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Seated on the strange chair like the evil king I first imagined, the man is clothed in a silky black robe that looks like what the priests usually wear on special occasions. The robe drapes off of him, though, and pools on the floor.

Creating a silky puddle of blackness.

With all the candles gone, the only lights comes from shafts of colored sunlight beaming through the stained glass windows.

The air is thicker here, smokier. A brazier full of incense placed on the floor at the man’s right giving everything a hazy appearance. But the golden hem of his robe shines so bright I can easily make out the pattern of an endless chain of figure eights lining the edges.

Instead of wearing a tall, embroidered hat on his head like the priests usually wear, he wears a hood so big it hides his face. His features hidden in the darkness of impenetrable shadows.

This must be the Prophet, I realize.

The one who will see me for who I really am.

Grip tightening around me, Sister Agatha suddenly jerks on my arm, forcing me closer to him.

Fearing I was caught staring, I immediately drop my gaze back to the floor. Praying I won’t get in trouble for what I’ve done.

But a mere heartbeat later, pain is slicing across my wrist.

Crying out, I try to yank my arm back.

Sister Agatha’s nails dig into my flesh, keeping me firmly in place.

I look up again in shock to see the Prophet holding a golden dagger coated in blood in his left hand.

“The future…” he hums musically, as if he’s about to start singing a hymn.

All my nerves seem to vibrate in response, like they’re strings on a guitar that someone just plucked, and the words echo strangely inside my head.

Then there’s a sudden pull in the center of my chest, as if someone is reaching behind my ribs and yanking on my heart.

The world in front of me suddenly changes. The man in the black robes disappears, replaced by another man.

A man so ethereally beautiful, the first sight of him makes my knees weak and brings tears to my eyes.

He’s even more handsome than Daddy…

“You fill the void inside me,” the beautiful man murmurs softly, his warm hands lovingly cupping my face. “I need you, Alena. Without you, I am hollow and empty. Without you, I am incomplete.”

Staring into his dark eyes, I have no words. I’m speechless.

I don’t know who he is or why he’s saying I fill the void. I’m not even quite sure what the void is.

But I feel an incredible love for him.

My heart both flutters and races, and the love only seems to grow stronger inside me the longer I look at him. Look at his almost too perfect features.

His sharp cheekbones, his blood-red lips. His smooth, utterly flawless skin. The strong line of his jaw and the glossy black hair that’s been swept back off his forehead.

He’s a stranger. A complete stranger. Yet I think I love him more even more than I love my parents.

Is he God?I wonder for a brief moment.

Is that why I love him so?

But God wouldn’t need me to fill him.

God fills me.