Coloring (16)
Coloring (16)
I left the student council room and went back to the church.
The noise that had filled the corridor was gone.
Classes were in session, but I had no desire to return to the lecture hall, so I walked the empty corridor alone.
My footsteps echoed louder than they should have.
The church doors were closed.
I opened them quietly and stepped inside.
Estelle sat on the long bench in front of the altar.
Her back was to me. She was gazing up at the carved figure above the altar.
Her shoulders did not move.
She must have known I had come in, but she didn't turn around.
I stopped behind her.
A long moment passed.
Estelle slowly turned her head.
A small smile had settled on her face.
"I wanted to eat lunch together."
"Sorry."
"Levina called you. You don't have to apologize."
She bit into the apple she was holding.
The crisp crunch rang out clearly in the silent church.
She rolled the half-eaten apple idly in her hands.
"So. What did she say?"
"She told me to stay away from you."
The answer was brief.
The moment the words left my mouth, Estelle tossed the apple carelessly onto the bench and rose to her feet.
The apple rolled, wobbling to a stop at the bench's edge.
She stepped closer to me.
The smile was gone from her face.
Her red eyes fixed on mine without blinking.
Estelle gripped my shoulders and pushed me back against the long bench behind me.
My spine hit cold, hard wood.
I ended up half-lying beneath her.
Estelle climbed on top of me and pressed both hands down on my shoulders.
Her hair cascaded forward and tickled my cheek.
The scent of apples mingled with her own, brushing the tip of my nose.
Her face came within a breath of mine.
"So. Do you want to stay away?"
I could feel her breath.
I shook my head without speaking.
Keeping my distance from Estelle didn't strike me as a particularly pleasant prospect.
The faint smile spread across her face again once she confirmed my answer.
She leaned down slowly and pressed her lips gently against mine.
A soft, brief kiss.
The sweet fragrance of apple lingered.
"Don't leave me behind."
I stroked her back gently.
"You seem like you might vanish at any moment.
Ever since we first met."
"You know I won't."
She raised her head at my words.
Unease swam in her eyes.
"Promise me."
She held out her little finger.
A childish gesture, but she meant it entirely.
I crooked my own little finger around hers.
Our fingers intertwined.
It felt strangely intimate.
"There. Done."
She smiled, finally reassured.
"I can't see any overlaps anymore. I can only see you."
She unwound her arms from around me and got up with an easy, natural motion.
She spoke in a low voice.
"I'm going out tonight. Will you come with me?"
I nodded without a word.
After that, Estelle went up to her room and changed into her black priest's robes before coming back down.
We dealt with dinner simply in the church kitchen.
Hard bread, cheese, and a bottle of wine from the cabinet.
A meager meal, but it was a pleasant one.
After supper, we headed outside.
The night was deep and cold.
We walked the dark streets in silence.
The lamplight fell on the road in scattered pools.
Our shadows stretched long and shrank short, over and over.
Estelle hummed to herself from time to time.
A strange melody, nothing I had ever heard before.
She looked like she was enjoying herself.
Like a child off on a picnic.
We arrived at a wealthy residential district on the city's outskirts.
High walls lined the streets. Well-tended gardens lay beyond them.
Every house lay in deep slumber.
Only the distant barking of a dog reached us now and then.
We stopped in front of a particular mansion.
A massive iron gate barred our way.
The brass plate on the gate bore the name Clément.
Estelle laid her hand lightly on the handle.
When she applied pressure, I heard the faint groan of metal bending.
The gate swung open without a sound.
As though it had been waiting for us.
The garden was vast and dark.
Water trickled faintly from a fountain somewhere.
We stood before the front door.
"Tonight is the last one. Really."
Estelle said it as she opened the door, again with the same casual ease.
Warmth and comfort greeted us inside.
The embers in the fireplace still held a glow.
Red coals pulsed softly in the darkness.
A young boy lay asleep on the living room sofa, wrapped in a blanket.
Seven years old, maybe eight.
His breathing was even. He slept peacefully.
From the kitchen came a faint sound.
A woman was drying dishes. She froze when she saw us.
Her eyes widened with terror.
The plate slid from her hands and struck the floor.
Crash!
The sharp noise shattered the quiet.
The middle-aged man dozing in the armchair beside the sofa jolted awake with a start.
The book spread open on his lap tumbled to the floor.
Deep lines were carved into his face.
"Wh-who are you?"
His voice shook.
When he recognized us, his expression twisted into a mixture of shock and wariness.
Estelle smiled.
Her smile shone bright even in the dark.
"We were out on a nighttime stroll. May we rest here a moment?"
Her voice was kind.
Like a pilgrim who had lost her way.
The man stared at us blankly for a beat. Then he recognized Estelle's face, and horror seized him.
The blood drained from his cheeks.
"The Saintess? What brings you to such a humble..."
The middle-aged man scrambled to rise from his chair.
Whether from injury or frailty, his weakened body refused to cooperate.
He staggered and collapsed back into the seat.
Instead of answering, Estelle walked slowly toward the sleeping boy.
Her footsteps were quiet as a cat's.
She crouched in front of the sofa and studied the child's face.
Her fingers brushed softly over his smooth cheek.
The boy stirred in his sleep and smiled faintly.
"He's cute. Be fruitful and multiply, the scriptures say — with a son like this, I can almost see the appeal."
Estelle murmured.
Her hand drifted slowly toward the child's throat.
I leaned against the wall, arms folded behind me.
"Isn't he a little too young?"
Estelle stopped moving when she heard me.
She took her eyes off the child and looked back at me.
"Mm. You're right."
She agreed without resistance.
She tipped her head toward the woman in the kitchen, who stood trembling, pale as a ghost.
"Take the child upstairs. To the second floor.
No matter what you hear, do not leave the room."
The woman hesitated a moment, then scooped up the boy and fled up the stairs.
Her footsteps climbed in frantic rhythm.
The three of us were left alone in the living room.
The middle-aged man pushed himself up, crossed the room with shaking hands, and pulled a wine bottle and a glass from the cabinet.
He filled the glass to the brim with dark red wine and drained it in one go.
Wine dribbled down the corners of his mouth.
"It was you, then... who killed the Archbishop. And Priest Perion."
The man's voice was steeped in resignation.
He looked ready to accept death with a dull calm.
"Killed. I don't love the phrasing."
"Will God... dispatch me to heaven, then?"
Estelle walked toward him without haste.
"Of course. Whose power do you think this is?"
In his eyes, alongside the terror, there glimmered something strange — like relief.
Estelle seized him by the collar and threw a punch.
Thud!
A blunt impact. The man's head snapped sideways.
The sounds of bone breaking and flesh tearing rang through the room.
The metallic stench of blood filled the air.
By the time he was nearly gone, a bright light bloomed from Estelle's hand.
She struck him again.
"Preach charity, you said. With your own mouth."
Estelle's tone was flat, composed, empty of feeling.
The man reached a hand out, trying to form words, but only pinkish foam bubbled from his ruined lips.
"Could have lived a little more charitably yourself.
What do you think ran through my head every time I heard you drone through those tedious scriptures?
Someone who never spared a thought for a single dying commoner. Hm?"
Estelle closed her fist and began hammering down like a mallet.
The man's eyeball bulged out, rolled end over end, and came to a stop on the carpet.
It stared blankly at the ceiling.
My stomach lurched.
"I'm going outside for a smoke."
Estelle was breathing hard and ragged.
Her eyes glittered with excitement.
"A smoke? Oh, right. Light one for me too."
I fished the pack from my pocket.
I slipped a cigarette between Estelle's lips and put one in my own mouth.
Then I lit hers.
She inhaled deeply.
I stepped outside.
The cold night air was clean.
I pulled the smoke deep into my lungs and let it out slow.
The smoke scattered into the night sky.
I tilted my head back and looked up.
No stars tonight.
The front door opened a short while later.
A wave of blood-smell rushed out.
Estelle stood in the doorway.
She was painted red from head to foot. The black robes she had worn seemed almost pointless.
Her expression was unsettled.
"You aren't going to ask who he was?"
She spoke the question aloud.
Her voice was a little tired.
"I don't need to know."
"Mhm. Thought so."
Estelle walked over to me and plucked the cigarette from my fingers.
She took a long drag.
"This is better."
She exhaled the smoke.