“And Lord Gursh said unto thee, seek and you shall see, listen and you shall hear, ask and you shall receive, open your mind and you shall learn, for these are the gifts granted to the righteous…” High Priestess Hae-won’s voice spills through the room, captivating everyone present. Everyone except me.

Though I’d never admit it out loud.

Honestly, I have nothing personal against the church, or it’s teachings, it’s just that there are only so many times one can hear the same speech over and over again, before they start wanting to rip their own hair out.

“The righteous shall rule over heaven and the unrighteous shall be condemned to hell, their souls to be burned for all eternity...” Hae-won continues and like clockwork everyone in the room tips their faces to the sky, one hand clenched tightly within the other, fingers overlapping.

“Their souls to be burned for all eternity.” The room, including me, answers in unison. The monotony of the situation is almost painfully boring and I very nearly yawn from weariness.

Really the only somewhat interesting thing about attending sermons are the church windows. I honestly don’t know if I would have been able to stand attending, if it weren’t for the majesty of the stained glass.

They are something out of a fairy tale. Encompassing entire walls in swirling colors that glow like gemstones in the mid-morning light. They are breathtaking in their glory and have never ceased to take my breath away.

However there is one that I have always admired above the rest and it is this one that I turn my attention to now. It is beautiful, stretching from floor to ceiling, and spanning over half the east facing wall. In it, a young woman, Helena Ali, stands before an army of demons, her feet bare and her clothes torn to rags, but even under such extreme circumstances she holds herself tall.

Her face showing only regal determination, her eyes reflecting the torch-fire burning all around her. I wonder, vaguely, when it was that I first started thinking of this window as my favorite piece of art, but am unable to pinpoint an exact date and eventually decide that it doesn’t matter.

Helena Ali’s story is one everyone knows, one that is impossible to forget. It is said that during the last days of the 60 year war, when things looked bleakest, Helena stepped forth, rallying the troops against the oncoming armies, and ended the war.

On that day Helena single handedly changed the course of history and gained the role of High Priestess, not just for her, but for her entire bloodline. Since then every priest and priestess to stand in these halls have been a member of her family. Even the current High Priestess is a decedent of her’s.

The reminder makes me slightly embarrassed for having ignored her for the entirety of the sermon up until now and with a silent apology, I turn my attention back on the High Priestess. My eyes catch her’s and for a second I forget how to breathe.

She stares back at me, her gaze burrowing into my soul and I begin to feel tingly as she preaches. Her voice flows out of her like a soothing river, so at odds with the harsh way her stare seems to pierce through me that it is all I can do not to shiver.

Somewhere I know that this feeling is irrational, daydreaming during a sermon is not illegal, only frowned upon. Besides it’s not as if she could do anything to me, I am the king, which means that no one, not even a High Priestess can harm me. Even so it doesn’t calm my nerves, nor my rapidly growing heart rate.

It is such a strange feeling to feel fear, all the while knowing that there is nothing to be afraid of, but there is something in the way she is looking at me. Something scathing and angry, like I have done something unforgivable to her.

Is dozing off in the middle of her speech really such an atrocious act that she has to look at me with such loathing? If I didn’t know any better I’d think I had just killed her first born child right here in the middle of the floor.

“In the words of God Gursh, rise my child, go forth from this place of worship.” Her voice still sounds melodic and calm as she begins saying the lines that will end her sermon. “Go forth and spread my will to the world. Let it sink into the hearts of the virtuous and raise them aloft on golden wings, and may it coil and burn the sinful to ash. Gursh's name be thy praise, amen.” She finishes, turning her piercing gaze away from me, and at last I feel like I can breath.