chapter 3 continuation
573 Words
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Lucia’s hands trembled as she signed the release document, her quill hovering over the parchment like it held the weight of a soul. Uriel stood beside her, silent but seething. The moment they left the tribunal, the whispers began—priests murmuring about *containment*, *cleansing*, even *holy experimentation*.
Ruth paced in the hallway, her knuckles raw from where she'd struck the stone wall in anger. "They’re not taking her like she’s a relic,” she spat. “She’s a child. We raised her. We *love* her.”
“We don’t have a choice,” Gabriella muttered, though the bitterness in her tone betrayed her own conflict. “The Pope declared it. It’s not up for debate.”
Lucia’s voice was firm, her eyes misting. “Then we’ll make it one.”
That night, they snuck into the sanctum under the guise of delivering Maria her nightly meal. She was sitting on her cot, legs curled beneath her, face pale, eyes distant.
“Pack what you can,” Lucia whispered. “We don’t have long.”
Maria blinked. “Are we running?”
“No,” Ruth said gently. “We’re going home.”: Uriel stood guard by the door, listening for steps, heart pounding. “They’ll call it treason,” she warned. “Excommunication, maybe even imprisonment.”
Lucia looked down at the girl in her arms and whispered, “Then we’ll burn for her. But we will not let them cage her light.”
The bells of Saint Peter's rang low in the distance.
The escape had begun.
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Ruth took a deep breath and stepped into the corridor. Just ahead, a Vatican guard leaned lazily against the marble column, fingers tapping his rosary. His gaze met hers.
“Evening, Sister,” he said, arching a brow.
“Evening, Father,” she replied sweetly, walking toward him with slow, deliberate grace. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, she reached up, grabbed his collar—and kissed him, deep and sudden.
The man stiffened, stunned, but before he could react, she pulled away with a breathless laugh and whispered, “Forgive me.”
By the time he blinked twice, Ruth was already gone, disappearing into the side passage.
Lucia and Gabriella hurried Maria down the dim hall behind her. The child clutched Gabriella’s hand tightly, eyes wide with silent fear.
Just as they passed a slightly open wooden door, Lucia slowed. Voices floated out—low, mocking tones.
“You saw what she did to the Pope. That little monster isn’t divine. She’s a key,” one voice said.
“She’s the bloodline. Born of demon and nun. Only her blood can awaken Lord Setheron,” another replied with chilling excitement.
Lucia froze.
“The Church has grown weak—too merciful. The exorcists will take our rightful place once he rises again. Order must be restored through fear.”
A chuckle. “First we make the people fear her. Then we become their salvation.”
Lucia’s stomach twisted.
Gabriella tugged her sleeve. “Lucia—what is it?”
Lucia didn’t answer. Her heart pounded. The Church wasn’t just afraid of Maria—they *wanted* her. For power. For control. For something far darker.
She grabbed Maria’s hand, whispering fiercely, “We must get her out of here. Now.”
Behind them, the chapel bells tolled midnight.
A war had begun—and Maria was the battlefield.
- Writer
