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When they reach Mondstadt, the streets are empty, and the lights are off. The Church thrusts its looming shadow across the city. Rosaria tugs Barbara away from the front entrance. They go to the cellar door that Rosaria unlocks with a skeleton key.
Barbara keeps her questions to herself, and they descend beneath the earth.
The cellar door clamps shut and locks.
Rosaria’s hand is cold in hers.
They don’t bother to light a torch because Rosaria said that light would slow them down.
“Your eyes will adjust,” she says. “Give it time.”
They begin moving. Barbara breathes out silver mist.
The darkness is overwhelming. It seeps into the edge of her vision. It licks past her skin and drills into her bone. Spiders creep over her arms and burrow beneath her leggings. Eyeless faces swivel towards her; their skin peels apart, and all Barbara sees is—
“Look at me.” A hand touches her chin and tilts it up.
Rosaria’s eyes are the colour of steel.
“Are you afraid of the dark?”
Barbara grips the hand holding her chin.
“I see. We’re close, now.”
“Why could we not go through the front door?”
“Amelia and Margaret were on watch. They’re huge gossips.” A hand brushes against the wooden beads nestled around Barbara’s neck. “Would you have preferred to listen to their incessant needling?”
“You shouldn’t say such things. They’re hard workers,” Barbara says but shakes her head anyway.
“Gossip costs lives.”
“Do you think that gossip is a sin?”
“I think that gossip spreads faster than wildfire and farther than a plague. Envy fuels gossip. Anger, greed, gluttony, pride… even lust. That’s six of the seven deadly sins.”
“What about sloth?”
“Slothful individuals lack the drive to open their mouths, much less push meaningful words from their throat. Whether I think gossip is a sin is irrelevant; what matters is the rippling effect that words can have.”
Barbara stops before a smudge in the dark. “What do you think happens when people die?”
“Do you really care to know what I think? Or are you afraid of the silence?”
“Why do hilichurl bodies decay quicker than human ones? Weren’t they human, once, too?”
“Not all humans act like humans.”
Barbara loops a section of her rosary beads around her thumb. Rosaria pauses before a tattered banner.
“Watch your head.”
Rosaria ducks under, and Barbara follows her. The faintest light trickles in from the dilapidated wooden covering. The ladder groans under their weight. Rosaria pops the covering open, then scrambles up. She extends a hand to Barbara, who takes it.
They were far from the empty pews, the gilded floor, the pristine marble pedestals. Barbara bumps into a shelf. Rosaria steadies her and scoops up a tumbling spade.
“Your room is on the west side. Can you make it there on your own?”
“What should I say if one of the Sisters catch me?”
“Tell them the truth: that you were out picking berries to make into a poultice, but you lost track of time.”
“I don’t think they’ll believe me.”
“Make them believe you.”
Barbara touches the wooden rosary around her neck. “I don’t think they will.”
“Are you still afraid of the dark?”
Barbara turns away to stare down the lonely corridor. Thunder crashes just as a streak of lightning flings their shadows against the wall. Rosaria spares her a quick glance before striding down the hall. Barbara swallows and rushes to catch her. Rosaria reaches the door first. She jams the skeleton key in the lock and turns it.
Barbara’s room is still and tidy. There is a half-burned candle lamp near her bedside. She dives for the matches. A hissing scratch births a flickering flame. She cradles the fledgling fire close to her chest then touches it to a candlewick. They stand in silence while the fire chews on the charred wax stem. Barbara’s fingers go to the beads around her neck.
Rosaria sits on the edge of Barbara’s bed. “Nobody is born afraid of darkness.”
“Maybe you were just a brave child.”
“Fear is taught. No child fears a dog before it strikes, just as no man distrusts a smiling face until he’s been swindled.” Rosaria drops her gaze to the rosary beads. “Why does man fear purgatory?”
“Because of the swiftness of divine punishment for living a life rooted in sin. Because of the promise of eternal suffering, endless torment.”
“Fear is taught. Man is not born knowledgeable of Celestia and Tartarus; such ideas are told to him. Promises of eternal suffering and endless torment reinforce a fear that would otherwise not exist.” Rosaria shifts to look at the twitching flame. “Hilichurl bodies decay quicker than human ones because humans cling to notions of endless life rather than embrace the finality of death.”
Barbara says nothing. She sits on her bed and pushes her forehead against Rosaria’s shoulder. A hand rests itself on the back of her neck and plays with the loose hairs.
Barbara takes a breath, then says, “You’ve walked amongst the shadows for all your life, so maybe I should ask if you’re afraid of the light.”
“Maybe you should.”
“Would you answer me honestly?”
“No answer I give would satisfy you.”
“Are you afraid of the light?”
Rosaria’s hand goes to the rosary chain wrapped around Barbara’s neck. The back of her fingers brush against Barbara’s jugular. Barbara lifts her head.
Rosaria smiles slightly, then says, “Fear is taught.”