Chapter 3

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chapter 3

Terzo walked through the doors without so much as a glance behind him. In his opinion, the church hadn't changed in the slightest. It was the same old, over the top structure, dripping with propaganda and politics that it had been before he'd become Papa. He'd just been oblivious to it back then.

The intricately painted ceiling was like a hand closing on an unsuspecting Icarus, clipping his wings and binding him back to the ground he had once crawled. The elegant walls looked beautiful when draped in his colours; the royal purple and black stood out against the streaming beams of light that came through the windows. There was a new edition to the large stained-glass window at the far end of the church; they'd had it modified so now it showed his father and all three of his sons, each pane had the Papa's colours. Terzo's was purple and black and showed him holding a chalice and a skull.

Fitting. He pondered.

The allusion of it all was a hilarious thing. All of his fans fell for it, the rouse which was him. They adored the face in which stole the breath from their tongues as they gazed upon him. They didn't know that they hadn't fallen in love with him but with the image the church had pushed. They believed they knew him, but he was nothing more than a stranger as he walked by.

The church was a giant prison, big enough that a beast would find it a spacious territory. But for a slightly bird with the memory of freedom, it was the perfect gilded cage. Terzo Emeritus had spent his entire life behind the stone walls. He'd grown up there, made friends there and subsequently loved there. However, the church may have been his home before, but from the moment he stepped foot back inside, he'd never felt so uncomfortable in his entire life.

Still, he smiled and greeted fans as he stalked down the hall. They were pretty little things, touching and grinning at him like the sun shined out of his ass. They'd probably been to every one of his small rituals, and he was sure they would come to the big ones once his album was made.

"You all look so good." He purred to a group who dawned his skull paint. "I wish I could say the same for myself," he gestured to his own paint. "Ehh, lack of sleep has made all of my face so patchy."

"You're still so handsome, Papa!" One shouted.

"Ah, you flatter me, Bellissima." He blew her a kiss before moving on.

His body felt like lead. The overnight travel and time zone change had left him feeling empty and disorientated. Tiredness had seeped into his very bones, and the allure of his bed whispered to him, but he couldn't go just yet, not when that whole day had been orchestrated for him.

Terzo shook his head, straightened his back, and let his easy smile fall on his lips. Even if the fans were there due to believing his façade, Terzo wanted them to be entertained; he wanted them to feel included in the church, so for that, he would deal with the deadweight of sleeplessness.

"Terzo, Welcome home." A sister of sin smiled as she pushed her way through the crowd. "You look so grown up."

Sister Lucile, he remembered. She was an elderly patron of the church, being there long before Terzo had even been born. She had taught him how to read and write; she'd dressed him and cut his hair when the unrulily locks got too long. The skull paint on her face did little to hide the fact that she was ageing; a morbid thought passed his mind; it wouldn't be long before the dark one claimed her. But, of course, it was just a thought; there was always a chance he could go before her.

"Hello, Sister. What a welcome home you have thrown me." He grinned and embraced her.

"Yes, there is much to be done before you can enjoy it." She shrugged out of his hold. "We have a seat ready for you to take up. I assume you read the paperwork I sent with you when you left?"

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