maria posa chapter 2 continuation
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Back in the nunnery, the heavy wooden door shut behind them with an unnatural thud. It echoed through the stone halls like a warning.
Lucia retreated to her chambers, but the sulfur still lingered in her senses. Her rosary beads were hot to the touch. She didn’t sleep that night.
***
At dawn, Lucia was found staring out the chapel’s narrow window. Maria’s voice called her name from the hall.
“She’s been awake,” Ruth said, leading the child forward. “Another dream.”
“Tell me.”
Maria walked to the small altar and ran her fingers over the candle wax. “There was a tree... the one outside. Beneath it, bones. A woman crying. The man... the man from the square… he stood there, whispering, *My daughter.*”
Lucia said nothing. The room had gone cold.
“She needs to be baptized,” Uriel said firmly, appearing in the doorway. “This isn’t normal.”
“She’s past that point,” Lucia snapped, louder than intended.
Uriel stepped in. “You think this is just a child with dreams? She’s a vessel, Lucia. You saw what happened to Antonio.”
“She’s still a child.”
“She is *his* child.”
Silence.
Lucia turned, voice lower now. “And who do we tell? The bishop? The Vatican? Do you think they’ll spare her? Or bury her like they did her mother?”
Uriel stiffened. “Then you admit Mary was—”
“She was young. Naive. In love. And touched by something beyond understanding.”
Uriel stepped closer. “Then we’re fools to keep the girl here. She’ll bring ruin.”
“Or redemption,” Lucia whispered.
***
Later that day, Ruth found Maria asleep beneath the peach tree.
She was muttering in her sleep, hands clenched in the dirt. Ruth knelt, brushing hairless strands from her face.
“She called me ‘Mama’ again,” Ruth whispered. “Even though I’m not.”
The wind stirred. The branches above them trembled.
From the soil near the roots, a single bloom had sprouted. Black petals. Blood-red center.
Ruth picked it and hid it in her sleeve.
Inside the nunnery, Lucia drafted a letter to the bishop.
_"There are whispers of devils, of children born in darkness. I no longer know if we are protecting Maria… or the world from her. But something is coming. And I fear, this time, we will not be spared."_
She sealed the letter with wax. But even as it cooled, she knew deep down—it was already too late.
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:
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*Chapter 2: Witness Exsquisition (Continued)*
The letter arrived just two days after Lucia had written the bishop. Its seal was still damp when Uriel found it on the altar, tucked beneath the sacred chalice. She broke it open with trembling hands and read aloud:
*"By the will of His Holiness, and upon deep reflection with the Holy Office, we have granted approval for the baptism of the girl called Maria Posa. Let the sacrament take place under divine observance at the Cathedral of Saint Lazarus, four days hence. His Holiness the Pope shall attend in person, for this soul is one of great concern."*
Uriel's breath caught. She folded the letter and turned, meeting Lucia’s stare across the room. The older nun's jaw was tight, rosary clenched so hard her knuckles turned pale.
“You went behind my back,” Lucia said, voice low and sharp.
“She deserves cleansing, Lucia. You said so yourself—”
“I said we protect her! Not throw her to the lions!”
“The bishop outranks us both.”
Lucia turned away, eyes burning. “So be it.”
***
The day of the baptism came with heavy clouds. Rain whispered over the stone courtyards as the nuns prepared for the journey. Ruth dressed Maria gently in a white lace gown, while the child stared blankly at the wall.
“I had another dream,” she said.
Ruth paused. “What did you see?”
“Fire… and a mirror. But my reflection had wings. Not like angels. Like knives.”
Ruth bit her lip. “You’ll be fine, little one. It’s just a baptism. You’ll be safe.”
***
The grand Cathedral of Saint Lazarus was unlike anything Maria had ever seen. Its ceilings scraped the heavens, its halls laced with gold and incense. Priests flanked either side of the main chamber. At the front stood the bishop, his robes crimson and lined with gold. Beside him, dressed in immaculate white, was the Pope himself.
Lucia kept her hand on Maria’s shoulder. Gabriella stood behind them, visibly shaken, while Uriel walked with stiff pride.
Maria approached the baptismal font. It was carved from obsidian, and the holy water within shimmered with reflected candlelight.
The bishop began the ritual prayers. Latin echoed off the marble.
Maria was lifted and lowered toward the water—
—and then it began.
The surface of the water began to ripple. Slowly at first, then violently. Steam hissed upward. Bubbles rose. Then, suddenly, the water began to *boil*.
Gasps echoed through the cathedral.
The holy water turned *black*.
One of the altar boys screamed. All the metal crucifixes lining the cathedral *melted* like wax, dripping onto the marble below with hissing sound.
Then came the *smell*—burnt sulfur.
Lucia screamed, pushing Maria behind her. But it was too late.
The Pope turned sharply, his eyes falling on a small boy—*Ed*, a boy no older than Maria, the personal assistant to Reverend Antonio before his death.
The boy froze mid-step. His body locked. Then his head snapped to the side with an audible crack.
His eyes turned *pitch black*, and from within the pupils, a *second pair of eyeballs* rose, giving the grotesque illusion of double vision in a single socket.
A smile spread on his face—too wide, too knowing.
He opened his mouth, but no words came for several seconds.
Then a *deep, ancient voice* spoke—not from the boy's throat, but from something *within* him.
*"There is no God here. There is only Us."*
Gasps and shrieks filled the room. Priests fled. The bishop fell to his knees.
: Suddenly, Ed's body convulsed. He screamed, and a shadow *left* his body with a blast of force that knocked everyone to the ground.
The shadow surged toward the *Pope*.
His eyes rolled back. His mouth opened. Then his spine arched unnaturally as the entity *entered* him.
He rose—calmly.
When he opened his eyes again, they were no longer kind.
They were full of *flame*.
He turned to the crowd.
“The false kingdom ends today.”
***
- Writer
