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Hymns. Palms pressed together. The gentle sounds of prayer weaving and binding a crowd finally hushed. The murmurs of mothers to rowdy young children that have sat too long to try to be still any longer. Beautiful light shining through stained glass windows.
The world can be such a soft thing during sermons. Spawn is forgiving, Spawn deserves gratitude, Spawn asks that you give it your devotion, your love, your thoughts, your strength, your everything. Spawn asks, but it would never demand, because Spawn is merciful.
Spawn is merciful, but the elders’ eyes are not. The elders cast their gazes upon the older children. There is something in their gazes that the children have been taught to know and wield like some others might wield a blade.
Judgement is a fickle thing. Spawn would never place its judgement upon its creations, so the elders must judge for it. The elders have the eyes of snakes, of predators.
Elder Amarah watches all from where he stands above. He preaches that forgiveness must be earned, but that forgiveness will never be withheld once you have earned it. He preaches of a forgiveness that graces your ears with a closeness you cannot quite grasp, of a forgiveness that you must be grateful for.
Azure once wondered how often Elder Amarah sought forgiveness.
It was a thought he did not put much into. To think, even passingly, about the elders in such a way would sadden Spawn. It would scare Two Time if he were to ever mention such thoughts.
Azure often wonders what exactly they must do if they think so harmfully. Elder Amarah has always said that sinful thoughts precede sinful actions. What sin could come of curiosity?
His thoughts are not those easily reigned in. Elder Amarah speaks as if thoughts are something easily whipped into shaped, turned into something holy. But Azure has never known what to do with unbidden thought. Thoughts uninvited, unwanted, and the longer he spent reigning them, the stronger they became.
Elder Amarah glances right at Azure as he speaks from the pulpit, saying something about holiness that Azure has heard so many times they could repeat it nearly word for word. It is as if Elder Amarah can hear Azure’s thoughts, barely confined to their parts of their mind where they try to keep everything unholy and questioning.
He thinks something loudly, something sinful and full of profanity. A test if maybe Elder Amarah can hear his thoughts.
The Elder looks away with something that Azure could almost imagine to be disdain. An uncomfortable twist in their gut tells them that they are in danger, that they have sinned somewhere that the highest elder can hear. That perhaps Elder Amarah can hear their thoughts and that even if the elder cannot, Spawn can.
Azure closes his eyes for a moment. A prayer of sorts. He asks Spawn if maybe it heard him and to send him a sign if it did.
They open their eyes. Nothing happens. The sun still shines through the windows, mothers still murmur in the back of the auditorium, Elder Amarah teaches more about Spawn that Azure knows better than the back of their own hand.
He glances next to where he sits on the bench at Two Time. They are busy, as they tend to be while Elder Amarah speaks, with their small notebook. They take notes as if this could be their savior, like Spawn’s words are not already etched upon their heart and engraved on their soul.
It was, in fact, Two Time that first taught Azure the glory of Spawn. Their hands that gestured reverently as they gave a young, barely adolescent Azure a tour of the community. It was their smile that grew when Azure first spoke of a love of gardening, a love of flowers and all things beautiful that could be nurtured from one’s hands.
As far as Azure believed, Two Time was the holiest of anyone within this community. There was no greater blessing than the moments he stole alone with them, with their face in his hands, their warm, brown-as-a-perfect-autumn eyes that crinkled so softly at the edges when he made them laugh.
Spawn be damned, Azure would happily die and be reborn for Two Time.
Azure very quickly apologized. Their heart raced because that’s exactly the kind of thing that was definitely sinful to believe. They apologized just in case Elder Amarah could hear their thoughts. Or maybe in case Spawn itself could.
Elder Amarah was getting louder now, though, in the way he did when he was about to finish speaking. He was about to invite any who wished for redemption to speak with an elder. Confession was the first step to forgiveness.
Azure had never asked for forgiveness like that. Some odd part of his soul called confession performative. Said that to walk up was to claim yourself holier than the rest because you have shed the fruit of shame that is born of commission.
Or maybe that belief was nothing less than a shield. Deeper, Azure knew they feared confession. They could better themself on their own. Prayers and hands upon their shoulders and words whispered above their head felt like a damnation, not freedom.
Two Time sat up straighter next to him, their pencil gripped tightly in their hands. Were they alright? Did they struggle like Azure did? Would they admit to weakness, to struggle if Azure asked?
Azure certainly would not. Two Time had asked before and all Azure could meet their questions with was dismissal.
Guilt curled warmer in Azure’s gut. They should be a better partner. Distrust of someone so holy, so pure had to be a sin of its own in some way.
Elder Amarah had finished speaking. The congregation began to leave and Azure’s shoulders relaxed somewhat. Soon, he could return to his garden and sink his hands in the dirt and find some way to rid himself of this guilt, these unbidden thoughts.
Two Time did not often speak unless spoken to first. Azure was often the one to watch as they packed up their notebook, their pencil, pulled their skirt in a more comfortable position for movement after sitting so still for so long.
Azure stretched as they performed this little ritual. His neck and his arms always felt stiff when he didn’t use them. It almost felt as if he was some statue using his limbs for the first time after being freed from the stone or marble that encased him.
“What did you think of the sermon?” Azure kept their voice soft. It felt wrong to speak casually, normally in a place that had just been filled with the wisdom of Spawn.
It felt wrong to speak at all to Two Time in a place where they might be seen. It felt as if every action, every word, may hold too much fondness and someone might see…. Everything.
The way they held hands when the sun set, the warmth of the greenhouse when he pressed his lips their forehead. The way the stars shone brighter when Two Time whispered so delicate and so brittle and so perfect that they loved him.
The way the nightshade bloomed with ever so much more beauty when Azure whispered back that they had loved Two Time since the day they met.
Two Time didn’t speak immediately. Their skirt was clenched in their fists like their pencil had been.
Their voice was soft. It trembled, maybe under the same weight Azure felt on his shoulders. Like there were eyes boring into the pair of them and every word spoken could send them to a pyre.
"Elder Amarah has blessed our hearts and minds with wisdom. I am thankful the Spawn speaks through him in such a way that we can be found and made anew."
Sometimes Azure felt like this place might bury them alive. All of the words latched in their throat and tugged down into an amalgam of a pit in their stomach. They wanted to ask Two Time what they meant by their words. If they felt that same repetition, the sin-ridden exasperation that weighed down Azure's heart like stones.
He said nothing to these feelings. What he and Two Time carried between them was too fragile to hold questions. Secrecy and stolen moments were not meant for the poison in Azure's veins. Why should he damn Two Time, poison them in the way his own mind could not escape?
No, they would much rather keep their questions and worries and sin to themself.
Instead of putting voice to his sin, Azure smiled and tipped his hat like Elder Amarah taught him was modest. Respectful.
"Elder Amarah speaks to the soul as no other can, sibling Two Time." What they would do to take their love's hand right now. "Would you accompany to the gardens? The radishes have been mourning my absence."
Two Time giggled. Their cheeks darkened a little, their eyes crinkled at the corners. They glanced around the room, ensuring no eyes truly burned into their back. And in a very quiet, near inaudible voice...
"I would mourn your absence, too. Liken me to a radish."