parched. "W-What do you want?" he rasped, struggling against his bonds. "Why are you doing this?"
The figure tilted their head to one side, considering the question. "There isn't really a reason. I just thought I'd kill you for my Lord."
Lord?
Edward's blood ran cold.
A cult. He had been kidnapped by some deranged fanatic.
He breathed more raggedly now. "Please!" he pleaded, the arrogance from his voice crashing under terror. "I—I have money! Plenty of it! I can provide for anything you need! An operation such as this—surely that must cost, doesn't it?"
The figure hummed, following the edge along their palm. "That's so. Normal funds would be very convenient."
Hope arose in Edward's heart. "Yes! Just that! I can provide that! Just let me go!"
The figure took a measured step closer until they stood inches apart. "I'd be happy to take you up on that offer, but." They hesitated.
Edward gulped. "But…?"
The figure chuckled softly. "Oh, you don't recognize me, do you? This mask must be confusing you."
They took off the mask slowly, purposefully.
Edward's breath was stuck in his throat. Recognition came like a freight train.
No. No, it couldn't be.
Standing before him, face impassive of warmth, was the priest. The very same priest who had humiliated him. But the humanity he had feigned before was not there anymore. His eyes were empty. Without humanity.
Edward gazed, his voice at a whisper. "You…"
"Edward," the priest—William—said his name quietly, in a chuckle. "You have some nerve, messing around with women when you're betrothed."
Edward's terror blazed for a moment into fury. "Why the devil should you care what I do?!" he growled. "You act so holier-than-thou, and here you are—doing this!"
William just smiled. A gentle, genuine smile. And in that moment, Edward realized he had no right to make demands.
"I never was righteous to start with," William complained. "And I'm doing this because you meddled with someone I find… intriguing."
Edward didn't get a chance to say anything before William's blade sliced all the way across his throat.
A gurgling, wet sound erupted from him as blood spouted from the wound, wetting his chest. His body convulsed, his mind not able to grasp the betrayal. His vision faded, his shaking slowing, then ceasing altogether.
William wiped the blade clean and placed the mask back over his face. Turning away from the body, he left the room.
His Lord would be pleased.
Dinner this evening would be plentiful.
…
Elizabeth perched on the weathered wooden bench, her fingers interlaced in her lap, tracing the gentle fabric of her dress. The pale pink hue complemented the glow of the sun's descent, and the golden light played upon her pale skin. A gentle wind stroked the park, scattering small petals into the air like secrets of unseen thoughts. She watched them sail, her own eyes following the aimless journey, but melancholy on her face remained.
William had been observing her from nearby prior to approaching her. He had grown accustomed to having her in his presence, their meetings increasing more and more often—perhaps the seventh or so, but he had quit counting long, long ago. Each time, something inside him was awakened, something he was not certain that he should let grow. Yet still, he surrendered to it, requiring these stolen moments from her.
"Is something wrong?" he eventually asked, his voice gentle but tinged with curiosity. "You feel. Distant."
Elizabeth blinked, as if she were seeing him for the first time, before turning her gaze to his. A sadness in her eyes, heavy and lasting, as if some unseen weight upon her shoulders. "Do you remember my fiancé, Edward?" she caught him off guard by asking, her voice low.
William's gaze flickered with annoyance at hearing the name, but he held back. "Yes," he said smoothly. "Did anything happen?"
Elizabeth hesitated before she could speak, her hand clutching tighter around the fabric of her dress. "He vanished when he was out with his friends," she murmured, her voice all but snatched away by the wind. "No one has an idea where he might be. He just vanished.".
William tilted his head to the side, watching her. The information did not surprise him—not by a long way. But to her, it was a riddle being unraveled, a question that hung suspended, wracking her heart. He could see it in the way she cast her eyes down, beset by the not knowing of it all.
"Perhaps the Lord heard your prayers," he said, allowing a sneer tugging at his lips.
Elizabeth snatched her head back, eyes narrowing into a pout on her lips. "Don't say that," she scolded. "Even if I didn't wish to marry him, that doesn't mean that I wished for anything bad to happen to him."
William held her gaze for an instant before nodding slightly. "Of course. Forgive me."
He assumed she didn't need to know the truth—that Edward was gone a long time ago, taken by a power far beyond her own understanding. But secrets were best left unspoken, and William had no intention of untangling this one.
"I apologize for making such a thoughtless remark," he went on, softening his tone. "Let's hope for the best, whatever his situation is."
Elizabeth breathed slowly and lifted her eyes up to the sky. Evening's warm colors painted the sky in bluish-violet hues, the first stars shining through the blackness. "Amen… my parents have already started searching for someone else to marry me to, though."
A narrowing in William's chest. He clenched his fists, a storm brewing behind his placid face. Before he allowed himself to hesitate, he grasped her hand within his, clasping it hard but softly.
"That needn't be the way of it," he said.
Elizabeth regarded him, confusion etched across her face. "What do you mean, Father?"
The title hurt, a reminder of the position he had once so fully accepted. But that was before he had met her. Before she was the focus of his mind, his wants.
He breathed deeply and grabbed his chance. "I have loved you since the moment I first laid eyes on you. I tried to fight it, to deny it, but it won't leave me alone. If you'll let me, I could be the kind of man you would marry… because I would love nothing more than to spend the rest of my days with you."
A gasp escaped between her lips in shock when she quickly pulled her hand back, flushing to the very core of a deep red color. "But. aren't you a priest, Father?" She spoke loudly in her whisper. "You're not going to risk losing everything on me. Did you not vow your life to the Lord?"
William gazed at her. He must tell her the truth—that his Lord was not hers, that his loyalty was elsewhere. Those words would be terrorizing to her, though. So he smiled—tranquil, reassuring.
"As much as I have, I'm sure my Lord would approve," he said smoothly. "Perhaps he's the one who brought you to me. One might say it's fate."
Elizabeth hesitated, lips parted as if wondering whether to speak. Struggle was written all over her face—she struggled between doing what she was taught to do and the inescapable pull she felt toward him.
At long last, she nodded, her voice trembling as she confessed, "Okay… I, too, have liked you for the longest time." She swallowed and continued. "I think I fell in love with you when you came into town. You were the prettiest man I had ever seen. You're the reason I go to church every Sunday. I hope God can forgive me for that."
William grinned, his laughter laced with something else, something possessive. He rose and extended his hand to her. "Tell your parents yourself. I would love to be the one to tell them I've started a successful business."
Elizabeth shook his hand but lifted a questioning brow. "Since when did you become a businessman?" she said, a playful note reentering her voice.
"Because recently," he replied, clasping her hand. "Just say I got a sense it was going to lead to something positive."
And in fact, it had.
…
William moved through the room with quiet competence, methodically placing his few possessions into a worn cardboard box. It was a simple task, yet each movement appeared to bear the weight of finality. There wasn't much to pack—there never had been—but he could not abide leaving even one thing behind. This had been his home, his sanctuary, his prison. And now, it was just another chapter closing.
He trailed his fingers along the broken spine of his journal before putting it inside. The pages there held years of prayers, confessions, and doubts. Words of faith, moments of weakness, drawings of a life he never thought he'd have. For so long, he honestly believed he'd die here, entombed under the weight of his vows. And here he was, shedding them like a poorly fitting cloak.
His gaze drifted downward, his interest snagged by the wedding ring on his finger. The metal was cool beneath his thumb as he turned it absently, lost in the memory of the night he'd put it on Elizabeth's finger. She had been radiant that night—her laughter golden and light, her eyes wide with surprise before softening to something warmer. Love. He'd never seen her more beautiful than in that moment.
He wished he'd snapped it, something to make that moment, this moment that was passing into nothingness, last for eternity. The thought made his heart stutter; a strange, hesitant lurch of change seeped into his mind. Would this happiness last? Or was he just chasing something that would slip through his fingers like fog? He let the breath out and continued packing. No, he'd never really belonged here. He'd only existed to pass the time.
A voice pulled him from his thoughts.
"You're really leaving, huh, William?"
The words were casual, but the weight behind them was not.
William turned. John stood several feet away, hands in pockets, shoulders slumped. He was usually so proud of himself for being one of those who could sense when people were around before they came into a room, but today he had been too caught up in his head. John could always read people well, but now his face was impassive: neither angry, nor sad, nor even particularly happy. Just. calm.
"I thought it was a crush," John said, chuckling now. "Apparently not."
William did not flinch from his stare. "I loved her," he admitted. "Completely, totally, absolutely. And I do not regret it one second."
John scoffed, cocking his head a fraction of an inch to the left. "Not even for the pleasure of bumping Edward off to get the girl?"
There was a heavy silence between them, thick with smoke.
And then, in immaculate sync, they dissolved into laughter. It was wild and untamed, the sort that seared in your lungs and left your sides throbbing. It wasn't merely the absurdity of the charge—it was everything. The stress, the gravity of their decisions, the realization that they had crossed boundaries they could never recross. It all broke in that instant.
"Maybe," William said with a chuckle, breathing once more. Then, after a moment, "No. Seriously."
John rubbed at his eyes, still chuckling. "I hated that son of a bitch, anyway," he said. "Being born rich must have its perks."
William shrugged, a smile still in place. "I would think so." He extended his hand, clapping John on the shoulder. "You should be at my wedding. It's two months from now."
John sneered, pushing his hand off. "Not like I have a choice." But his face altered, his usual lightness dropping into something more serious. "What about the church?"
The question hung between them, heavier than the others.
William hoisted up the box, walking around behind him, staying in the doorframe. The dimly lit room had once been his reality, his sole reality for very long. "The wooden cross on the wall, the decrepit desk before which he once sat to commit his sermons to paper. The empty bed, never ever his.".
"Whatever evil thing is in this place… it's not going anywhere," he whispered, more to himself. His hand skimmed the top of the box, across the items that contained traces of a past he was moving away from. A wry smile touched his lips. "Besides, this is good for my deal."
And with that, he turned and walked away, the burden on his shoulders growing lighter with each step. His mind imagined Elizabeth, their future, their home together. It would be a large place, warm and full of life.
The first time in years, he had stopped looking back.