Work Text:
When I first revealed to my girlfriend that God bestowed a special favor upon me, she didn't believe it, just as she couldn't believe she had become my girlfriend. In such situations, I knew changing the topic would suffice, but I was drunk then, and the alcohol made me uncharacteristically concerned about my dignity. I was determined to make her believe me. So, I began to tell her about the Empire’s Supreme Benevolent Brilliant Unparalleled Clergy Academy. Yes, to prove that this wretched school with its long and cumbersome name is truly my alma mater, I recited its entire unwieldy name. It was the first time since graduation that I had spoken about my alma mater to an unrelated person.
I described how we, dressed in shabby uniforms and identical short haircuts, would walk from the dormitory to the classroom building, passing by the nationally famous Holy Fountain. The statue of Saint Angraea there, if you had visited on an open day, you'd know, wasn't the young beautiful woman commonly seen on the streets but an old lady. At that point, I suddenly thought that it was during my school days; maybe the statue had been replaced by now. At my graduation ceremony, when I blew up the tallest spire of the unlucky school's tower, the falling sparks hit Angraea's head, shattering her wrinkled face to pieces.
Oh, so I accidentally let slip something I shouldn't have. She asked why. I said, why else, because my supreme, venerable alma mater and I couldn't stand each other. But unlike my evasion towards her, the school was very generous and merciful, willing to mention me to every new student - I learned this from an alumna who graduated after me. My respectable alma mater had printed my name in the new student handbook, placed below those excellent graduates who contributed to the happiness and harmony of all beings on Earth, sternly warning freshmen not to end up like me in their studies of Divine Magic.
She raised her delicate eyebrows slightly, parting her tempting lips, and said she was truly surprised; she always thought only the most devout could grasp the essence of Divine Magic. I laughed heartily and took a big swig of wine. I said no, Divine Magic, like Natural Magic, Dark Magic, Necromancy, Secret Arts, and other modern magical schools, is just a theory of constructing and using magic. Mastering its essence doesn’t lie in piety - making that extraordinary god hear your prayer depends on your praying technique, not your attitude. But if you ask me for the trick, I can’t explain it clearly. Indeed, as the temple claims, it’s tough to impart this technique. It was only in my last year at the Clergy Academy that I finally received a response from the god for the first time.
Her green eyes indeed showed concern and curiosity, gazing at me for a long time, making me feel more intoxicated, thinking it was me who fascinated her so much, not my Divine Magic. She asked: So, are you a clergy who can bless?
I said no, clergy wouldn’t step into this neighborhood, enter here to drink, and meet you, right? Before she felt disappointed, I added proudly - but I can indeed bless, as I said from the beginning, God bestowed a special favor upon me, and my prayers can be heard by It.
I knew she would start appealing to me for a blessing. I wouldn’t bless her, but I wouldn’t tell her I wouldn't, because I wanted her to admit she was my girlfriend.
… Then I blacked out.
When I woke up the next day, I found myself sleeping in a guest room on the second floor of an inn. The innkeeper told me that the lady I drank with last night had personally helped me in - oh oh oh! Personally! Not only did she help me to bed, but she also locked the door when she left, so considerate! The pretty dancer, not only pretty in appearance but also pretty in heart, took my money pouch while I was drunk but paid for my room, letting me spend the night with dignity.
She didn’t do anything to me because I woke up to find my clothes intact, even my chest wrap wasn’t removed, binding my chest painfully along with my head. What a pity. Even if something had happened I wouldn’t remember it, I still wished something had happened.
Walking on the street, penniless and light-hearted, with an empty stomach. An empty stomach worsens my mood. Thinking of that woman who knew to book a room for me but didn’t leave breakfast money, I felt she must be either malicious or stupid, deserving a lesson from me.
I stopped.
My alma mater, the supreme authority in the clergy world, had taught us a specific posture: kneel, look up, raise your arms, and make a holding gesture with both hands. Moreover, it should be done during the day, in a bright place, wearing ceremonial attire, with new clothes, and after cleansing oneself with pure water. After my first successful prayer, I realized all these rules were unnecessary.
“God, please respond to my prayer,” I murmured in the bustling, noisy street flowing with foul water, “that hateful woman who stole my money pouch, I curse her - for this week, every time she dances, she will fall.”
“I am willing to pay the price You ask.”
I opened my eyes and quickly covered my nose. After searching my pockets for a long time without finding a handkerchief, I had no choice but to tear a piece of cloth from my shirt sleeve. By then, the nosebleed had already dripped onto my front.
The stories of the saints say that Angraea, seeing the black fire unextinguished after the Great Catastrophe, with crops not growing and all living beings on Earth facing destruction, raised her head and hands, praying to the supreme and great god, pleading for Its supreme and great power to change the misfortune we mortals couldn’t change. God responded to her; the black fire vanished from the mortal world, the land sprouted new buds, the cycle of life resumed, and the whole world revived from the brutal devastation of the Great Catastrophe.
The price was - the supplicant lost her youth and vitality. After her prayer was answered, she became a weak old woman, dying within a year from the ailments of old age.
So, I never bless others. From a magical perspective, curses and blessings in Divine Magic are completely the same: both are prayers to God, asking It to exert its influence on the world. If so, why should I bless? When I curse, I pay the price and enjoy the benefits myself; when I bless, I still pay the price, but unless I bless myself, the benefits go entirely to others.
I blocked my bleeding nose and walked to the address my client and I had agreed upon. My profession is not clergy but a mage; my main business is not blessings but curses.
My client this time was a viscount, ranking neither high nor low in my clientele. While devouring the viscount's refreshments, I listened to his tale of hatred with his wife: the viscount fell in love with a courtesan, deeply and truly, willing to marry her. At first, I thought he wanted me to help him get rid of his original wife to welcome the new love, but then I found out, no! The viscount had married the courtesan, making her the viscountess. For his love-blinded folly, the viscount gave many unnecessary explanations, saying how this courtesan was originally a noble marquis's daughter, fallen due to her father's death in a war a decade ago, forcing her into becoming a courtesan. Perhaps my casual grunts while wolfing down the refreshments made him think I didn’t believe him, so he started a lengthy description of the courtesan's noble demeanor and elegant taste, asking me to believe his and other admirers' discerning eyes, that this courtesan was different from those courtesan pretending to be of noble birth, she was a authentic fallen noble lady.
So what was he dissatisfied with to the point of cursing her? The viscount finally continued:
She abandoned him and ran away with a higher-ranking noble.
Boring.
The viscount wanted me to curse his runaway wife. He still loved her, unwilling to kill her; he also feared offending the noble, not wanting her to meet any accident that might implicate him. He wanted a cunning, covert revenge - he wanted the viscountess to give birth only to stillborns. Note, not be unable to conceive, but give birth to stillborns.
I asked if it had to be stillborns, could it be a lump of indeterminate flesh instead? The viscount pondered solemnly for a moment, then nodded slightly, saying yes.
The deal was settled. The viscount disclosed that his wife was already pregnant, due to give birth in a month. For some reason, he couldn’t reveal who the viscountess ran away with or who that noble was. Anyway, he hoped to hear satisfactory news in a month and would pay the balance then.
Hah, I detested clients like this, who don’t trust my abilities, hiding things to test if I am genuinely skilled. Let’s see how tight my finances are in a month; if I have money, I might forget about this viscount.
I believe that any businessman who disregards the spirit of contracts as I do would quickly find his business in ruins. However, to be precise, I'm not conducting business in the traditional sense. This again brings up the invaluable professional knowledge imparted to me by my great alma mater — how to make people keep coming back to you for help even if you haven't fulfilled your promises.
In the eyes of the public, a clergy is someone whose prayers are heard by the gods. Not everyone's prayers reach the divine; only those who are exceptionally devout and outstanding, those who have received special favor from the gods, have their wishes heard. These individuals are the noble and revered clergy! What the public doesn't know is that not all clergy have received divine favor, just as not all miracles are achieved through Divine Magic. The temple has a complex and rigorous theory about why they deceive believers and why we must be trained strictly in the art of deception, but having neglected my studies for so long, I can no longer recite this theory verbatim as I can the full name of my esteemed alma mater. In short, the truth is this: the temple is a fraud syndicate, and the clergy are skilled con artists. When I realized this, I decided not to become a clergy after graduation. Syndicate scams are not easy to pull off; they require coordination with others, following protocols for every word and action. When legitimate clergy use Divine Magic, they must file reports and requests; unauthorized use leads to confinement in the penitence room for daily whiplash and reflection. So, why not operate independently? Now, my life is much more comfortable. I can cheat when I want, and curse when I want, whether it's for business or personal vendettas. I act on my whims, without needing to file reports or requests.
Moreover, if I were a clergy, I would never have met my girlfriend.
I saw my girlfriend again on the sixth day after I cursed her. By then, to be honest, I had already forgotten about her. But upon seeing her again, I was genuinely struck by the feeling that she was indeed my girlfriend. She was more beautiful than the sunset, her radiant eyes lighting up the dim alley. My heart fluttered as I gazed into those gem-like eyes, and what thrilled me even more was seeing her run towards me.
"Is it you?!"
Beautiful people are enchanting even when they are angry. I touched her hand clutching my collar but didn't immediately "remove" it, just to feel her soft hand. I was thinking about how to make her my girlfriend when she said through gritted teeth:
"Every time I dance these days, I fall — every single time! Did you do this?!"
I finally remembered. It was her. The price I paid for cursing her was still ongoing — my nose was stuffed with cloth to stop the bleeding.
"Here's your money pouch!" She shoved it into my hand fiercely. "Lift your damn curse right now!"
What was I going to say?
Oh, right, my alma mater taught me how to deceive.
That evening, my girlfriend and I dined at a restaurant using my money because she hadn't earned a single copper coin all week due to her constant falls. I was more than happy to treat my girlfriend to dinner. I even offered to cut the roast meat and pour the sauce for her. She looked both skeptical and uneasy.
"Is this really true?" she asked, "You have to fall in love with me to lift the curse?"
"It's the only way," I nodded without a hint of shame. "Don't worry, darling, I'm already about to fall in love with you!"
After dinner, we went for drinks together. I love drinking because the place where I grew up prohibited alcohol.
She asked if there were still places in the empire where alcohol was banned since even clergy secretly drank. I explained that clergy could drink because they were already clergy and had some leeway to break the rules. But the orphanage run by the temple was different. There was no alcohol and not even sugar. Ah, I knew this topic would interest her. I liked to tell my girlfriends exaggerated stories about my miserable childhood in the temple orphanage, portraying myself as a pitiful girl who suffered abuse and injustice. They would always look at me with sympathy, sometimes even with tears in their eyes. Then I would transform that sympathy into tenderness, and then into passionate intimacy... Anyway, she showed a sympathetic expression upon hearing that we had to bathe in cold water outdoors during winter, and our frostbite never healed. She genuinely sympathized. She told me that she grew up on a farm where the strict squire owner punished them by making them stand soaked in water in the freezing outdoors. She had been punished like this a few times and could never forget the pain of the icy wind and snow cutting through her body. She always thought that children raised by the temple wouldn't suffer such torments!
As she spoke, her beautiful eyes filled with tears. She told me she endured that torture only occasionally, while I had to endure it every day, calling me strong. I had been a swindler for years and had never encountered such a moved reaction, so I awkwardly took several sips of wine to cover my discomfort.
She asked if I had friends who died from the abuse. I vaguely replied that I did, and I was deeply saddened by their passing. She said she also had friends who died and understood the feeling, expressing sorrow for me.
I gazed at her, unable to tell the truth — back then, I was a fool, indifferent to the deaths around me. I believed they had joined the divine side, basking in eternal peace and bliss under the god's light. When they died, I was happy for them; when I survived, I was happy for myself. I saw it as passing the god's test — I mastered the warming spell the fastest in such freezing conditions. At that time, I was devout, attributing all good things in my life to the god, even though the god had never acknowledged me. I believed it was the god's love that made me learn so quickly.
Well, those were trivial old stories. What mattered was the present. That night, my girlfriend and I stayed in a room at an inn again. She became my girlfriend.
By coincidence, I discovered the next morning that my nosebleed had stopped. The curse had run its course.
I told her she could dance again.
She raised her eyebrows and smiled at me, then climbed out from under the blanket covering us both, not bothering to pick up her clothes. The morning light fell on her chest as she raised her arms and began to dance.
She danced beautifully, like petals spinning in the wind, like birds flapping their wings. Her supple body moved like a ribbon in a gentle breeze, her long legs gracefully supporting every pose. Her slender fingers pinched an imaginary skirt, her white toes lightly tapping the floor as she spun like a falling leaf. She spun closer to me, her imaginary skirt brushing past my mesmerized gaze, and I extended my knee from the bed. Finally, she sat on my lap, her back against my chest, and hooked her arm around my neck. I kissed her as she leaned back.
She truly believed that she didn't fall because I had fallen in love with her. I had become her girlfriend. My deception was indeed skillful. Had I not blown up my dear alma mater and become a fugitive, I would have been a distinguished clergy by now.
In the following days, my girlfriend and I indulged in various pleasures. The more time I spent with her, the more I realized that she truly was the most beautiful, adorable, and lovable woman I had ever met. I felt fortunate to have cursed her then; otherwise, I wouldn't have become her girlfriend so easily! However, this lifestyle was draining my wallet, and I could see my money running out. One night, as my girlfriend cuddled up, she said she had something important to tell me. She hadn't shared it earlier because she feared I'd leave her if I knew. I reassured her that my love for her was genuine and urged her to speak freely.
She then revealed that she had been married and her husband was still alive. I laughed, saying that was no big deal; I'd been with many married women. Just as I was about to share a story about my affair with a king's mistress, she continued, saying her husband was a terrible man who had forcibly married her because of her beauty. After the marriage, he subjected her to disgusting practices, making her sleep with other men. She wanted to leave him, but he wouldn't let her go, and he was still tracking her down. She had property, but she had to flee and become a dancer because of him. I promised to protect her, but she started crying softly. She explained that her husband was a noble, an earl, and it would be difficult for me to protect her from him. She assured me she didn't blame me; she knew I was just a small-time swindler and couldn't stand up to a noble. She told me this now so that I would be prepared if her husband's men came after us, urging me to run away when that time came.
So, that's how it was. I decided to curse her husband, making him forget about her.
Using Divine Magic was no simple task. Although clerics often created the illusion that it was straightforward—just pray, talk to the gods, and the job was done—it came with a price, as I mentioned earlier. There were also limitations; I needed to know who the person was, ideally having met them in person and knowing them well.
I disguised my girlfriend and brought her to the earl's domain. Then, in a dramatic twist, I saw a familiar face—the viscount who had once asked me to curse his wife's illegitimate child to death. And my girlfriend pointed to this very viscount, saying, "That's him."
Ah, clients often hide their true identities, using false names, which isn't uncommon. But I never expected this...
"So, you were once a destitute noble lady? The daughter of a marquess?"
She froze, lowering her hand with a complex expression.
Let me recount the story properly. My girlfriend was a courtesan who had captivated the earl, leading him to marry her. After their marriage, he was happy to have her continue her courtesan lifestyle, but she was not. Consequently, he used some means to force her, prompting her to flee. The earl, misled by some of her tricks, believed she had sought refuge with a prince and didn't dare demand her return. Later, hearing rumors of the prince's mistress being pregnant, he assumed it was her and secretly hired me to curse her.
"But he truly has been tracking my whereabouts," she said, "or I wouldn't have ended up as a dancer."
"Were you really a Marquess's daughter?"
She hesitated, knowing that answering "yes" would mean she had fabricated the farm story to deceive me, while "no" would mean she had fabricated the marquess's daughter's story to deceive the earl. Either way—ah, this woman!
"Hiring me to curse costs money," I said, "and hiring me to lift the curse costs even more."
She gave me a sorrowful look, gazing at me intently.
"Do you not love me anymore?" she asked.
"You don't love me," I replied. "If this is just a business transaction, I'm happy to discuss it. But let me be clear: I don't negotiate on price."
She then admitted she was a farmer's illegitimate daughter, not a marquess's. She claimed her love for me was genuine, and she hadn't intended to deceive me.
"But you did deceive me," I said. "How will you make it up to me? How will you prove your love?"
Yes, I enjoyed watching my girlfriends go to great lengths to compensate me and prove their love. They became even more alluring, more delectable, and more tender.
Of course, I wouldn't blame her for deceiving me; she was too beautiful. Whatever she did, I would forgive. Besides, she was my girlfriend now, and I never blamed my girlfriends. Especially beautiful ones—they could do no wrong! If they didn't share my unwavering belief in their innocence, it was not my fault.
We spent another week in the earl's domain, filled with tension and excitement—mainly because my girlfriend was overly tense, which I found exciting. Then, sensing she might leave if I kept her waiting, I said, "I forgive you. I'll solve your problem."
No, I hadn't really forgiven her; I was still quite angry. She thought I would look down on her for being a courtesan. She equated me with those kinds of men.
But my hesitation during the price-paying wasn't out of anger.
She asked if I had failed. I said no. She asked what was wrong, and I said I wanted to tell her a story.
She looked puzzled but nodded, ready to listen.
Do you know why I bombed the school at my graduation? You didn't know, of course. I had never told anyone, and my alma mater wouldn't broadcast such an event. It was because of a senior's death. Oh, there's another story there. Let me keep it brief. When I was in the fourth grade, he got a classmate of mine pregnant. When it was discovered, she disappeared, but he remained. I asked my senior why, and she told me because my classmate had broken the rules, she was fallen, lowly, and impure, undeserving of God's favor, and had to be severely punished, forever unworthy of stepping into the temple again.
Yes, I agreed with every word. But it is not for my question. My question is: why did she disappear while he remained?
Alright, I didn't get a satisfactory answer then. Let’s fast forward three years. In seventh grade, I prayed and received a response from God for the first time. I blessed our Pope's health, and the price was losing a fingernail with excruciating pain lasting a week. OK, that's another story. Now you know there's a price to pay. The greater the impact you want to have on the world, the heavier the price. Hence, clerics avoid using Divine Magic as much as possible. The higher their rank, the less likely they are to be assigned such tasks. But there are always instances where it's unavoidable. Even after deceiving countless people and fulfilling numerous wishes through other means, we still encounter situations where we must ask god for help.
So, back to the question: Why did my fourth-grade classmate disappear while he remained? Because he had mastered Divine Magic, his prayers were heard by God, using divine power to affect the world.
He died. It was an unauthorized blessing. We must file reports and applications for blessings. There was no report or application submitted. A cardinal ordered his student to bless a newborn illegitimate child of a prince. The baby was supposed to die, but her father wanted her to live. Even though she couldn't inherit any property or family name, he wanted her to live.
No one was punished. Just one person died. Why? I asked my teacher, who was also a cardinal. She told me she wouldn't ask me to make such a senseless sacrifice.
No, that's not what I asked.
But my teacher was unlike the senior who could only recite scripture back then. She gave me a satisfactory answer. She said: Did that clergy and I have any personal relationship? Have I always had a fascination with him? None of that? If none of it, why be so angry about his death? Why don't I care about my own business?
She was so damn right! I savored my mentor's words over and over again and came to a great realization. Does the peace and happiness of this world have anything to do with me? Why don't I care about my own peace and happiness —
My girlfriend interrupted, asking if the cost of cursing for her was too high for me to bear. She apologized, saying she hadn't known I had to pay a price. If it was too much, she didn't—
"No, of course not. Do you know who you're talking to? The semi-excellent graduate of the Empire’s Supreme Benevolent Brilliant Unparalleled Clergy Academy. If I hadn't bombed the school at graduation, I'd undoubtedly be an excellent graduate now."
We have no price too high to pay. Although we try to avoid it by setting up layers of barriers, we don't—well, I don’t. I can pay any price. Ever since I was a child, they believed I had the qualities of an excellent clergy. Neither the cold winds nor the blazing fires, neither the whips nor hunger, ever broke me. When I first offered that fingernail to god, along with the intense pain, I felt not a shred of fear or regret—only joy and pride. My dear girlfriend, the one I love most, rest assured, I love you, and I’m willing to curse others for your sake. Even if I didn’t love you, I would still enjoy cursing someone.
So what am I delaying for? No, I’m not delaying. I’m savoring my anger one last time before paying the price. I will take away that man’s memories of his wife, and god will take away the burning anger I felt when I decided to blow up my alma mater’s spire.
She gazed at me and then said she understood. If it were her, she too wouldn’t want to let go of her anger.
No, it’s not that I don’t want to let go.
She embraced me.
Anger is being controlled; it’s not freedom, she said. Being despised, being deceived, being manipulated to sacrifice. Yes, she had been a courtesan, she said, but she wasn’t willing to sell herself for him—she understood my feelings! Being forced to sell oneself, even if it’s to become a countess, isn’t freedom. Selling oneself by choice, even if it’s just as a dancer, is freedom. In that place, though respected and with a bright future, she wasn’t free; it was humiliating. She understood.
I rested my head on her shoulder and held her tight. I thought I really had fallen in love with her.
Soon, I freed her from her husband’s shadow. From then on, we lived a peaceful and happy life... Wait a minute.
Did I ever mention that I’m a wanted criminal? Well, maybe I should emphasize that—I am a wanted criminal. But that should be obvious. I blew up the Empire’s Supreme Benevolent Brilliant Unparalleled Clergy Academy. I’ve been cursing people left and right with Divine Magic without submitting any applications or reports to the temple. How could I not be a wanted criminal? The only reason I haven’t been caught and executed is that the temple hasn’t made a serious effort to capture me. And the reason for that is because I have a powerful backer—the king’s mistress. I’m confident she hasn’t fallen from grace, and I haven’t done anything to make her turn against me.
So, who are the people who have been tracking us all this time?
It couldn’t be that they’re after my girlfriend, right? Her husband has already forgotten about her, hasn’t he?
Finally, the ones who appeared before us were assassins, and their target wasn’t me—it was my girlfriend.
As we fled for our lives, I asked her what was going on. She said she didn’t know and had always thought they were sent by her husband. I couldn’t be sure if she were lying to me again. But no matter—I can handle this. After all, if I had truly become a clergy instead of wandering around cursing people, I would have dealt with troubles using these very methods—relying on blades, magic, and my own strength, rather than the power of the god. To be honest, I kind of enjoy beating people up with my own hands. And yes, killing too.
But they were truly relentless. I killed one group, and another came. No matter how cleverly we escaped, they always managed to catch up. The assassins became increasingly skilled, and I gradually found it harder to deal with them. The last time was a narrow victory. I was drenched in blood—both mine and my enemies’. I felt like not just my shirt but even my breast bindings were soaked through with blood. I left one of them alive and asked him why.
And so, I heard a new story about my girlfriend: In the war that ended more than a decade ago, we defeated a neighboring country. The royal family of that nation had rare elven blood, and under certain circumstances, they could awaken a bloodline inheritance that held the quintessence of magic capable of influencing the Empire’s destiny. Fortunately, even the fall of their country didn’t trigger the awakening of their powers, and our king personally slaughtered them, one by one, like dogs.
But it turns out, one was missed. The youngest princess escaped.
After years of searching, we’ve finally discovered traces of this princess—traitors and remnants of the enemy nation hid her on a farm where she grew up with the farmer’s children. But her noble bearing couldn’t be hidden by such a lowly upbringing, and eventually, they found her. Now, the Empire intends to finish what it started. Don’t think you can escape; the Empire won’t—
I snapped his neck.
“I’m not…” my girlfriend murmured.
“They won’t care whether you are or not,” I said. “You look like her, so you have to die. But are you really her?”
“She died,” she said. “At thirteen, she could no longer bear the pain and humiliation of life. She slit her own throat with a scythe.”
So, no awakening.
My girlfriend looked utterly desperate. She murmured about how we could escape the Empire’s relentless pursuit. She looked at me, covered in blood, and the fear on her beautiful face deepened with a new realization—there was no “we.” I didn’t have to worry.
Ah, it’s all because I bragged earlier that the king’s mistress was my backer and that I was well acquainted with the king himself. She thought I might kill her to collect a reward in the capital.
She closed her eyes and lifted her pale neck.
“Do it,” she said. “Make it quick. And… could you let me die with some elegance? Even though I have no noble blood, I want to die with some grace…”
She still didn’t see me as her girlfriend.
I burst into laughter. If I weren’t covered in blood, I would have pulled my pale-faced girlfriend into a tight embrace.
I told my girlfriend: You can escape. I’ll help you escape—don’t forget who I am.
I didn’t leave the temple out of anger over being deceived, or because I saw through the truth of the temple exploiting apprentices and low-ranking clergy, sending us off to sacrifice first, feeling unfree and humiliated. I was an orphan raised by the temple. I was taught from a young age that my parents had offered me to god, and that I must tread the thorny path pioneered by our forebears. The Greater Good! They repeated that phrase over and over.
Our cause, supreme and benevolent, brilliant and unparalleled! Everything we do is for the Greater Good! Everything is for absolute good and absolute justice, and absolute sacrifice in exchange for absolute peace and happiness!
What angered me was the answer they gave me: No.
Not for the Greater Good, not for supreme benevolence, not for justice. Sacrifice is often absurd. What did my blessings bring? No absolute good, but absolute emptiness, absolute absurdity.
So I vowed, from the moment I discovered the truth, that I shall curse, that I shall only curse.
But at this moment, looking at her, I felt I had forgotten that state of mind from back then, and remembered why I once longed to bless others, even if it meant paying a price like Angraea’s.
Because I love.
I have god’s special favor, so I won’t be powerless, left to kneel and weep. I can change everything, as long as I’m willing to pay the price. And I am, of course, willing—because I love her.
The sunlight on my blood-splattered face felt warm. I understood why the standard prayer posture requires raising one’s hands. It feels good to stretch out like this.
God, please hear my prayer. Please let the one I love escape her pursuers, escape the shadows of her past, escape the control of everyone who seeks to dominate her—freedom, yes, freedom! Please grant her freedom! Not the freedom that falls into poverty, not the freedom that endures humiliation for survival, but liberty with dignity. Let her enjoy the kind of freedom I’ve enjoyed!
Yes, I’m willing to pay the price you asked.
I want to give her freedom, so I must lose mine. God has a keen sense of humor and enjoys such equivalent exchanges. I knelt on the ground, and then, my arms lost strength. She rushed over and held me. Soon, I could no longer feel her touch, hear her voice, or see her face. My mind lost its freedom, becoming a prisoner in this shell of a body.
I don’t know if I’m truly her girlfriend now, and perhaps I’ll never know. But that doesn’t matter anymore.
I love her, I bless her, god answered my prayer, and I am content.
(The End)