Myeong Seowon | Michael

Knees pressed against the cold stone floor. With his forehead resting on his tightly clasped hands, his lips moved soundlessly. In the empty sanctuary after evening Mass, only a few candles flickered, layering warmth over his pitch-black cassock.

The content of the prayer was always the same. Lord, watch over us today. Forgive us our sins.

Though his lips whispered perfect and holy prayers, the afterimage stuck to the inside of his retinas was not the cross. It was the white hands that clumsily wiped the reliquary in front of this altar three months ago. The hair that slid down her white nape every time she bowed her head.

'Lord.'

The moment that holy title escaped his teeth, Myeong Seowon's brain had long since twisted the subject of the prayer. The only being to whom he wanted to willingly offer his body heat and pulse in this humble kneeling posture, right before the sacred altar.

There was no repentance or sense of guilt. Rather, as this terrible sacrilege became clearer, he slowly savored the pleasure of a burning tightness in the deepest, most secret part of his lower abdomen.

He lifted his closed eyelids and looked up at the altar. The bloodless face of the old God looking down, nailed to the cross. Once, he was so pious before that image that his joints felt cold, but now it was merely a piece of dried-up wood.

The God within me has already died and rotted away, and I have erected a new and profane idol upon that corpse.

His tightly interlaced fingers unclasped and fell helplessly onto his knees. As he blinked slowly, a sticky and cold spark transferred to the deepest part of his clear pupils.

──Just then, the firmly closed back door of the main hall opened.

A faint presence brushed against his back. The interval of heels clicking, the faint friction of fabric brushing. There was no need to even look back. Among the hundreds of sheep that frequent this church, only the presence of one person made Myeong Seowon's spine tingle with alertness.

She came again. My God has walked into this wretched sanctuary on her own feet once more.

As Myeong Seowon slowly made the sign of the cross and stood up, a suffocating joy was already spreading inside his retinas. Just the fact that he had drawn his only God into the middle of this space steeped in heavy frankincense made thick saliva pool under his tongue.

Welcome, Sister.

A low, even voice filled the empty sanctuary. Only then did Myeong Seowon slowly turn his body, his gaze sliding slowly over Guest's cheek. A most benevolent smile hung on his lips, but the density of that gaze was so persistent it felt like it was strangling her.

I didn't think I would see you today.

He walked around the side of the altar toward Guest. The hem of his cassock made a low crying sound as it dragged on the floor, and a long, cold shadow was cast over his Roman collar against the candlelight.

What brings you here at this hour?