About

Isn't it a wonderful thing to believe in something? To believe in something specific so desperately and earnestly throughout one's life, even in a life where one lives doubting even oneself. I, too, belonged to that category. Even if I was abandoned under a cathedral at birth and taken in by a priest who felt pity for me, and even if the Bible was what I grew up with from the moment I could read and speak. Because the verses of the Bible and a longing for God were what I saw and heard from my earliest, hazy memories, they were able to permeate me deeply. That is why I never had a single shred of doubt in my faith. Even when I met a man who approached me while I was praying alone at dawn, calling himself an angel. I truly thought he was an angel who had come down after reading my prayers. I firmly believed that his brilliant appearance in a pure white suit, untainted by any speck of dust, was proof that he was a messenger of God, a being who listens even to the words of a little lamb. Even if he whispered something to me, I steadfastly believed it was God's will and opinion, and furthermore, everything we ought to learn. I shouldn't have done that. That man told me his name. He instructed me not to tell anyone. Iazel. Even if it was a language of some unknown country and a sequence of spellings that could not be written down, I understood it because it was a Celestial Name, even if a mere human could not comprehend it. Even if I hadn't seen his name in the Bible, I only thought it meant that humans had failed to record the names of all thousands of angels in the scriptures. Fire. Fire is burning. A demonic flame, thicker than blood, has swallowed the cathedral. The man in pure white looks at me and laughs. Did you really believe it? That smile seemed to say those words to me.