Confession

I gasped a bit as I reached the park; running wasn’t something that generally wore me out so much, but on a stomach full of sweets and carrying a bag of spicy peppers, I found myself tiring faster than usual. The sun was down and the sky past twilight; the streetlamps were the sole source of light for me on the dim, empty streets. Perhaps that was why the park caught my eye. It signified my journey was half over and suggested that I could take it slower from here. The sole light in the center illuminated the flower bed and reminded me of the previous night when Yui, Hope, and I had met The Abbot. Maybe because of those memories running through my mind, I didn’t notice. I felt no sense of danger as the dim shadow skulked in the darkness behind me. The glow of the streetlamps obscured my vision, and my first indication of danger was the hoarse voice behind me.

“Back so soon?” it growled. I turned, but the slash was already on its way. I felt a sharp pain as the blade slashed through my arm. Knocking me to the ground and making me drop the bag. Panic filled my body as I felt cold liquid gushing from my arm. I looked down and saw blood leaking through my sleeve, so dark it looked black.

“What? Am I being attacked? Have I been slashed? I have to-,” is all I can think when a massive hand clamps down a meter in front of me. Its clawed fingers are instantly familiar to me. It’s the same clawed hand that’d reached for me earlier, the same one that the cross had burned. “The cross!” I think, reaching for my chest. “I have to get that out again; it’ll protect me from-” I guess, but my heart sinks. My neck is bare, and I remember in horror where the cross is. I’d given it to Chō earlier; despite Khanethael’s warning, I’d given it away. “Khanethael! I need Khanethael; surely he can fight this shadow off.”

“Khanethael!” I scream and wait for a flash of light as he appears. But nothing comes, no shift in the wind, nothing but the scraping of the shadow's claws against the concrete of the pathway.

“Khanethael, eh?” the shadow says, surprised. “I haven’t heard that name in a long time, but I'm not sure how a human would know it, though.” Another hand slams right in front of me, and I feel a point like a knife pull my chin up.

“Tell me, human girl, how do you know that name? Don’t lie; don't want your ‘lord’ to abandon you for breaking his laws.” My lips are trembling so much that I doubt my ability to speak even if I wanted to. I feel the shadow's gaze grow angry as I feel more pain shoot through my slashed arm.

“AHHHH,” I cry, looking to see a shadow finger poking right where he’d already cut.

“So that mouth does work. You’d better put it to good use before I grow bored of playing with my food.”

“He-he’s my guardian angel,” I manage to spit out through gasps of pain. As soon as I say so, the shadow leans back, pulling his finger from my arm and resting on his legs.

“HAHAHAHAHA!” he laughs, slamming his fists on the concrete beside me. I raise both arms above my head to prevent the rubber from hitting me, but I only find my arms in even more pain as blood continues to gush from my wounds.

“You expect me to believe he’s your guardian? The second to the armies of heaven, made a lowly babysitter? Oh, what screwup of a guardian could you have that would resort to telling you such lies?” His laughter and joking continued for some time, leaving me in shock.

“Where is Khanethael? He has a short fuse, so there’s no doubt he’d want to put a stop to this shadow’s jokes. So where-”

“Ohh, that was a good laugh; I needed that,” the shadow says, interrupting my thoughts. “I was going to bring you to Shino to make up for the one I lost earlier, but if your guardian is really so pathetic as to impersonate such a force, then I need not fear his arrival. But as thanks for the laugh, I'll make your death quick and relatively painless,” he says. I hear the sliding of metal on metal as he rubs his hands together.

“What! No, I do-” I try to say, but he pushes me over and forces me onto my back with his massive hand. I want to struggle, but I feel the shark-like sides of the blades forcing me down. It’s not hard enough to cut me, but I know that if I struggle, I’ll be cut limb from limb. He brings his headless torso close to my face as if to gloat one more time.

“Now, girly, it's time to die.”

“NOOOOO!” I scream as he brings down his claws, ready to strike straight through my head. I clench my eyes tight like it’s all a bad dream. I can just count to three, and it’ll all be over. But it’s not a dream, and I can’t wake up. All I can do is wait for the feeling of pain to shoot through me. Instead, I’m greeted by a different sound. *CLANG* the sound of metal on metal rings through the air. I open my eyes and see another, much smaller, shadowy figure standing over me, stretching out a stick of some kind and parrying the giant shadow claw. With a mighty jerk, he forces the shadowy hand back and then slashes at the arm, pinning me down.

“AHHHHHH!” the shadow screams, falling onto his back. I still feel the weight on me, but there isn’t any force behind it anymore. As I try to wiggle out, I feel the weight lift off me, and I see the outline of a huge clawed hand being lifted by the smaller shadowy figure before being tossed to the side.

“Stay put,” the smaller shadow orders in a familiar voice, but I can’t place where I’ve heard it before. He lunged at the giant shadow, swinging the stick with as much ferocity as he does grace, effortlessly weaving around the giant shadow's legs and arms like a trained ballerina. With each leap and bound, he slashes with what must be a sword due to the metallic sounds it makes.

“Ahh, what are you?!” the giant shadow bellows, but the only reply he gets is continuous slashes on his body. “Ahh, die, Die! DIE!” the larger one shouts a little louder every time he’s struck. While his body is relatively safe from its high vantage point well above the smaller shadow, his limbs are mercilessly slashed. Each time he’d pull one up to try and counter-strike or raise it from danger, it’d be unceremoniously slashed as soon as it was lowered. I watched their fight as if it were a dance, wholly entranced. I was struck from my daze by a sharp sting on my arm. I looked down and saw the blood still leaking out steadily between my fingertips.

“Ah, it hurts, gotta stop the bleeding!” I thought about scrambling for my first aid kit. I grabbed the tourniquet and pulled off the plastic casing. I quickly applied it, wrenching down till I could barely feel my fingers, but the blood kept flowing just as quickly. “What’s going on? Is it not tight enough? I’ve gotta twist it further,” I think, grasping the windless as tightly as I can. I push and pull and barely manage to turn it once more, but the blood doesn't even slow down. “One more time,” I think, putting all my strength into tightening it further. By now, the pain from the band is worse than the pain from the injury itself. I feel my muscles bruising and my bones bending, but I grit my teeth and push. I push and push, and push, and push, until *SNAP*. The pain begins in my hand as the windless splits in two, the hard plastic piercing the palm of my hand and forcing me to pull back. I look down and see the red begin to trickle down my hand. “Wait, red?” I think I am catching myself. I look back at my arm and see the thick black blood oozing from the slash marks. “But it’s in the same light. Why would one be red and the other be black?” I wonder.

“It’s not blood!” the smaller shadow calls, shocking me back to the battle before me. Though he didn’t face me, he’d called if he knew exactly what I did.

“How’d he know what I was doing without looking? Is that another angel? Speaking of Angels, where was Khanethael? ” I peered around but saw no sign of him anywhere. “Where could he be? He couldn’t have gone too far, right? Maybe-”

“Stop worrying so much and give me a moment,” The smaller shadow called again. After hearing his voice again, I knew I’d heard it at least once before, but where? As I continue watching, the smaller shadow appears to darken in color, as if the light is fading from it. His strikes have more power, and the giant shadow seems to scream louder with each strike. Eventually, the smaller shadow cuts off the larger’s remaining arm. The arm falls to the ground with a thud and begins fading away. Now unarmed, the giant shadow stampers back, but that just allows the smaller one to advance in opposition and slash both legs. “AAAAAHHHHH!!!!” he cries, falling to the group with a thud. Still screaming, he waves around stumps in a desperate attempt to flee.

“You can no better run from God than you can run from me in your current state,” the smaller shadow says, climbing onto his chest.

“I SHALL MAKE YOU SUFFER! YOU SHALL KNOW THE GREATEST TORMENTS MEN ARE CAPABLE OF, AND THEN NEW ONES SHALL BE MADE FO-” He’s cut off when the smaller figure places his sword in his mouth.

“When you do, come for The Blade Hidden in the Cross’ Shadow.” The causal tone seems to shock the shadow, and he can only watch as the smaller shadow takes his sword in both hands and prays. “Lord, use my sword to cleanse this blight upon your creation. May you pay him the wages his deeds deserve in full and cast him into the darkness prepared for him.” With that, he brings the blade down with his full force, cutting the giant shadow in two. The cut is so clean and fast that the giant shadow doesn't even scream, just the faint release of breath as his body begins to disintegrate.

The small shadow returns his blade to its sheath at his side and then turns to me. In a fluid motion, he places his hands together at his chest, one atop the other, and then stretches them out into a circle. As he rotates his arms, the shadows retreat around his hands and feet into his palms, and they return to his center. His body is now revealed, and I can finally recognize him as The Abbot from last night. His dark clothing covers him from head to toe, showing less skin than I do. Even his eyes are covered by a visor, leaving no spot of skin to be seen. Even without seeing him directly, I can feel his anger in the air around him. He stomps towards me; the concrete blocks seem to crack with each footstep.

“Uhh.. I.. “ I begin to stammer, but he stops just before me.

“Where is your guardian?” He asks in a voice on the brink of screaming.

“What? I do-”

“Of course, you don’t know,” he says, equally angry and disappointed. “Call for him.”

“I-I don't know how.”

“Of course you don’t,” he says in a voice full of contempt. “He never tells you the most basic things,” he whispers under his breath so I can barely hear it. “Guardian, come forth and make yourself known.” His voice carries a measured temper, like a dam just barely keeping a flood back. A moment later, Khanethael appears in a bright flash of light, hovering further from me than ever before. His aura is different, though, as if he’s holding some powerful items. “Where is he?” The Abbot questions, looking up.

“He’s right-”

“I wasn’t asking you,” he snaps, pointing a finger at me. He raises it to his lips and says, “I’ll let you know when to speak; for now, shhh.” His voice carries command; for a moment, I’m more afraid of him than Khanethael. The Abbot reacts in a delayed manner after Khanethael appears. “You have five seconds to explain,” is all he says in a hushed tone.

“She neglected my counsel, acted on sin, and suffered the consequences,” his tone was just as sardonic as always. “I have no need to explain myself.” A moment later, the Abbot breathed deeply and nodded, turning away from me and taking a few steps.

“That was a deplorable use of those five seconds,” he says softly before turning back and taking a deep breath. “I GAVE YOU A DIRECT ORDER!” he yells, taking Khanethael and me by surprise. “NO combat until I say. That’s ALL you had to do: keep her AWAY from danger. I THOUGHT I could trust the SECOND of the armies of heaven with that, and yet where do I find her? Pinned by a demon and oozing sin, not even 24 HOURS later!” His shouts are like thunder, making me want to dive under my bedcovers and hide. Khanethael seems shocked and appalled at his words, then angry.

“I did all within my power as a guardian to persuade her away from danger. It is now clear to me why I was chosen to watch over this girl. Should a lesser angel have been appointed, surely she would have perished long ago. Her survival thus far is nothing short of a miracle.” Again, The Abbot pauses as if on a delay before speaking.

“If that is the case, then either Michael has no ability to choose subordinates, or heaven's armies shall be routed at the sound of hell's horns. Which is it?”

“Do NOT take that tone with me, boy,” Khanethael spits, his glow shifting and jostling violently. “How dare you speak to me in that regard?”

“Oh, I indeed dare,” The Abbot says, placing his hand on his sword. “And I shall dare further to maintain order within my ranks.” Khanethael’s form stops shaking and is eerily still.

“If you are implying what I think you are-”

“Point to him exactly,” The Abbot says, not waiting for Khanethael to respond. Less than a second later, his sword is drawn and pointed at Khanethael. The double-edged blade is nearly hidden in the dark; it doesn't even reflect the light of Khanethael as its edge sits on Khanethael’s right. “I care not what your standing in heaven is,” The Abbot says, pointing his finger down at me. “So long as you are her guardian and I am her Abbot, you shall heed my words.” The pair stares each other down for a moment, or at least they try. Khanethael looks down at the Abbot with murder in his eyes, but the Abbot looks upwards at a different angel. It’s as if he’d intended to point the blade at his left instead of his right.

“I guess he really can’t see Khanethael, can he?” After what feels like an eternity, Khanethael finally breaks the silence.

“I live to serve the Lord who created me. I serve to work his will alone. At this time, his will be that I watch over this 'daughter’ of his, so I shall do your will so far as it aligns with the Almighty's.”

“Good,” The Abbot says, breaking his gaze and sheathing his sword. “You are dismissed for now. I shall see to her injuries, physical and spiritual.” With his words, Khanethael fades from my vision, leaving me and The Abbot alone in the park. He turns to me and kneels down to my level. I close my eyes as he approaches.

“Just apologize and accept blame, and it’ll be over soon; he can’t be worse than Mom,” I think in anticipation of the scornful rebuke.

“Are you alright?” He asks, his tone and demeanor so gentle I wonder if he’s the same person who’d been yelling at Khanethael a moment ago.

“Uhhh,” I say, not entirely sure myself after all that’s happened.

“Let’s get this off first,” he says, grasping my tourniquet. He unstraps the Velcro, and I feel a wave of relief as the blood flows back into my arm.

“That wasn’t blood oozing out; it was sin,” The Abbot explains, helping me to my feet and walking me to a bench under the streetlight. In the light, I can see the liquid that was gushing from me still leaking out. I can also see that my clothes aren’t the least bit damaged, and the blood wasn’t dark red, but actually black. “And this is a concerning amount to come out from a cut of this size; it’s no wonder Khanethael kept his distance.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, confused.

“Sin is dangerous to heavenly angels,” he explained. “It has similar effects as carbon monoxide or radioactive do to us, so they avoid it at all costs.”

“But why is it leaking out of me? He cut me with those claws or whatever he had. Wouldn’t that make me bleed?” I ask.

“No,” he says, taking my arm and looking over it. “He was on the other side of the ethereal veil, in the Ethereal parallel. Thus, his claws were spiritual weapons, not physical. And, the wounds are also spiritual, along with the means to heal them,” he says, pulling out a small flask with liquid sloshing inside it. “Roll up your sleeve, please,” he requests, releasing my arm. I pull it back close to my chest in shock.

“Why was he asking me to strip? Could this be what my crazed mother was always on about? Was he trying to attack me now? I saved you. Now pay me back with your body.”

“My intentions aren’t anything indecent,” he says reassuringly. “Your father has taught you the importance of getting a visual look at wounds, yes? It’s the same with spiritual wounds.” He holds his hand out again and waits for me to roll my sleeve up. Papa had taught me the importance of visual inspection; it was something he’d often demonstrate when teaching me. But to actually do it in front of a stranger, in a park, no less, was... I reached for my sleeve and grasped it; I began pulling it down to my wrist before rolling it back up.

“I’m sorry,” I say, pulling my arm close to my chest and looking down. “I’ve no reason to doubt you, but… I just can’t do it.” I wait for some kind of rapprochement, some anger at my defiance, but it doesn't come.

“It’s fine,” is all he says, and places the small flask in my hand. “That’s holy water; use it in conjunction with a prayer, and it’ll fix you right up. Let me show you,” he says, removing one of his gloves, revealing long, slender fingers that were no doubt much stronger than they looked. He pulls his sword halfway out of its sheath and places his exposed hand on the blade. “Make known the sins of your creation,” he prays, causing the sword to glow faintly white. In a swift motion, he slashes his palm on the blade.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“A demonstration is in order, no?” he says, holding out his now cut palm. A thin trickle of black ooze seeps from the cut and falls to the ground in front of us. He takes out another vile and continues instructing. “Simply wash the wound with the holy water,” he says, pouring the flask on his hand. “Then make a prayer. Lord, heal my spirit as you do the body, and restore me to equal membership in your kingdom above, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen.” He makes the sign of the cross, and his hand glows dimly yellow, and when the light fades, his hand is completely healed; no sign of the wound is left, not even a scar. “The exact words of the prayer don’t matter so much; the Lord knows what is on your heart,” he says, returning his glove to his hand. “Simply bring your worries to him, and all shall be made well.” I look at him in astonishment.

“Are you serious? You just performed a miracle, and you're acting like it isn’t amazing. Your hand was cut; I saw it, and now…” I reach out to grasp his hand, hoping to inspect it in detail, but he pulls it away just as quickly as I grab at it.

“Please don’t touch me,” he says, taking out a bottle of hand sanitizer from his pocket and coating his hand.

“Sorry,” I say, bowing my head.

“It’s fine, you didn’t know,” he says, sliding his glove back on, covering the small amount of skin he’d been showing and returning to looking like a silhouette.

“Back to the topic at hand, what you saw from me was a normal amount,” he says, his tone turning more concerned and severe. “For it to gush out of you the way it did is… Concerning.” He takes a deep breath before placing a gloved hand on mine, and I jolt at his touch. His hand is firm but gentle, making me feel at ease. “GoK- no Yukki,” he says, taking off his visor, revealing two piercing eyes so dark they look black in the limited light. “What’s wrong?” His words are full of such concern, such compassion that I’m overwhelmed. I lean over and start crying, an ugly, snotty cry that makes me choke on flem. Through the tears and sobs, I tell him what’s happened about the errand, about Chō and Hana, about my fight with Khanethael, the coin, parfait, everything that’s happened that afternoon. The Abbot remains quiet throughout, only speaking to add the occasional “I see” or ask a clarifying question.

“That’s certainly a lot,” he says once I finish my story. By now, my eyes have run dry, and my sleeve is covered in more snot than I thought possible, but he doesn't comment on it.

“I just… it feels like I’m lost,” I say. “I didn’t think I was capable of doing all that, and yet I did.”

“Well, there’s good news and bad news about that,” The Abbot says, his tone becoming more serious. “The good news is that the debacle with the demon was in no way your fault.” My ears perked up at his words. I had expected some kind of rebuttal and discipline, so hearing it wasn’t my fault was surprising.

“What?” Is all I can manage to say.

“Well, you said you saw the demon even when your guardian was urging you to leave the park?”

“Yeah, he went so far as to push me. For a moment, I was afraid he would tug on my hair like Hope’s angel did.”

“Well, that would seem a little unbecoming of him. Though it does strike me as odd,” he says, raising his finger to his chin. “At that point, he would’ve been doing everything within his power to prevent you from seeing the demon, and yet you did… And you said your cross produced fire instead of ice, right?”

“Yeah… Is that a bad thing? Am I possessed? Is that why it’s not my fault?” I asked, gripping the front of my collar. “Was that cross actually keeping a demon locked away inside me, and now that it’s gone, I’m gonna go on a rampage and-”

“You watch too much anime,” he says, shaking his head. “If it were something as serious as that, I’d have noticed it by now.”

“So there isn’t a demon in me ?”

“No, I can say that with confidence.” I exhaled a sigh of relief and released my collar. “The fault for tonight actually lies with me,” he says, lowering his head a bit.

“But how could it be your fault?”

“Last night, when I splashed Holy Water on your face to wake you up, some of it must’ve gotten into your eyes and cleared away too much of your shader.”

“My shader?”

“Yes, those scales-like things Iron Cross removed from your eyes on the night we met,” he explains, lifting his head up to look me in the eyes. “They prevent most people from seeing demons and spirits in the same manner we do. We make sure to leave a decent amount at first, though, to help you acclimate to the spirits around you better and avoid unnecessary or unwinnable battles. If your angel was unable to remove him from your sight fully, that’s the only explanation I can think of.”

“But that doesn't mean it’s your fault; what if I just have a weaker angel like the demon said?” His eyes go wide as saucers at my words, and his arms reach out and then return to him as if he just barely stopped himself from grabbing me at the shoulders.

“You spoke to it? As in an actual conversation?”

“Uhh… yes…”

“Never do that,” he says, staring deep into my eyes. “Never honestly speak with the enemy. They can and will say anything and everything if it will drag you down to their level. NEVER speak to them. Got it?”

“But he said-”

“Lies!” He declared, packing as much intensity in his voice as when he was shouting at Khanethael. “All lies. Don’t believe a word it says; never believe them.”

“O-okay,” I squeaked out.

“Good,” he says, relaxing his posture and calming his tone. “Now for the bad news. While the encounter with the demon may not have been your fault, the damage to your relationship with your guardian most certainly is.” His words hit me like a freight train. I hadn’t been expecting a rainbow and sunshine, but this seemed a bit harsh.

“By any metric, you’ve gravely sinned today. Broken nearly half of the ten commandments, failed to uphold half of the seven heavenly virtues, whatever metric you’d like to use, today is still a failure.” I look down in shame; I want to disappear, hide from his eyes, no doubt filled with disgust. “But,” he says, lifting my chin. I look up and see his eyes are actually full of concern, not judgment. “God still chose you to be a Maiden for a reason. I may not know it, you may not know it, even your guardian may not know it now, but you’ll see the reason one day; I’ll make sure of it.” His hand is warm and gentle on my chin, and I almost wish he’d move it to my cheek to stroke, but he doesn't. Instead, he pulls it away and reaches for a small pack on his side, drawing a white cloth with gold outlines and crosses.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“This is a stole,” he explained, draping it over his neck. “I know you're Protestant and may be unfamiliar with it, but in most Christian traditions, what we just did would be called a confession of some kind, so if you’d like, we can end it properly.”

“What do you mean by the proper way?”

“Well, at least in my tradition, I place this over your head and make the prayer of absolution.” I look at him, confused. I had no idea what he was talking about. “Like I said, you don’t have to. I know Methodists only believe in two sacra-”

“I’ll do it,” I say, more shocked than him at my interruption.

“Where did that come from? Why did I interrupt him?” I think, but quickly dash the thoughts from my mind as he holds up the stole.

“So, as I said, to finish the sacrament of confession and the act of contrition, I place the stole over your head.” I lean down and allow him to place it on me. It’s a heavier fabric than I initially thought, and the weight causes me to strain a bit. “And now I pray the prayer of absolution,” he says, placing a hand on my head.

“May our Lord God and Savior Jesus Christ, with the grace, mercies, and love he has for all peoples, forgive your sins and failings. You are forgiven, and you are absolved of all faults.” He raises his hand from my head and taps me as if making the sign of the cross. “In the name of The Father, and of The Son, and of The Holy Spirit, Amen.” He pauses for a moment, keeping his gentle hand on my head. I can't look up, but somehow, I know he’s silently praying for me before speaking again. “Go in peace, Yukki,” he says, pulling the cloth from my head. “Do your best to sin no more. Please, pray for me, a sinner, Amen.” As I lift my head to look at him, I feel a rush of relief flood my mind. It’s as if the cloth he’d pulled was not just the stole off me but the weight of a mountain. I feel unnaturally light, as if I could leap off the bench and fly. I try to open my eyes and speak, but my eyes are again filled with tears, and my lips are trembling again. But not with fear or sadness this time. Try as I might to thank him. It takes me nearly a minute to control my lips enough to speak.

“Thank you,” is all I can manage, eyes still wet with tears. “I don't know what you did, but-'' I say, reaching out to him, hoping to grab his hand or arm to thank him, but all I can grasp is a plastic bag full of hot peppers and chili powder. I look around, but he’s vanished without a trace, not even leaving a smoke plume like last night. After wiping my tears away, I stand up and look around, trying to catch a glimpse of him somewhere. “Thank you,” is all I can think as I give up the fruitless search and head back home. Papa’s back, and Mother was irate that it’d taken me so long to get the peppers, but when I told them about the old lady, he kept her from scolding me too severely. I don't tell them about the shadow or The Abbot.

After dinner, I take my bath. While folding my clothes, I felt something odd in my pocket. I pulled out the small vial of holy water that the Abbot had given me and decided to bring it in. My arm had continued leaking all this time, though it was much more like a leaky faucet than a flowing river since The Abbot pulled the stole off of me. It still pooled and flowed with the shower water, creating a dark black line from my arm to the drain that never seemed to disperse, no matter how much water I flushed it with. While washing my hair, I take out the vial and pour the water on my arm. It feels like normal water, and I flinch a little at how cold it is compared to the bath. With it still dripping on me, I close my eyes and pray.

“God… I-” I begin, but the words don't come.

“What did the Abbot say again? His seemed to flow so naturally that it had to be a set prayer. There's no way he came up with that on the spot. Though he did say, the words didn’t matter so much as the intent.”

“I’m sorry,” I eventually landed on. “I was a poor excuse for a Christian today, breaking your laws and disrespecting the angel you appointed to look over me… I’m not sure why you chose me, but I don’t want to let you down. Please just help me to become whatever it is you want me to; in your name, I pray, Amen.” I open my eyes and then immediately close them. Bright, piercing yellow light radiates from my arm and assaults my eyes. When I’m finally able to open them, my arm is completely healed. Not even a scar is left from the massive gashes I’d had. I look down, and even the black line to the drain has completely disappeared.

“This is amazing!” I say, standing in excitement. I try to leap a little too quickly, though, and end up slipping on the floor. I’m about to hit the floor when I feel a pair of hands catch me.

“What, who?” I think, turning back, half afraid to see The Abbot, but instead, it’s Khanethael, still appearing as a ball of light, but now he seems a bit distinct in his shape.

“Khanethael, you’re back!” I cry, overjoyed.

“I never left,” he retorts, his tone snarky but not scornful. I nearly draw him into a hug before remembering I’m in the bath.

“Get out!” I yell, covering myself with my hands.

“If I didn’t leave before, why would I leave now?” he asks, handing me a towel.

“But I couldn’t see you?” I say, wrapping myself in the towel.

“Is the sun not present when behind a cloud?” he says callously but without scorn. “And why bother covering yourself? I’ve already told you that mere clothes will not block my sight. Besides, I have seen your naked body a thousand times before, anyway.”

“WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, PERVERT!” I say, throwing a shampoo bottle at him, my cheeks growing red from embarrassment.

“I said I have been watching over you since your birth,” he says as the shampoo bottle flies right through him and into the wall. “Why would the bath and while you sleep be excluded from that?” He asks as I continue throwing things at him until Mothery yells at me to knock it off.