He was but a simple priest, following the lord's teachings despite the world being wrecked with poverty and the plague; when life failed him, his faith did not. He had always supposed himself to be a man of God, and had dedicated himself to the chur...
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_ 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟷𝟶 ; 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 _
𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐔𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐗𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐘 since his childhood, and some wouldn't hesitate to call it photographic, in the sense that he never forgot anything. The wonderful and the awful, it all stayed deep in the recesses of his mind, festering.
His mother and father always claimed to have loved him, but he knew they were liars. To be cursed with both poverty and an unwanted child; how unfortunate were they?
The memories of his old family remained deep in his mind, and he could never forget his mother and father, despite how hard he tried. No matter how many passages he memorized nor how many times he prayed to God, no mercy was bestowed upon him. He despised his brain, how hatefully it seemed to hold resentment for his family despite how long he had been separated from them.
Back then, the poverty had been even more terrible than it was now. There was both a massive increase in inflation due to the war, and a decrease in the amount of supplies available due to a countrywide drought. Even moldy bread was considered a luxury too high for someone of his caliber. Sometimes, his family would starve for days on end despite how his father worked two jobs.
The smell of everything was rancid. They couldn't afford to drink water, let alone regularly bathe themselves--even the most basic of necessities were scarce. In winter, it was so cold that he couldn't sleep properly most nights. And in the summer, food was so scare that his parents needed to ration it out...
He couldn't have been older than four years old at the time, and yet even now as a fully grown man he could recall their conversations word for word, discussing how incapable they were of taking care of him. He remembered how his mother had lamented his stupidity, calling him defective for not being able to speak fully at the age of four despite having never been properly taught to.
But the night that pervaded his mind the most was when he was still a toddler who hadn't even learned how to roll over yet, like an untrained dog. He could remember how stuffy his crib had felt, as his mother had gently piled his pillow and blanket upon his head, crying and asking for him to be quiet. He would have died if not for his aunt saving him.
He had been so young at the time that everyone had expected him not to remember what his family had quietly dubbed the "incident", as his mother lied and said that she loved him and his father said that he would never be a burden to them. Every day was another exercise of misery, that was... until father Albain saved him.
His parents had never worshiped God, actively cursing him for ruining their lives, but after that fated day, Lucius became his most fervent worshiper.
Father Albain had taught him how to read and write, and how to love other people. He believed that he had left behind his resenting, angry ways, in favor of forgiveness--but he found strange feelings bubbling in his chest recently. It was like a terminal illness he couldn't rid himself of.
What was wrong with him? Why did he have to feel this way? So horrible, so greedy...
He buried his face in his hands, trying to hide his undoubtedly ugly expression as he pushed down the memories he was unable to forget. He hadn't done anything to warrant these ungodly emotions--this wasn't his fault. He couldn't control that other people were making him feel this way.
It was annoying, exasperating, making his fists clench and his stomach boil. But it wasn't his fault. It was theirs, for being so horrible that it infected him like a virus--how dare they claim to worship God and yet spout blasphemous filth?
He knew he was wrong. Not only was he completely unrelated to what they were saying, with no right to be angry in another person's place, but he was meant to forgive and teach... he had to remember that they could learn and grow from their wrongdoings, as was human nature, and yet...
"Filthy..." His voice wavered.
How could such people dare to exist?
How could they have the audacity to breathe and walk among good people, wasting resources and spreading illness like vermin? Did they not realize that they were a blight on honest, good lives? If any of them were self-respecting, they'd end their own lives...
He tentatively removed his face from his hands, his face assuming a blank, vapid state, his black bangs casting a shade over his features and hiding his eyes. His hands went to his sides, itching to form fists.
He had never realized that a church could be filled to the brim with so many sinners. He could hear the elderly women gossiping about her, the men shooting her suspicious glances, the children hiding from her. They all believed mere rumors, ignoring an injured women in favor of hearsay...
How despicable.
He had tried to ignore it before, but had found their words infecting him, nearly making him believe that they had any sort of merit--those rumors were more infectious than the plague despite their clearly false nature. He couldn't believe he was the only one capable of seeing things clearly. All of their minds were corrupted.
Was it only natural that a church full of sinners would ostracize the one truly good person within it? Was that why he felt so vengeful in her place, watching her silently endure such horrible words?
Maybe it was only logical that he felt this way, perhaps even normal. At first, he had dismissed these feelings, deeming them ungodly...
