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“Wait here. I’ll be back in a moment.”
Shaddiq’s figure disappears as he turns down the corner, silky strands of blonde whisking away at the corridors.
Guel’s left observing inside the room by the door. Sunlight floods in, with only his shadow blocking the center. Shaddiq’s quarters, hidden behind the glamour of the cathedral's stained-glass, stands humble and silent. The air inside is still, not of a sacred kind, but a plain and dusty kind. He could hardly believe such a simple room belongs to a viceful man like him. For someone trying to appear saintly, Shaddiq indulges in too many sins.
(Except lust. Every deadly seven, except that one. Guel stops himself from letting out a long sigh of disappointment relief.)
Other than a narrow bed that could barely fit a single person, there's a small table with two wooden chairs. One chair must be for invitation, for visitors like Guel. The stone walls are cool, radiating a comfortable coldness on the cusp of autumn. It’s so bare here that it's anticlimactic.
Rays of sunset land on the Bible sitting on the table, which Guel steps towards. Psalms? Oh, it's Matthew. It's been too long since he picked one up. In his rough hands, it’s surprisingly heavy; he can’t believe he’s been toting this around at Catholic school. The leather cover is worn, but Guel doesn't feel the worship and care shining from all the other Bibles he sees in lace-covered cabinets. This one is more in line with the stuff stashed away in hotel drawers, unloved.
Sinful, sinful, the old women of the altars would tut if they ever see this. Yet he still prefers Shaddiq over the holy and free.
Guel absentmindedly flips a thin page to see what verse he'll catch. “Man shall not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.” or “Do not put the Lord your God to the test.” Those were his father's favorites.
Just before his mind runs down all of 4:1-11, he's greeted with desperate burnings of black.
The pages are blackened with scribbles of charcoal, rubbing off on Guel's finger that traces where “All this I will give you” used to be. The verses he knows from memorization but not from heart are covered under a thick layer of dark grey. Coldness seeps into his bones as he flips the next page and the next, only to find vast plains of stained black.
There's no words of the good and pious to protect him. He stopped praying long ago, but the child inside him screams out for a God.
"Guel."
Guel shakily snaps the book shut. Shaddiq’s shadow hangs over him, engulfing his own shadow like a matryoshka doll.
"Would you like some black tea or earl grey?"
Guel doesn't dare turn back. "... Earl grey. Earl grey sounds nice."
Shaddiq’s grin widens. "So it is." Then, Shaddiq’s shadow shifts into—
"Don't run off somewhere before I serve."
He doesn't even have to close the door to let Guel know he's trapped.