The crowd was forcefully dispersed, though many wanted to linger and possibly get graces of a new Saint rubbed off on them. Meis expertly promised them all in practiced fashion that they would let Lark mingle among the cathedral in due time but needed rest. Lark stood there, mindlessly letting others lead him along. Shock buzzed through his body but he couldn’t… feel it.

It was like he was watching someone else experience that shock and fear, unable to do anything to help. Currently seated in a small office, Lark and Winter waited in front of a large ornate desk coated in vine plants, their pots hidden in the leaves. The same plants that cascaded around the cathedral, but these ones flowered deep black petals speckled with white. Winter was glued to his side, looking positively devastated. A few clergy had brought her a blanket and tea, which she nursed untouched in her lap.

“...” Glancing at his mother, Lark wished she would stop crying. He didn’t want her to look so unsightly in front of strangers here who might ridicule her. He almost reached out to comfort her, but realized he had no idea what to say. 

Everything felt dull.

The door opened, a few clergy coming in followed by Meis and Delilah, the Saint from before. All gathered around Lark, whispering to themselves in excited, hushed voices. Noticing Delilah off to the side, Lark saw a knit to her brow accompanied by a frown. SHe was the only one in the room that seemed perturbed by the sudden developments. Meis sat at the desk, fixing their sleeves and robe in silence. They waited for the hum in the room to quiet before addressing Lark.

“I understand you don’t have any semblance of belief in Phelmacitia. You have been granted power unlike normal humans possess, not to mention the other… affliction.” They paused and stared right into Lark’s deadpan expression.

“As like Phelmacitia, your emotions have been somewhat limited.” With that Lark hung his head, desperate to… understand his despair. All he knew right now was a vague annoyance.

Meis continued. “It is unwise to go back and live your life normally. As a Saint, blessed with Phelmacitia’s gifts, you would begin work here for the church.”

“Fighting monsters?” Mused Lark, eyes narrowing.

“That’s only a small portion of our activities. You will be trained in the art of course.” Meis said it with a flowery smile and the rest of the clergy nodded.

“Then what else do Saints do?”

“We’re errand boys or organizers, whatever the folks in robes don’t wanna do while they hit the books.” A voice in the back of the room chirped, and Delilah sauntered up to stand next to Lark. His expression was tilted. “Plus, we actually take care of Bleeds a lot, don’t let ol’ Meis fool you on that.” Winking down at Lark, his face broke when Winter started crying harder.

Rubbing their temples, Meis tried their best to seem bothered by Delilah’s interruption. “Yes… well… We deal with those unsavory natured creatures that have misused Glyphs, as Citia weapons and magic are effective.”

Lark watched Delilah console Winter out of the corner of his eye, then looked back to Meis. “I don’t have a choice, though. Basically.”

More smiles across the desk. “Unfortunately.”

“Do I get paid?”

“Generously.”

“Where am I going to live?”

“We have a fully furnished dormitory. Three meals a day courtesy of very excellent chefs.” With composed hands, meis’s eyes flitted towards delilah, who was fixing the blanket around Winter’s shoulders. “You’re free to use your money as you see fit.”

The questions and answers were bullets deflecting off a shield and all Lark could do was try and look as miffed as possible. Another look to his mother sent a small pang through his chest that he couldn’t accurately place, beginning a game of remembering what intense feelings were like.

He would never feel angry at his mother. This wasn’t her fault nor would it ever be. If Lark could live back on his farm with his sheep, his family, he would live the life of faking affections if he needed to. Meis must have seen him struggling with everything and now their smile was a bit more… callous.

“Many have attempted to live their lives normally, Lark. I promise it’s not as easy as it seems.” Meis’ brows ceased together in a worried expression. “You’re safer where we can help you.”

Narrowing his eyes, Lark felt a bubbling heat in his throat, but it was gone as soon as he noticed it. Leaning back in his chair, legs folded, Lark tapped his fingers along a knee.

“Do I need to start immediately?”

Shuffling some papers on their desk, Meis gave a slow nod. “The blessing will affect your body shortly and it will put you into a feverish state while you adjust. It’s not simple, I’m afraid. Some have said there’s pain.”

Winter put her hands to her mouth, giving Lark a scared look.

“So I need to stay here starting...now.” His face fell, realizing he couldn’t even go home and say goodbye to Sasha.

“I’m surprised you’re still awake. Delilah?” Holding a paper out to the Saint, Meis stood up to get it to her easier. “This will be Lark’s room, if you would show it to him?”

Swiping the paper from their hands Delilah gave it a quick look. She made a “tsk” noise upon seeing the room number. “Right next to me? What if he brings friends over.”

Lark’s eyes widened at the statement and he could feel his face get hot. He heard Meis laugh as they sat back down.

“Please, let's all be civil. If he does, just make a racket yourself.”

With an eye roll, Delilah put the paper in her pocket before turning to Lark and Winter, hands on hips. “I’ll wait outside for you, if you can last that long. Say goodbye to mom.”

He tapped a hand to his chin, eyes pointed towards the ceiling in thought. “You live in Birdscall, right? At least it’s only an hour away. She can come by whenever she wants.”

“That’s… not really the point.”

Lark felt increasingly more lightheaded, realizing it was all coming to him now.

Like a bad head cold was enveloping him, mixed with having gotten beat with a metal bat.

“You’re right. But you’re trapped either way.”

Delilah said it so softly Lark had to strain to hear it. Looking up at her, Lark knit his brows together in confusion. Her expression was taut, facing away from everyone else but Lark. Like she was feeling sorry for the life he had fallen into…

Winter embraced him, squeezing so tightly he would break. “I'll text and call… And visit with Sasha when we have the time… I’m so sorry, Lark… Maybe you can forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive.” Panicked slightly, Lark hugged her back just as tight, also using her to stay sitting up. “Don’t say that.”

It was getting harder to keep his eyes open. So much so that letting his forehead fall to his mother’s shoulder was mostly for his own sake.

“Lark? Lark are you ok? I think he’s about to faint!” Calling to the clergy in the room, Winter’s voice pleaded for help. Lark closed his eyes, breath labored.

“It’s not… your fault…” Yet again his vision went dark.

The warmth of his mother didn’t stay.