The Fallen Saintess (1)
A heavy silence hung over the chapel.
Lowen sat on the far left of the wooden chairs on one side; Ariel sat on the far right of those on the other.
She had drawn her shoulders in, making her already petite frame even smaller. The knowledge that someone had seen her masturbating had turned her face tomato-red. She ought to have offered some excuse, yet her voice caught in her throat and refused to come out.
Thirty minutes passed like that. It was Lowen who finally broke the silence.
“Saintess.”
Ariel flinched with a startled little gasp, her shoulders trembling.
“I-I’m not that kind of person…”
She hung her head low, her voice dropping to a murmur.
“Name: Ariel Violet. Age: twenty this year. The seventh of the Credia Empire’s Seven Saintesses. Likes: sweet desserts with strawberries. Dislikes: cloying desserts with blueberries. Complex: her short stature. She drinks milk every morning without fail, yet frets that her height refuses to grow while her chest keeps getting larger.”
At Lowen’s precise catalogue of facts, Ariel shuddered as if a chill had run down her spine.
“Above all, silver hair and violet eyes are the hallmarks of House Violet.”
He pointed to her hair and eyes. Her silver locks, tied with a large ribbon, fell to her hips like a beast’s tail. Her bright, puppy-like eyes were colored a violet as deep as pansies.
“If I’m correct, blink both eyes.”
Still dazed, Ariel blinked both eyes before she could stop herself—and thereby admitted she was the Saintess.
“So then, why is a Saintess who ought to be at the Grand Cathedral sitting in a place like this?”
Ariel, who had been stealing furtive glances, whipped her head the other way.
“…I told you, I’m not that kind of person.”
“It’s widely known that a butterfly-shaped stigma appears on a Saintess’s lower abdomen.”
“…You saw it?”
“You had your skirt hiked up to your navel. It would have been stranger not to notice.”
Ariel hugged her knees and curled into a tight ball like a pill bug.
“Uuu…”
If she could turn back time, she would have smacked the back of her own head the moment she had been humming and tossing her panties aside. When boredom sets in, people chase empty pleasures. Even a Saintess was no exception. While touring the cathedral alone she had suddenly grown aroused and ended up masturbating—slipping into the confessional, seized by a delicious sense of transgression, and rubbing her plump mound with abandon. At the very peak of climax the confessional door had opened and Lowen had walked in.
“Auuu… I want to die…”
Ariel clawed at her hair.
“There is nothing shameful about self-pleasure. It is a healthy way to satisfy human needs.”
“Hnnngh…”
“Even a Saintess is human. Desire is only natural.”
“Uuuugh…”
He had meant the words as comfort, yet they only shredded her fragile heart further.
“Just… don’t comfort me… kill me instead…”
She buried her face deep between her knees, eyes brimming.
“Hm…”
Truly awkward. He had no idea how to handle a situation like this. Cutting a man’s throat was easy; cutting into a heart was hard. Lifting a lively mood was child’s play, but soothing one that had dissolved into sniffling always left him at a loss. Infiltrating a ducal family’s underground base had been simpler than this.
“I’ll forget it.”
“…What?”
“I’ll erase it completely from my memory.”
His memory was excellent; the image would remain until the day he died. Still, saying it might ease the Saintess’s mind a little.
“That you were stroking your private parts while making confession… and that, at climax, you sprayed my face with a tidal wave.”
“Waaahhh!!”
Ariel felt her hair stand on end and let out a scream.
“Y-you’re planning to remember it perfectly, aren’t you…!”
She glared up at him with damp eyes. Shame that had long since passed its limit flipped into irritation, making her huff and puff. She puffed out her soft-looking cheeks like balloons and glared at Lowen.
“I truly will forget. Even if it suddenly comes to mind, I will forget.”
Lowen met her gaze with complete seriousness.
“Even if I cannot forget, I will forget.”
“….”
After holding the stare for a long moment, Ariel gently lowered her eyelids and looked away.
“Swear to God that you’ll forget…”
“I swear.”
Lowen clasped his hands as if in prayer, closed his eyes, and murmured “I swear” three times. It was the first time he had ever sworn anything to a god, so the pose felt a little awkward.
“Is that sufficient?”
Ariel nodded and uncurled from her pill-bug ball.
Another thirty minutes passed. Having given her that silence to settle her flustered heart, Lowen rose, stepped in front of her, and went down on one knee. Ariel, who had only just shaken off her embarrassment, hiccupped in surprise and ducked her head again.
“My introduction is late. I am Lowen, the bishop newly assigned to manage this cathedral.”
“Huh…? A bishop…?”
Ariel’s eyes went round with genuine shock.
“As you can see.”
Just as he had done with the coachman, Lowen drew a rosary from his coat and held it out. Ariel lifted her head a fraction to examine it, then poured divine power into her eyes. Her violet irises flashed gold. A bishop’s rosary always carried the prayer of one of the Seven Saintesses.
“…It’s not a fake.”
Her eyes returned to their natural violet. Fiddling with her skirt and still hunched, Ariel finally raised her head and straightened her posture.
“It is an honor to meet you like this.”
A gentle smile curved behind Lowen’s glasses. Ariel, who had faced tens of thousands of worshippers over the years, recognized the smile as pure artifice at once.
“Ah… ‘honor’ is a bit much…”
Most people were the same. They tried to curry favor with a Saintess in hopes of gaining something—anything. They saw her as a tool to satisfy their own desires. Because she could read emotions, she knew. When her eyes turned gold she could see it: the black fog of greed writhing behind a person’s back. This man would be no different. Like everyone else, his goal was simply to look good in front of a Saintess. Even without her ability, that false smile alone was enough to tell her.
“Saintess.”
While she was still staring at his smiling eyes, he spoke again.
“May we move on to the main point?”
Ariel tilted her head.
“The main point?”
“I still haven’t heard why you are here.”
Lowen gestured around the chapel as if inviting her to look. Each of the Credia Empire’s Seven Saintesses guarded one of the seven Grand Cathedrals as her sacred domain. Except for special ceremonies, a Saintess spent her entire life inside that domain. Coming to a shabby rural church was something that should never happen even in a dream. Yet here it was, happening right in front of him.
“Starting today, this cathedral is my sacred domain for one year.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’ll be living here until spring returns next year.”
A “sacred domain” was little more than a name. Therefore any place a Saintess designated could become one—a shed, even a pigsty.
“Is that… allowed?”
Ariel looked sheepish and shook her head.
“I-it isn’t, but… I received permission from the Papal Court.”
That the notoriously rigid Papal Court would allow a Saintess to be sent to a backwater like this…
“Did no attendants accompany you?”
“They brought me this far and returned to the Grand Cathedral. They said they’ll come check on me once a month. And that a capable priest who will look after me here would arrive within two days… Ah…”
Something clearly clicked. Ariel stared at Lowen without even blinking.
“Hic…!”
Her face bloomed scarlet. She covered it with both hands and curled back into a pill bug.
“Kuuuung…”
The bishop who would manage this cathedral starting today. The priest who would look after the Saintess. In her mind the two figures snapped together with an equal sign.
“Wh-what have I… auu… auu…”
What kind of spectacle had she shown the person she would have to live with from the very first meeting? How was she supposed to face him for an entire year? She truly wanted to die.
“I want to die… I want to die…”
While dark clouds gathered around the pill-bug Ariel, Lowen recalled the words the Archbishop had spoken before he left.
Manage the cathedral and begin anew as a priest.
“That was all…”
Not a single word about a Saintess. Least of all any instruction to look after one. Out of habit Lowen patted the outer pocket of his coat, searching for a cigarette. Whenever his thoughts grew tangled he always craved one.
“Ah, right. I decided to quit…”
There was no law forbidding a priest from smoking, yet the first goal he had set for himself in order to leave the past behind and start over had been quitting tobacco.
“Hm? What’s this?”
Instead of cigarettes, a paper envelope sat in the outer pocket.
“Ah…!”
It was the letter the Archbishop had given him just before he departed. He had completely forgotten. On the journey here he had only watched the scenery or slept, never once thinking to open it.
“Still… should I open it…?”
He could already guess what it said.
“I suppose I should.”
Lowen tore open the envelope and read the letter.
Dear Lowen,
I pray this finds you well as you take your first steps into a new life. Manage the cathedral with diligence and begin anew as a man of the cloth. I have every confidence in you, and I offer my full support for the path you have chosen.
May the Light God watch over your quiet days.
P.S. When you arrive at the cathedral, a small task will be waiting for you.
— The Archbishop
The Archbishop’s own hand. The elegant script formed words of encouragement addressed to Lowen. And at the very end, in tiny letters, was the note that a small task would be waiting upon his arrival.
Lowen looked at the curled-up Ariel.
“A small task, is it?”
Looking after a Saintess counted as a “small task”? He wanted to march straight back and demand an explanation from the Archbishop. He wanted to refuse. He wanted time alone. He wanted to savor solitude and the leisure of country life in peace.
Running away was impossible. He had received favors from the Archbishop and several high-ranking figures in the Papal Court—his new identity, the chance to hide quietly. If he fled now, those protections would vanish at once and his former comrades would come hunting. More than that, the thought of leaving the Saintess abandoned sat poorly with him.
It was his nature. Filthy, vicious swine he could coldly slit the throat of without a second thought; pure, innocent people he tried—however imperfectly—to protect with a human face. He was not trying to justify murder, yet he had always killed according to his own creed. Even when carrying out orders he had sorted the work by that creed. In his knight days he had not only handled dirty jobs; there had been escort missions for young ladies and rescues of villagers as well.
“A month, is it…”
Once a month someone from the Papal Court would come to check on the Saintess. He would ask that person to replace him with another priest. Until then, he would look after her properly.