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Her parents exchange a glance. They think they know her. But they don’t know shit about her. They don’t fucking know her, and they never have. They don’t see the fear that flickers in her eyes when she thinks no one is looking. They can’t see how filthy her soul is.

But I see it.

I look past her to the sharp steeple, stark white and reaching to the heavy grey sky overhead. This building is so familiar, but so different from what I remembered, now that I have uncovered my eyes. I can feel the weight of regret pressing down on me, dragging me down, my own proverbial cross to bear.

I was past this, wasn’t I?

Now that I knew the truth about the world, and the darkness that lived in it.

So why did I still feel so damn bad?

Why was I still so fucking scared when I saw this place?

I can still smell the incense, the mold clinging to the sides of the confessional, splashed so much with holy water over the years that it was beginning to rot from the inside out.

Just like all the other liars who filed into that limestone building today.

Not a single one of them was free of sin, I just had the balls to be honest about it.

I remembered it, still.

I remembered it all.

The buzz of Sunday sermons, like a shaken hornet’s nest. I could feel the hard wooden pews that made my back ache, and the splinters that dug into my palm if I touched beneath the seat. I could still feel the endless recitations of scripture—all of it designed to keep people in line, to keep them small and manageable. I see it all for what it is now.

A lie.

It’s all a lie to keep them complacent—to keep us caged.

Not me.

Not anymore.

I shake away the memories of pain, of blood smeared across my palm, and my eyes dart over to the parking lot, searching for her.

It only takes a moment, and I see her.

She’s walking with her parents now, her arm linked through her mother’s. Her laugh is bright, musical, the closest thing to real magic that I’ve ever seen, but I see the way it catches in her throat.

She’s pretending, playing a role like an actress.

She’slying.

And I can see the weight of it, and the way it presses down on her. She’s a coiled spring, ready to snap.

She’s going to collapse, and when she does, I will be there. I will be the one to pick up her pieces.

As they ascend up the carved limestone steps to enter the church, Mercy pauses, her gaze sweeping over the parking lot as if sensing a presence.

Can she feel me, the way I feel her?

Is her soul reaching for me like mine reaches for hers?

I hold my breath, melting further into the shadows. For a moment, our eyes almost meet, but she turns away, her smile fading just a fraction. I let out my breath in a low, steady exhale.

This is just the beginning, Mercy.

Soon, the shadows will consume you, and you will be as black as I am on the inside.