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Children lack certain things.
Things like class, race, or borders, for instance.
That’s probably why I, a mere chapel cleaner, could become close to the one and only Saint of the continent.
Our gaze was purer than anyone’s, more innocent than anything,
and so, our friendship was without a single blemish or crack.
“Sister!”
“Solaith!”
But then, puberty arrived without warning.
The menstrual cramps that came every month, the unbearable pain in my chest during ovulation—it all made me so ashamed, I couldn’t even bring myself to talk to him anymore.
“Sister. Could it be that I’ve grown too big…and you find me repulsive?”
* * *
By the time Solaith had grown into a towering figure, the innocent boy I once knew was gone.
He loomed over Lev’s limp body, which lay motionless as though anesthetized, like a ravenous beast.
With reverence, he cupped her soft, rounded chest.
Ah, these are wounds in need of healing. Yet the Saint buried his face in the mound of flesh, greedily inhaling its fragrance. His tongue gently flicked over the tender surface, and the woman he loved let out sweet, aching moans.
Through his tightly shut eyelids, contradictory tears began to form.
‘Sister, please forgive this foolish man who will shatter not your sin but your purity.’
