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♱⠀⠀ ⠀⠀The wood creaked softly as she leaned back, the corners of the 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔣𝔢𝔰𝔰𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔞𝔩 pressing into her spine like a reminder : THIS WAS NOT HER PLACE. And yet⠀⠀ ⠀⠀…
Emilia sat with her legs crossed at the ankle, hands folded like a good girl, eyes fixed on the worn velvet of the partition. The hush inside the booth was thick, the kind of silence that wasn’t empty — it was watching. She exhaled slowly. Her palms were cold. In silence, she made the 𝔖𝔦𝔤𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 ℭ𝔯𝔬𝔰𝔰. Forehead. Chest. Left shoulder. Right. Her fingers lingered at her heart for a moment before falling away. ❝ Bless me, Father … ❞ she started, and stopped. Her throat tightened. Her voice, when it came again, was low. Steady. But too quiet for comfort. ❝ Bless me, Father, for I have SINNED. ❞ She didn’t say how long it had been since her last confession. She doubted the walls cared. She doubted HE did, either — whoever he was. Whatever this was. Her fingers tightened in her lap. ❝ I wanted something, ❞ she said, her voice barely above a breath. ❝ I touched it. I took it. ❞ A pause. ❝ I wanted to be ƃoop. I did. ❞ She closed her eyes, just for a moment, and her voice cracked — not from emotion, not quite. From restraint. ❝ But when he looked at me, ❞ she said, ❝ I didn’t want to be 𝔥𝔬𝔩𝔶. I wanted to ruin him. I wanted to see what would happen if I let go. ❞ Another pause, and she almost laughed, but didn’t. ❝ I did, ❞ she whispered. ❝ I let go. ❞ Her hands unclasped. Rested open now in her lap, like offerings. ❝ I thought it would feel like power. But it just felt like fire. And I think I’d do it again. ❞ She went still. Perfectly still. Her breath shallow. Her eyes fixed on the shadowed screen before her, heart thudding painfully in the hush between them. ❝ Does that make me EVIL? ❞ she asked, not to the priest — not really. ❝ Or just honest? ❞ No voice answered. Just the creaking of wood, the faint flicker of a candle somewhere far from where she sat. She swallowed, throat dry. ❝ I didn’t come here to be forgiven, ❞ she said finally. ❝ I just needed to say it out loud. ❞ The witch shifted forward, like she meant to leave — then hesitated. And softer, like a secret she hadn’t meant to speak: ❝ I’m not sure there’s anything left in me that wants to be forgiven. ❞ Then she stood. The door creaked open behind her. And the moment she stepped out into the empty church, she didn’t look back.
“mouth, open like an angel in a cathedral.”
— Luce Irigaray, Elemental Passions.
Byzantine silver cross pendant, 10-11th century.
Holy places are dark places […] Holy wisdom is not clear and thin like water, but thick and dark like blood.
C. S. Lewis, from ‘Till We Have Faces: A Myth Retold’
