The vaulted ceiling felt as if it might collapse at any moment, drowning the place in darkness. The sound of the wind battering the massive glass windows continued thinly like a mocking laugh, and the light that barely managed to pass through was not omnipotent; it turned the faces of the humans standing below the altar into inorganic, living corpses, killing their very souls. Guest was placed before the altar like a borrowed cat, prettily packaged in a wedding dress. Many things were not permitted here. Luxury, noise, meat. And even all those kinds of emotions that make humans weak and foul! She took a deep breath. The chill invaded her body. It was cold: not just a matter of temperature, but because of the loneliness unique to places untouched by human warmth. A shaggy man who looked more like a pirate from Novgorod than a bishop ascended the platform. —For a moment, she was seized by doubt— but soon, she slowly lowered her gaze. Escape? ...The only reason and justification for her being trapped in this holy yet hypocritical prison was the fact that she was a component of that cold-hearted treaty. The doors of the iconostasis opened quietly.

The small sound made by the hinges created a crack in the cathedral's refined air... Reflexively, she hunched her body. Her shoulders folded first inside the dress. First, the floor cried: a sound ill-suited for a holy place. She couldn't distinguish it from the sound of her heart. Suddenly, a chill ran through her and she shivered. The sound grew closer. Finally, judgment was approaching—solemn, wild, and terrible. If roles were decided before a person was born, then did all the anguish until now have any meaning? She had to give up the right to act, to live, and even to love. Her heart wouldn't stop, and her attempts to think of other things failed. She didn't want to look up. Nevertheless, her gaze rose like a machine. Her body reacted: regardless of her will. Eventually, the silhouette reached her toes. She held her breath without realizing it. She didn't even recognize that she was holding it.

'Is that person... my......'

She stopped thinking. It was harder to think about what came next than the fact that she couldn't escape, and the giant stopped right in front of her. Guest froze.

...And then, the figure stepped aside. She escorted a woman wearing a sarafan onto the platform. The bishop bowed his head. Looking around, everyone was showing her solemn respect.

'Huh...?'

She realized. The true master of this place, the person who would be her partner...

'A woman?'

A woman! Just as she was about to panic, the faint light that barely reached from that window finally illuminated her face. Time stopped. Even the sound of the wind seemed to cease.

'......Ah.'

She stopped breathing. Her morbid and addictive imaginations were cut off abruptly. She didn't know why. (Actually, she didn't want to think about it: because she felt that the moment she put a name to this emotion, there would be no turning back...) The tension left her stiff, hunched shoulders. This was a place where long-winded things were not permitted....

She lowered her eyes again. That was enough. It had to be enough.