In Summer Orphanage, that was where Chris continued to stay. He never bothered to leave–not when the clues he gathered seemingly brought him back here every time. Perhaps, the thing he was looking for was closer than he thought—and that his hunch was correct, but he doesn’t have solid evidence as of yet. Thus perhaps, conversing with this nun who left the convent to become this Orphanage’s mother would bring him nearer to the truth he sought.

Chris was in the visitor's area while Nana was preparing the guest room for his usage. The sun remained hidden, the night was still young—the burning candles were struck with nails  to tell the time, as in this era there was no such thing as clocks. 

He sat on the wooden rocking chair, the fireplace ablaze. Chris enjoyed the silence and serenity, however he was jolted awake by the clanging sound—the nail that struck the candle fell to the iron plate which signalled an hour passed. He looked mindlessly at the curtains—black, it made his eyebrows raise. 

‘How could an orphanage afford that? Black dye is expensive—not even available for the common folk, only to those who were in clergy or nobles,’ he thought to himself. He kept staring at it, the window rattling due to the strong winds, and the main door buckled now and then.

Despite that, this place did feel safe—somewhat—he groaned in pain, the trumpet he hid in his pocket continued to emit a faint light. It kept him warm, somehow. 

Chris’ thoughts flew back to Matthias—he could not help but worry, his eyebrows furrowed. His chest tightened at the thought that the young man slept in that dungeon.

He knew that place was darker and scarier than what was told in the books; it was full of prisoners who committed heinous crimes that no prayers nor begging to God could redeem them at all.

As a priest, he was taught to forgive these sinners but inside he was human—not God. 

Chris knew his judgement was not fair—it was a crude imitation of giving grace—because deep down, he wished they never existed, that they deserved to perish to where the devil resided:

In Hell.

Chris started rocking the chair, his mind infested with the thought of Matthias. He was not like what he expected—a young child. How could he have the key to save the world—this era? Was God fucking with him? He closed his eyes. 

The rocking chair continued to creak with every movement, the sound of the wind muffled by the curtains that hid him inside. The thin line between reality and dream faded—he felt that he was about to slip to the abyss of nothingness, only to be rudely awakened by something. 

More like, someone—Nana stood in front of him, her shadow overcasted on him.

‘He’s fast asleep,’ she thought with a small smile. She leaned closer, her eyes admiring the beauty of his—his tanned skin, and jet black hair that shone like a silk, oh how she wanted to touch it, caress it, bite his skin and  mark him as hers, that skin pure and untainted, waiting to be devoured —

Nana’s eyes glimmered with infatuation. Her hand had moved on its own, caressing his chest, which earned her a groan that sent tingles on her back, until she slowly—like a snake waiting to bite on its prey—stroked his cheeks softly.

Chris’ eyes immediately snapped open—Nana, embarrassed, pulled her hand away. She smiled sheepishly. 

“You just looked so peaceful, that I…”

The dimly lit room hid the priest’s displeasure and surprise from the action that the nun took. He briefly glared at her coldly, but soon mustered the kindest smile he could to get out of this situation.

He knew that prolonging this exchange would either result in more awkwardness or craziness, and he would rather not end up in the latter. 

“What is it, Nana?” his voice raspy and cold, not louder than a whisper. The man took this chance to stand up from the rocking chair, placing a decent distance between him and the nun: his guards were up, and he was tense.

His left hand on his pocket, caressing The Trumpet for comfort—for reassurance.  His eyes were not directly staring at Nana’s face but at her forehead, clearly avoiding her lovestruck gaze. 

The chair rocked back and forth, creaking against the wooden flat board—the silence was loud.

So is his heart—slamming against his chest.

His throat was tight, as if someone was strangling him. He inhaled and exhaled slowly. Chris tried to regulate his emotions—but he knew his face betrayed him right now. The sound of the droplets that crashed on the window was heard but other than that, the silence was deafening.

As the man inhaled, he felt a sudden sharp pain in his chest, making him almost gasp. ‘Inhaled in the wrong pipe,’ he thought.

Nana did not know what came over her at all—she knew what she had done was rude—no—it was done without permission. Yet, her hand moved on its own. Like it had its own mind and thoughts.

How could she explain that, to the man who had started to look at her like she was nothing—like she was not worth his time? Her heart ached and her breathing hitched. Her hands trembled, like an opiate addict—she tried to reach out to touch his hand.

But Chris recoiled almost immediately, his  gaze hardened—clearly setting the boundaries between the two of them.

Nana pulled her hand back with a nervous laugh, “I-I was just trying to wake you up to tell you that the guest room was ready and you could rest there,” her voice meek as she stared at the floor, tears nearly flooded her eyes— 

Seeing the man whom she sought for so long give her that look was enough to crush her own weakened heart. She knew that loving this man was a sin—but the temptation was too hard to resist. 

Then a whisper came along, ‘Nana, it’s time for you to check it.’ She stood still for a minute, and that made Chris’ eyebrow raise. Confused to what just happened, he was about to reach out when—

Nana’s body moved like clockwork. Her back faced him—her head turned to bid her farewell. Her head tilted to the side with a sweet smile. “Oh, I have to go, Brother Chris!” 

The man was confused—flabbergasted, rather. Chris noticed her eyes just now were empty, as if her soul was gone; nothing.

Her eyes did not even shine like usual. Soon, she disappeared from his sight—like a ghost, with purpose.