Institutional Sin

“Good to see you, Mist,” the Metropolitan says, her voice overly comforting as she hovers outside Mist’s window.

“Go away,” Mist says, though the window is hardly cracked enough for her voice to slip through.

“But what about our weekly meeting?” the Metropolitan asks. “I still need to check in on you, even if Rosary is on her trip, you’re still my Maiden. Might I come in?” Mist looks the Metropolitan up and down as she clings to her umbrella, its paper membrane catching a constant breeze that keeps her hovering at Mist’s third-story window. Closing the window would be the easiest thing in the world, but given that Rosary would most definitely hear about this, and how their last meeting ended, it’s best not to poke the bear.

Mist sighs and fully opens the window, allowing just enough space for the Metropolitan to squeeze through despite her figure. Mist remains motionless on her bed, knees tucked into her chest as if she were a statue, not even looking at the Metropolitan as her mind replays the events of White Day over and over again.

“Is she really that upset about Rosary leaving on a trip?” the Metropolitan thinks. She hides her expression behind her folding fan, taking note of Mist’s benign reaction to her intentionally gawky display. The Metropolitan expects Mist to be in a somewhat pitiful state with Rosary gone, but even with her vision blurred to hide Mist’s true identity, the girl before her looks downright wretched. “Can I really do this?” the Metropolitan questions, feeling her resolve shake.

“May I sit?” she asks, looking to the foot of Mist’s simple bedframe.

“Do whatever you want,” Mist says, her eyes buried in her arms. “Just get it over with and leave me alone.”

“If that’s what you want,” the Metropolitan says, slipping onto the foot of the bed and sitting on her knees. “Though I’m surprised. With Rosary gone, I thought you’d enjoy a little fellowship between Maidens.” Her voice remains overly sweet, almost like an older sister trying to comfort her crying sibling. She takes care to modulate it even as she looks to the rest of the room’s furniture, piled in front of the door like a makeshift barricade. “Though I guess not.” The words hang in the air for a moment, neither girl saying anything as the minutes tick off. “Mist,” the Metropolitan says, finally breaking the silence, “did something happen between you and Rosary?” The words turn the already still Mist to stone. Her breathing stops, and even her heart misses a beat before she buries her face further into her knees.

“I thought so,” the Metropolitan thinks, noting her reaction.

“I thought it was strange when she informed me she’ll be staying in Kansai longer than initially expected. Officially, it’s due to a family matter, but I’ve also heard Rosary made an outstanding first impression on the local Maidens.” Hidden from the Metropolitan, Mist’s lips tremble from behind her arms, but her tightening fists are all the sign the Metropolitan needs to continue.

“Apparently, she’s already aided them in exorcising a devil that’s been giving them the runaround for months,” the Metropolitan says. The words flow from her lips like honey, sweet and innocent, even as she prepares her next move. “And now they’re including her in a raid on an arch-devil lair.” The lie is mixed in like cyanide in sugar, hidden and imperceptible until it’s too late.

“What?” Mist says, her head jumping from her knees like it’s spring-activated. “Why would she do that? It’s not safe! She can’t even—”

“Shh, there’s nothing to worry about,” the Metropolitan says, like she’s calming a panicked dog. “Sure, it’s a little unorthodox to bring a second-circle Maiden on a lair raid, but she’s the First Fruit after all, the best of her generation. I’m sure she’ll have no difficulty traversing the firmament on desecrated ground without her guardian’s aid.” The words finally break the replay of White Day from Mist’s mind, replacing it with her view of Rosary convulsing and choking the moment she passes through the torii gate earlier that week.

“SHE CAN’T!” Mist screams, her voice echoing across the Sunday evening sky as she grabs the Metropolitan’s shoulders. “She can’t go on desecrated ground! Just like last time, she’ll…” Mist stops herself, nails digging into the Metropolitan’s shoulders as the memory replays in her mind. Rosary’s face, eyes rolled back, expression contorted into an anguished scream, is too torturous to bear. Mist’s chest rises and falls, yet it feels like no air is getting into her lungs. Her heartbeat booms in her ears, and her whole body feels hot despite sitting under the AC. The entire world spins until her mind latches onto a single cold sensation just under her eye. She opens her eyes and sees a finger wiping away a tear.

“Like last time?” the Metropolitan asks, the well of compassion the final lure for her perfectly sprung trap. The rickety scaffolding holding Mist’s emotions together snaps like toothpicks as she delves into their last trip to the shrine. She reveals all: Rosary’s collapse at stepping on the desecrated ground, her failed attempt to generate lightning, and even what she heard Queen Bee say in the diviner’s shack. The Metropolitan silently listens, hanging on every word as her angel records the report.

“Thank you for telling me all this, Mist,” the Metropolitan says once Mist finishes. “If I turn this into a report, then I’ll have the grounds to stop her from participating in any arch-devil raids. May I?”

“Yes!” Mist says without hesitation, reaching for the scroll as soon as it appears in the Metropolitan’s hands. The Metropolitan watches like a Pharisee as Mist seals the report with a kiss, her lips more binding than a signature.

“This is going swimmingly,” the Metropolitan thinks, almost disgusted at her own satisfaction. “It’s a little disheartening that she blacks out before Marshal appears, but this, plus my own testimony, should be enough to undermine her reputation at the very least.”

Her too-pleased smile vanishes as Mist returns the sealed report. Even through her blurred vision, the Metropolitan can feel the look of vulnerability and trust on Mist’s face. Mist’s semi-conscious hostility toward anyone she views as competition for Rosary’s attention has limited their relationship to being functional at best.“” I could stop here… Actually, I should,” the Metropolitan thinks, seeing a look of vulnerable trust upon Mist’s face for the first time. “There’s no need to push her further, unless…”

She gives her angel a look; the eye within the cyclone winks, and her gaze returns to Mist. She waits patiently for a moment, giving her guardian time to relay a message to Mist’s guardian, instructing Mist to repeat a predetermined phrase within the following minute. It’s as simple a test as can be, but if she fails, it will provide grounds for immediate separation from the Maidens. After a full minute passes, the Metropolitan sighs.

“Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy upon me, a sinner,” she prays, as the gravity of the situation descends upon her. The test is only fail-able if Mist’s guardian can’t speak to her, or she refuses to listen, meaning her bond is all but severed.

“So, Mist,” the Metropolitan says, voice still filled with just as much sugar as before, desperate to hide the contempt she’s fostering. “Before I go, is there anything else that’s happened between you and Rosary that I should know?”

“In this state, she can no longer be called a Maiden,” the Metropolitan thinks, justifying her actions even as she performs them.“She’s merely a person sensitive to the spiritual. I have no special responsibility to her.”

Mist, still reeling from recalling the last shrine visit, shudders as her mind returns to White Day. Her voice catches in her fear, not of reprisal, but of speaking her worries. As long as it stays in her mind, the truth can be whatever she wants. She can pretend and live in a fantasy without worry, at least until Rosary comes back. But if she speaks it, then it will also exist in the Metropolitan’s mind, and she’ll lose control.

“No,” Mist finally says, pulling her knees back into her chest.

“I see,” the Metropolitan says, a wave of disappointment flooding over Mist even as the Metropolitan’s eyes remain bright. “In that case, I think I’ll take my leave. I’ll come again after Rosary returns.”

The words strike Mist just as the Metropolitan intends. She’s only heard bits and pieces from Rosary’s argument with the boy, but it’s enough to identify something that shakes Mist to her core.

“What do you mean?” Mist says, her face rising as her fists clench. “We’re supposed to give mission reports every Sunday, right?”

“Well, yes, but you won’t be going on any missions without Rosary now, will you?”

“What do you mean by ‘won’t’?” Mist demands, her face contorting into a scowl.

“Well, Mist, I’d never say my Maidens are incapable, but some are unwilling.”

“Are you saying I can do missions on my own, but just won’t?”

“It’s not something you should beat yourself up about,” the Metropolitan says, hiding her face with her fan. Her eyes reflect the accusatory gaze from her guardian. “It’s a phase all Maidens go through. I’m sure it’ll sort itself out in due time, so there’s no cause for concern yet.”

“And what if it doesn’t?” Mist asks, rubbing her fingers. “What then?”

“Well, if, and only if, it continues, then it’ll reflect poorly on Rosary as your mentor, and those above me may separate you.” Her words stab like a spear. Mist clutches at her heart as the Metropolitan continues. “But don’t worry,” she continues, forcing a smile. “That’s not something I’d worry about with you. I still recall when Rosary first told me about your spiritual potential. In fact, I recall when Rosary first told me about you as a candidate. You’d only received the Body of the Eucharist, accidentally as I recall, and yet afterward you became such a tantalizing target that demons couldn’t help but circle you like vultures around a carcass.” She chooses her words carefully, effortlessly swapping from one rehearsed line to the next as she gauges Mist’s reaction. “Since then, Rosary assures me you’re making remarkable progress. Why, given your ability to step onto the shrine’s desecrated ground so easily, I’ll bet you could raid, or even cleanse that lair again this time next year.”

She moves to the window as she speaks, her eyes remaining fixed on Mist’s expression as she prepares the finishing blow.

“That’d sure be something. They may make you a Cardinal after that, allowing you to stay with Rosary indefinitely, but that’s only a prediction.” With that, the Metropolitan climbs out the window, much more gracefully than when she entered.

Mist follows, hanging on every word.“” If I cleanse that lair… then I’d get to stay with Momo.” Without further thought, Mist clambers to the barricade at her door, tearing it down with reckless abandon. Her mind is set on achieving a new goal by any means necessary.