Chapter 12 — “The Confession Room”

Faith rots where love kneels.

The old chapel stands at the edge of the cliffs behind Saint Elora. Its doors haven’t been opened for years, except by wind or ghosts. The sea breathes beyond the glass, the sound of waves blending with the whisper of candlelight.

It is close to midnight when Himari and Mizuki arrive, their uniforms half undone from running through the fog. The school buildings behind them are silent — a world asleep.

Himari pushes the heavy door open. Dust flutters through the air, and the faint scent of salt and old wood lingers like memory.

Inside, light trembles.

Mizuki closes the door quietly behind them, her breath visible in the chill. She looks smaller than usual, her black hair loose and damp from mist, her eyes reflecting the dim light of a hundred candles left from a forgotten mass.

> “Why here?” she whispers.

> “Because nobody else listens here,” Himari answers, smiling faintly.

She steps toward the altar, where the wood is worn smooth by generations of prayers. Her shadow stretches across the floor, long and unsteady.

Mizuki watches, uncertain. Her fingers twist together.

Himari reaches into her bag and pulls out a small knife — the same one she uses for carving linoleum in art class. Its blade catches the candlelight like a breath of silver.

Mizuki says nothing, only stares as if trying to understand what shape this night is taking.

> “Do you believe in God?” Himari asks softly.

> “No,” Mizuki replies. “I only believe in you.”

Something trembles inside Himari — a soundless crack. She takes Mizuki’s hand and leads her to kneel before the altar. The wood is cold beneath their knees.

Outside, waves crash softly, rhythmic as a heartbeat.

> “Do you love me?” Himari whispers.

Mizuki’s reply is immediate. “Always.”

> “Then promise it won’t end.”

> “It won’t.”

Her voice is almost too gentle to believe.

Himari looks down at their joined hands — one warm, one trembling — and then presses the blade against the wood of the altar. Slowly, she carves:

H + M.

The sound of the knife scraping is louder than the wind.

Her hand slips once. The blade bites her thumb. Blood wells, dark and perfect.

Mizuki gasps softly but doesn’t stop her. She only reaches forward, takes Himari’s hand, and kisses the wound — her lips pale against the red.

> “Now it’s sacred,” Mizuki murmurs.

The room feels smaller. The candles burn lower.

For a long moment, neither speaks. The silence between them is thick — the kind that feels alive.

Himari looks at the carved letters, at how crude they are, how uneven. It’s ugly, she thinks. But it’s theirs.

> “Do you think it’s a sin?” she asks quietly.

> “Only if we stop,” Mizuki replies.

Himari almost laughs. She presses her bleeding thumb against Mizuki’s wrist, marking her with a faint red smear.

> “Then we won’t stop.”

The way Mizuki looks at her — a mix of devotion and fear — makes something dark unfurl inside Himari’s chest.

The candles sputter. One collapses, spilling wax that runs like tears down the side of the altar, dripping onto the carved initials.

Mizuki watches it, eyes wide.

> “It’s crying,” she whispers.

> “No,” Himari says. “It’s watching.”

Her voice sounds foreign, lower than she meant it to be.

They sit on the wooden floor, back to back, surrounded by flickering light. Himari closes her eyes and listens to Mizuki breathe. For the first time, she realizes how fragile that sound is — like a thread she could cut with one word.

> “You’d stay with me forever, right?”

> “Yes.”

> “Even if it hurts?”

> “Even then.”

Himari leans her head against Mizuki’s shoulder.

> “Then don’t ever pray for forgiveness,” she whispers. “Because I won’t.”

Time slows. Outside, the waves grow louder, angrier. The sea wind slips through the cracked window, making the flames bend toward them as if drawn by confession.

Mizuki shivers and wraps her arms around Himari’s waist.

> “I’m cold.”

> “Then hold tighter.”

Himari feels Mizuki’s heartbeat against her back — quick, uncertain, human. She wonders if love is supposed to feel this much like fear.

They stay there until the candles burn halfway down. The air grows heavy, thick with wax and breath and silence.

Mizuki eventually drifts into a daze, her chin resting on Himari’s shoulder.

Himari looks again at the altar — at the shallow wound she carved into holy wood — and feels a strange satisfaction. It’s as though she’s branded something that can’t be taken back.

When Mizuki finally speaks, her voice sounds far away.

> “If someone finds out… what will they do to us?”

> “They won’t,” Himari says, standing. “Because we’ll never tell.”

Her tone is soft, but there’s a certainty in it that chills Mizuki more than the cold.

They leave the chapel hand in hand.

Outside, the fog has thickened, swallowing the school’s towers in white. The moon glows faintly behind it, a blurred, dying halo.

Mizuki glances back once — at the door they left slightly open, where candlelight still flickers through the crack.

Something inside her whispers don’t leave it like that, but she doesn’t say it aloud.

Behind them, a single candle collapses, spilling wax over the carved letters — H + M — until they glisten as if weeping.

The smoke rises, slow and pale, curling upward like prayer.

For a moment, it almost looks like forgiveness.

But faith rots where love kneels.

And love, in its quietest form, has already begun to decay.