Hello my loves! You can call me peachy. I am a 20 year old college student with the hazbin brain worms ꒰ྀི১ ໒꒱ིྀ
This blog was created for me to info dump about my hazbin hotel oc and her ship with Adam!
I'll be sharing art, lore, occasional writing and other things pertaining to my creative outlets. Please feel free to moot me, i need hazbin friends ദ്ദി( T ᗜ T ). My dms and asks are always open! I'm pretty active, and I am also a roleplayer, so if you are interested in that you're always welcome to reach out for my discord 𖹭.ᐟ
All oc x adam content will be under the tag #GuitarSaint ⏾⋆⭒˚.⋆
𝒏𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒈𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 ── .✦ 𝒘𝒊𝒑
i. rules + dni list
ii. oc lore and oc character basics
iii. roleplay info (if you intend to reach out)
iiii. music and playlists
𝒕𝒂𝒈 𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ── .✦
#peachyspeaks ₊⊹⁀➴ me yapping bc i never shut the hell up
#GuitarSaint ₊⊹⁀➴ tag for all things adam x my oc
#peachydraws ₊⊹⁀➴ my art!
#peachywrites ₊⊹⁀➴ my writing!
#le hoa / #saint catherine ₊⊹⁀➴ tags for my oc, all art and lore of her will be found here
#musicposting ₊⊹⁀➴ tag for all my playlists regarding my oc and GuitarSaint!
Thanks so much for reading, I hope you enjoy and stay for a while 𖹭
Or: Songs I commonly associate with Hoa, including brief lyrics and descriptions why.
Author's note: Excuse any sort of glitches with the colored lyrics... im sick of fighting with tumblr to make it work. I honest to god love music so much and use playlists to write so often. There's a high likelihood i'll post full lyrical analysis/breakdowns of certain songs :P Also pls excuse me cause the songs are wildly out of order in terms of actual meaning, I just go based off vibes...
cw: some of these songs cover sensitive topics such as abuse and assault, but only briefly.
.✦ ݁˖ 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒑𝒊𝒄𝒆 - 𝑱𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒆 𝑴𝒂𝒛𝒊𝒏
I percieve this to be how Hoa realizes she's begun to have genuine feelings for Adam, and how those feelings have begun to overtake her despite her desperate insistence for them not to. The lyrics "I'll even learn to pray" really stand out for me because she historically never believed in doing such a thing, and still doesn't even though she's a saint. And yet, she's even willing to pray that Adam's serious about what he wants from her and that he's not just toying around with her feelings.
⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚
"It's 4 a.m. and my eyes can't seem to close
I'm building worlds so real, I feel it in my bones
I breathe your outline when heat meets frigid air
You're there"
"Bathe me in moonlight
I'll even learn to pray
Color me candid
Just to wash it down the drain
You are what's beating
And aching in my chest
You're there, oh"
"Touch me slow, leave a fingerprint
Bring my soul to deliverance
I can feel you lingering now"
.✦ ݁˖ 𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒚 𝑫𝒆𝒂𝒅 - 𝑩𝒋𝒐𝒓𝒌
I've mentioned this before, but Hoa is actually a big fan of Bjork's music, so it's likely she'd listen to this song in-universe. I feel as though it's representative of her in Heaven, her inner thoughts deep down as to why she continues to isolate herself.
⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚
"Darling, stop confusing me
With your wishful thinking"
"It's sometimes just like sleeping
Curling up inside my private tortures
I nestle into pain
Hug suffering, caress every ache"
"I play dead, it stops the hurting."
.✦ ݁˖ 𝑷𝒕𝒐𝒍𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒆𝒂 - 𝑬𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒍 𝑪𝒂𝒊𝒏
I think this song holds so many different meanings for her. Obviously most of it pertains to how she viewed the man she was going to be arranged with in France, but I think the religious aspects can tie to her being sent off to the convent and learning about catholicism post-France. I think this song is so utterly impactful in it's storytelling; it's pure and utter fear. This entire latter half of her life was a complete horror movie for her and it still haunts her, even in death.
⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚
"Suffer does the wolf, crawling to thee
Promising a big fire, any fire"
"Suffering is nigh, drawing to me
Calling me the one, I'm the white light"
"Even the iron still fears the rot
Hiding from something I cannot stop"
"What fear a man like you brings upon a woman like me (show me your face)Please, don't look at me
I can see it in your eyes, he keeps looking at me
Tell me, what have you done? Stop, stop, stop, make it stop
Stop, make it stop, make it stop
I've had enough
Stop, stop, stop, stop
Stop, stop, stop, stop!"
"Blessed be the children
Each and every one come to know their god through some senseless act of violence
Blessed be you, girl
Promised to me by a man who can only feel hatred and contempt towards you"
.✦ ݁˖ 𝑺𝒑𝒊𝒕 - 𝑺𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝑴𝒆 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑩𝒐𝒅𝒚, 𝑷𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒌𝒊𝒂
I commonly asssociate this song with how Hoa sees herself posthumously. The beauty standards of Europe completely eroded her percieved beauty, and she sees herself as a grotesque version of who she once was. The man she was promised to was the one who did most of the damage as he constantly criticized her culture and features, attempting to strip it all away. I think the song being uncomfortable and off putting really adds to this.
⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚
"It's filthy disgusting
So ugly, I'm sure
I'm ugly, disgusting
And filthy for sure."
.✦ ݁˖ 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑭𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝑻𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆 - 𝑭𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂 𝑨𝒑𝒑𝒍𝒆
This one is a bit of a tone switch LOL. I've mentioned on this blog that Hoa would regularly enjoy and listen to Fiona Apple, so I felt like it fit. For me, this song represents her feelings for Adam evolving past romantic and delving into sexual territory. She refuses to cross that line with him for a while because she does not truly think he takes any sort of relationship seriously, and considering she's a complete virgin, she refuses to allow him what she believes to be bragging rights. And yet... she cant stop thinking about what his hands would feel like on her body.
⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚
"I lie in an early bed thinking late thoughts
Waiting for the black to replace my blue
I do not struggle in your web
Because it was my aim to get caught"
"Give me the first taste
Let it begin, Heaven cannot wait forever
Darling, just start the chase, I'll let you win
But you must make the endeavor"
"Oh, your love give me a heart contusion
Adagio breezes fill my skin with sudden red
Your hungry flirt borders intrusion
And I'm building memories on things we have not said."
.✦ ݁˖ 𝒕𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 - 𝒊𝒗𝒓𝒊
Bit on the nose, considering she literally works and used to reside in her tower full time. This song is how I percieve Hoa to navigate grief after Adam's death. Before she becomes aware he's reincarnated as a sinner and is at the hotel, she spends months with her newborn, attempting to navigate everything with her support system but struggling severely. His death triggered her to have extreme post-partum depression, and while she may not hallucinate Adam 24/7 like Lute does, sometimes she sees him in the darkness of her hallways. I also think it's fitting that the song that I associate with her grieving her rock-enthused husband has indie rock influences and heavy guitar.
⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚
"I'm right where you left me
The tower of memories"
"Moments I wish I could forget
Wake up in a cold sweat"
"So hard to let go of
I speak and I choke up
I can't turn the TV off"
"I just want it all to end (I'm microscopic)
Diving deeper in my own consciousness (I never wanted)"
"We're a carcass
All I wanted
All I wanted was you
Dragged right through my conscious
In the darkness
I see visions of you"
.✦ ݁˖ 𝑪𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝑩𝒂𝒃𝒚 - 𝑴𝒊𝒕𝒔𝒌𝒊
Ohh Mitski, where do I even begin. I truly associate this song with Hoa and her mourning the life she had in Vietnam. She was so happy, so at peace, and ever since being violently ripped away from it, she feels hollow. There's a void in her chest and no matter how much work she tries to use to fill it, it's no use. She's starting to forget the way her home looked, the way her family looked, but she still misses them deeply and can't seem to find anything that can cure her of that sadness.
⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚
"Down empty streets sniffing glue, me and you
Blank open eyes watch the moon flower bloom
It's been a long, hard 20 year summer vacation
Both these 20 years tryna fill the void"
"Crack baby, you don't know what you want
But you know that you had it once
And you know that you want it back"
.✦ ݁˖ 𝑭𝒐𝒐𝒍 - 𝒃𝒐𝒂
GOD I LOVE THIS SONG. I feel like these lyrics are more on the nose- essentially, it's the singer talking about how she was born an eastern (asian) girl in a western world. I obviously take this meaning and mold it to fit Hoa's situation, and I feel like it works very well. The "fool" in this situation applies to both the Frenchman who tried to force her to conform to the beauty standards and the head nun who gave her the name Catherine and attempted to erase and beat out what little connection she had left to her culture.
⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚
"I was born and raised
As an eastern girl in a western world
I was told to choose
To choose to be what I chose to be
Speaking impartially
There doesn't seem to be a place for me
But when I look inside I find
A place to run to hide"
"Which way should I turn?
Cause I seem to fall towards burning
But when I look inside I find the place
To cry, to fly, to die"
"You and I, born as fools now
You and I think, think we rule now"
.✦ ݁˖ 𝑰𝒏𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒅 - 𝑬𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒍 𝑪𝒂𝒊𝒏
I can and will write an entire essay on this song and how I associate each line with Hoa differently, with it all pertaining to her time in France. This song is so meaningful. I associate it with her constant fear and struggle in France, but every single line has a different meaning to me that I can delve deeper into at a seperate time for now. The older brother is a reference to her actual older brother, who she's internally begging to save her despite him being dead because he's always been her protector.
⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚
"Bare naked under my nightgown
Pissing on the stove to put it out
Watching him through holes in his door
Sucking on the back of his leg to stay warm"
"Something smells rotten and it's starting to spread
I'm bad, he's worse, we're already dead
We're already dead"
"You get off on innocence so you savor this
Does your baby know her daddy's a rapist?
He hates the way you look at me
You're already dead
You're already dead
If he wakes up, he'll show you what I'm talking about"
"You can't win 'em all
Who knows how much longer
I'll lay on the floor
Touch me 'til I vomit
(Touch me 'til) I'm not scared of god
I'm scared he was gone all along
Who will take the fall
Who of us is stronger
You'll just want it more
If you could, you'd have fought it
But you know you're not
From the start, they knew you were wrong
You were wrong"
.✦ ݁˖ 𝑺𝒖𝒈𝒂𝒓 𝑯𝒊𝒄𝒄𝒖𝒑 - 𝑪𝒐𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒖 𝑻𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒔
Okay so there are no genuine meaningful or straightforward lyrics to this so it's on here entirely on vibes LOL. Hoa would enjoy the Cocteau Twins a lot, so I added it on here as a means of giving the peaceful everyday vibe of her worktower, and really her as a person. Every time I listen to this song I just picture her looking at the stars through her big telescope and laying in her garden at night. It's so gorgeous and ethereal, just like her!
.✦ ݁˖ 𝑷𝒂𝒑𝒆𝒓 𝑩𝒂𝒈 - 𝑭𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂 𝑨𝒑𝒑𝒍𝒆
This one is literally just Hoa catching feelings for Adam, and trying to cope with that. She conceals her feelings, trying to justify that it would simply never work; they're too different, he's been shown to not be the committing type, etc. Deep down, she believes she's simply a mess he won't want to deal with when he gets close enough to see it. And Yet, despite her trying to push the feelings down- she can't help but hope he reciprocates, looking for hope of genuine love in his incessant bothering of her. I also think the line "so is everything, but he didn't get it" is a little funny considering she's not the best at actually trying to make jokes, she's simply unintentionally funny 90% of the time.
⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚
"I was staring at the sky
Just looking for a star
To pray on or wish on or something like that
I was having a sweet fix
Of a daydream of a boy
Whose reality I knew was a hopeless to be had"
"Hunger hurts and I want him so bad, oh it kills
'Cause I know I'm a mess he don't want to clean up
I've got to fold 'cause these hands are too shaky to hold
Hunger hurts but starving works when it costs too much to love"
"I said "honey, I don't feel so good
Don't feel justified
Come on put a little love here in my void"
He said "it's all in your head"
And I said "so's everything" but he didn't get it
I thought he was a man but he was just a little boy"
.✦ ݁˖ 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒌𝒐𝒏 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 - 𝑨𝒅𝒓𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒆 𝑳𝒆𝒏𝒌𝒆𝒓
This song is so sweet:'). I percieve this to be Hoa allowing Adam into her life, allowing him to grow close to her as she attempts to be vulnerable. It's them looking at eachother, seeing their deepest vulnerable parts, and saying "I love you" anyways.
⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚
"Over the Dead Sea, keepin' you company
Thinkin', "I'm not afraid of you now"
I'm not afraid of you now
Lettin' my eyes close, sheddin' my soft clothes
Wind blows, wind that howls like a hound
Wind that laughs like a clown"
"I have nothin' to pray now
Nothin' to pray now"
"Pullin' your face close, wanting the inmost
Show me I'm not afraid of you now
I'm not afraid of you now
Villain and violent, infant and innocent
Baby, both arms cradle you now
Both arms cradle you now"
This one makes me so emo. It's Hoa reflecting on herself, missing the girl she used to be when she was a young girl. It's her remembering her family, remembering the joy she felt with them. It's her missing her teenage years that were stripped from her when she turned 17. She misses her family and her culture, she misses the markets, she misses the smell of salt and fish, she misses the visits to the temple, she misses her connection to her ancestors, she misses watching her mother touch up her blackened teeth, she misses the sound of her brothers' laughter as she chased after both of them, she misses how her mother brushed her hair, she misses her father's voice when he read to her- she misses everything. So much.
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"Used to be one of the rotten ones and I liked you for that
Now you're all gone, got your make-up on and you're not coming back
Can't you come back?"
"Bleaching your teeth, smiling flash, talking trash under your breath"
"Park that car, drop that phone, sleep on the floor, dream about me"
.✦ ݁˖ 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑯𝒂𝒏𝒅 - 𝑨𝒏𝒏𝒂𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒆 𝑫𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒂
This is another song I can write whole essays about! This one mostly pertains to her time in the convent, forming her own opinions in the church and trying to be a catholic, despite never understanding or truly believing in the religion. It's a big symbol of how she comes to view the men long before her as the perpetrators of actions that decided her fate before she was born. It's also a very on the nose symbol of how everything that has happened to her occurred because she was a beautiful woman- or even a woman, period. And now, she's expected to be small and shut up, but she absolutely refuses to. I think it's also partially how she comes to view Adam upon first meeting- loud, bold, and arrogant- while she remains quiet and polite. Soooo many good lyrics in this one, it'll eventually get it's own essay.
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"Every time a guy writes a song, he's a cowboy, a sailor
Playing with the world in his palm like the first pioneer
Every time he opens his mouth, it's a loud movie trailer
Clipping every image and sound he thinks proves he was here"
"A scroll, a nod, a message from God, a son, a Holy Father"
"Every time a guy writes a song, he's a sailor, a cowboy
Holding out the world in his palm like he made it himself
Every time I open my mouth, I think, "Wow, what a loud noise"
Still on the soapbox, just hoping I seem underwhelmed"
"The hand, the pen, the writing again, the wind around the willow
The felt, the ice, the passage of time, the melting down the window
The now, the then, the thinking of "when," the bottle in the ocean
The strike, the pause, the message from God forbid she shows emotion"
"This isn't rage, it's worth a mention
This is a fake internal tension
Sometimes, I spread out one opinion
And stand on its back to gauge attention
This isn't rage, it's too specific
I like to hate symbolic limits
This is no statement, I'm complicit
This is a dream, God put me in it"
"The strike, the pause, the message from God, does that make me His daughter?"
.✦ ݁˖ 𝑪𝒊𝒄𝒐 𝑩𝒖𝒇𝒇 - 𝑪𝒐𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒖 𝑻𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒔
This is totally based off of vibes again. Hoa's just such a pretty cutie and I love her, and when she does express happiness, this is her aura as a song.
.✦ ݁˖ 𝑽𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒏𝒂 (𝑰𝒏 𝑴𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒂𝒎) - 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑨𝒓𝒎𝒚, 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑵𝒂𝒗𝒚
I view this as an overarching metaphor for Hoa's life. The content of the song being about a mouse being hunted and killed by a cat parallels how she was kidnapped and eventually died as a result of the horrific things she faced and the situation she was placed in. It's an empathetic, sweet song meant to mirror how one would view her story.
⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚
"Looks like the cat did a number on you
Vienna, oh
He took a brick off the side of the stoop
Poor vienna
It′ll be over soon
Your mamas waiting for ya
But you're not coming home
You′re not coming home"
"Your mamas been so worried
Cause you never came home
Beneath the ground you're buried
In memoriam
And god I've lived a lifetime
Because I′m big and tall
But who am I to kill for
The crime of being small?"
.✦ ݁˖ 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒐𝒓 𝑳𝒂𝒔 𝑽𝒆𝒈𝒂𝒔 - 𝑪𝒐𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒖 𝑻𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒔
I know all the cocteau twins is probably getting repetitive, but again, this is literally just her aura as she moves about her day. So cutie I love her sm!!
.✦ ݁˖ 𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓 𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒀𝒐𝒖 - 𝑾𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒓
I feel like I've come to associate this to how Hoa sits in her tower and works all day as a way of coping and managing. She pushes people away, minimizes her feelings, and keeps quiet. She never thought she'd make it to Heaven, if it was even real, and now she feels stagnant about her place. While part of her is scared by the notion of spending an eternity like this, she also can't help but continue to isolate herself as it's now become the "safe" route for her.
⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚
"Had a conversation off face
Played down how I feel
Let myself be hypnotized
With old memories"
"I've had a few
Moving too fast
Further from you"
"Weathered and bruised
Like the train tracks
Laid out and ruled
Derailed
Grow older
I'll never do
All the things that I wanted to
I'll just sit back and tell my friends
And pretend I'm younger than you"
Well, that's the extent of my playlist! I'll continue to update this page every time I find new songs to add- for now, I hope you guys enjored reading about my thoughts:] stay tuned for the different song analysis if u a real #musiclover ദ്ദി(ᵔᗜᵔ)
I’m too chronically online bc i’m literally fighting demons to not say smth to that AI oc/roleplaying blog i mentioned a while back. Like the ghost of stan twitter is actively trying to take over my body and say some mean shit to them because WHYYY are you bringing AI into the fandom space of an ANIMATED INDIE SHOW😭 SOULLESS SLOP!
thanks to kiarasha on vgen, my girl Wen finally has a reference sheet!!!!
now I just need one for her human form and 1920's human form and 1950's human form and her children and-
(nonsexual nudity below cut)
canonically wen only goes up to Alastor's chest and this is more of a one foot height gap but a two and a half feet difference can be hard to draw and I was working when I approved this as the final so honestly that's on me
saw obsession recently and i could genuinely talk about the substance of this movie for hours, it’s such a good representation of men stripping away a woman’s autonomy so she can be what he wants her to be UGH
just saw someone using ai to create their ocs and fanart, you are killing the planet so you can have art of vox kissing your oc. brother just commission it
took a trip to dallas and left 130 dollars poorer, this is what happens when all the stores i like to shop at only exist 2+ hours away from my college💔🥀
bello twin this is me coming to alert u i posted oc lore since u reblogged me when i was in the throes of writing it (its like 7k words GULPPLP) also currently working on a casual post sharing my art of her :P
NEW OC JUST DROPPED DEERLINGS GET YOUR ASSES OVER TO PEACHYS BLOG!!!!
I am so reading all about her once I get off my gamer grind
HELLOOOO EVERYPONY! I dropped the lore for my lovely oc yesterday (which you can find here), but I wanted to share my art of her and kinda delve into her personality a bit :P!
This was explained a bit in her lore post, but her actual name (which she prefers being called) is Hoa. Saint Catherine/Catherine was an English name given to her when she became a nun! art and character stuff below :3
art creds to meee!! She's so tea i know...
Voice Claims:
English: Anne Yatco (Raiden Shogun/Ei - Genshin Impact)
Vietnamese: Phuong Anh Dao (Mai - Mai the movie)
So personality wise, this is totally gonna be a watered down version because I feel like it should either have it's own post or come out naturally when I write her with Adam LOLOL. Essentially... she's a bit of a bitch LMFAOOOO like not in an outwardly mean way, but it's literally like talking to a brick wall. She's very polite but barely even emotes half of the time and hardly ever talks. She's pretty intimidating because she's a saint who's spent almost a century locking herself away in her tower, not to mention part of her abilities as an angel have to deal with literally creating stars from supernovas...
Hoa is blunt, formal, and doesn't use modern slang or technology due to her isolation causing a disconnect from modern society for her. She's extremely intelligent, and many of her writings are often published through her assistants even if it was something she scribbled down on her lunch break. At her core, she is kind and she feels things deeply, but with everything that happened to her, she prefers isolating herself and throwing herself into work so that she will never think about any of it.
When she and Adam first meet again, she finds him completely insufferable and tells him so to his face. Adam is utterly baffled, because this hot chick just said he needs to shut the hell up essentially, and the whole time she's staring at him with an annoyed expression. (#frenemiestolovers #onesidedpining for REAL)
Adam sort of becomes fixated on her and starts actively breaking into her tower without permission to visit her constantly. Whole time, Hoa hates it because talking to him is the equivalent of watching two brain cells roll around in the hopes of colliding to create a single intelligent thought. Plus, she's not stupid... she's very aware he's really only doing all this because he desperately wants to prove he can get into anyone's pants, including her (which is lowkey true that was his initial goal cough...)
Despite having a million walls up, Hoa is generally kind and most of her assistants are women because she prefers their company. They actually love working for hee despite the fact they have to sort through millions of years of archived history- she treats them very well!
Overall, Hoa can be pretty funny without trying because she's lowkey like the stray cat that hisses at you constantly and takes months to get to trust you.
Fun facts about everyone's favorite saint:
Her hair is actively supposed to resemble her nun's habit. Usually she cuts it herself and keeps it at upper thigh length, but it grows extremely fast and will drag on the floor if she doesn't tend to it.
Her eyes are blue due to her love for her old friend, who had the same color. In life, they were dark grey! The new color as an angel was a way of carrying her friend with her.
She has a tattoo! Nobody ever sees it because her hair covers it, but it's a four pointed star on the back of her neck. It's a symbol of guidance and balance to her. One of her assistants was the one to do it.
She doesn't really fly much. She finds herself to not be very good at it due to never really trying, and her tower has a lot of stairs. She can only really fly short distances and prefers to walk so she doesn't embarass herself LMFAO.
She enjoys some modern music. She's a big fan of Bjork, The Cocteau Twins, Boa, and Fiona Apple. So essentially 90s-early 2000s dreamy alternative sounds. Her assistants gifted her vinyls so she can listen to them on her gramophone.
She can fan dance! She only ever does it during lunar new year celebrations in heaven.
Her family is in heaven with her, she just doesn't see them all that often unfortunately. That changes! But she avoids interactions with them due to the fact she's still pretty traumatized from watching them all die and being unable to stop it.
Her favorite flowers are lilies and lotus flowers. She has a garden tucked in the center of her library (The library is a huge square structure with a hollowed out middle) and it's got a small river with koi fish and a bridge, amongst other things. It's her favorite place.
By the time the events of season 1 start, she's actually pregnant and she ends up having a 2-3 month old going into season 2. That'll be explored more later!
She is known simply as Saint Catherine, but before she ascended to heaven, she was a different woman entirely. This is the story of Le Hoa.
CONTENT WARNINGS: mentions of colonization, abuse, kidnapping, systemic religious trauma and abuse, period accurate sexism and racism, violent familial death, pregnancy as an oppressive tool, forced underage marriage and birth, brief (non-detailed) mentions of sexual assault.
author's note: this took me much longer than I thought but hopefully I cooked. I haven't written in a hot minute.
wc: 7k
✦︎ ────── Việt Nam, 1856.
The sun was beating down on the shore, humid air clinging to her skin as she sat at the docks. Saltwater lapped at her feet, the cold feeling providing a bit of respite as a fourteen year old girl named Hoa dragged a paintbrush along her paper fan. The loud chatter of the adjacent fishermen, all returning from a long day's work, did little to distract her as she created a night sky full of lanterns with the limited colors her mother was able to make her.
Her younger brother, no older than five, soon found her, running to her side with sandy feet and messy hair as he squatted down to observe her work. "Papa said that if you fall into the ocean again, you'll have to gut the fish for a week." He warned, looking out towards the sea as she snorted a bit and carefully leaning down to dip her paintbrush into the water. "Perhaps I shall simply drown instead." She hummed in response, a smile tugging at her lips as she looked up at her brother, who quickly pushed her shoulder and demanded she not say such dramatic things.
She had always been a strangely composed child. Recognized for her beauty by her village, her mother preferred Hoa to remain indoors with her and assist with the chores that didn't require too much hard labor, that way her skin would stay pale and her hands would remain uncalloused. The closer she looked to a doll, the better her chances were of being able to make a good match with another man in the village. Not that she held much interest in doing so. That never bothered her parents. They were always kind to her and never pushed her or her siblings to leave their home once they were old enough.
Hoa was often quiet, lost in thought- forever staring up at the sky at night in the nearby field, as if the wind whispered secrets to her. She was carefree, laughing easily and singing loudly, her hair unbound and wild as she ran through the markets with her brothers, hands sticky with sugar from candied fruits that stained her fingertips.
Her father would always teach her things. How to properly gut a fish. How to button her festival clothing properly. How to read and write, as they were not able to send her to school. How to light incense for the alter in the village temple, offering it as they prayed for a bountiful fishing season and a happy life. How to play games like Ô ăn quan, where he would oftentimes try to sprinkle in wisdom that he said he gained as he got old.
"It is always important to maintain your education, my daughter. I do my best to provide for you, but I hope that with what you do learn, you will go on to do great things and bring kindness to the earth." He'd say, smiling at her with his gapped teeth as Hoa simply rolled her eyes playfully. "Papa..."
"I am serious. It is important to understand history. History is a guide on avoiding repeated mistakes. If you understand that, you will move through this world with ease."
She would complain, but she'd always take the words to heart, reading anything she could get her hands on and often saving up her allowance for books.
At night, her mother would brush her hair, speaking softly to her. "The world is alive, my sweet star," she would whisper. "you must treat every living thing gently. Compassion is a thing that many cannot afford to offer these days."
Hoa believed her. She always believed her.
The world had not yet taught her otherwise, after all.
She'd often sneak out of her room if she couldn't sleep, laying out in the tall grass of the field by her house as she watched the stars and the clouds roll over the moon. Her older brother would sometimes join her, being sixteen himself and always carrying responsibility he didn't need to, and they'd lay in silence next to each other for a while before he inevitably broke it.
"Why is it that you enjoy staring up at the stars so often?" He would always wonder, swatting away mosquitos as he looked over at her. She would always have the same response.
"...I'm not sure, but they always bring me peace."
✦︎ ────── Việt Nam, 1858.
The boats were what she noticed first.
Large ships, incorrectly and clumsily docked on nearby shores to her village. They were strange looking, flying a flag that she recognized as France from her father's extensive education. She didn't understand what they meant as she bought cooking necessities for her mother, returning to her village without mentioning it. She didn't think it would be important. She was sixteen now, and much more focused on getting home to help her mother with dinner.
At first, her village continued as normal. Women still hung the laundry out under the sun, children still ran through the markets, and her family still ate together at supper.
But whispers soon began to spread. French soldiers marching through the south, seizing ports, burning down villages.
Hoa began to notice a change in her older brother and parents. Her mother didn't speak much at dinner, and her father and brother carried the same worried crinkle in their brow every time they left to go work, collecting fish off the docks with concerned expressions.
They would return later, dirt caked under their fingernails and tense expressions they tried to hide.
Hoa wanted to ask what exactly was going on, what it meant for them.
She never had the chance.
The attack came just before dawn. Hoa had left to the docks early, watching the sunrise as she painted her fan before she smelled it.
Smoke, dense and suffocating, floating through the air.
Her paints were soon knocked over, fan clumsily tossed in the dirt as she scrambled to stand up and run through her village back home. The screaming only got louder, almost animalistic. Raw fear ripping through her ears as she tripped over herself and observed with panicked, adrenaline blurred vision.
Fire was devouring the wood of her village in great orange waves. Market stalls and home were disfigured, unrecognizable as men stormed through the narrow pathways between them. She could hear sobbing. Loud cracks of what she understood to be gunfire. Orders barked in a language she didn't know.
Her heart nearly stopped as she reached home.
Or what remained of it, really.
The roof had already collapsed, the fire having clearly spread from the other homes as she threw the door open, covering her nose with her sleeve as she waded through the thick ash, the smoke thick enough to make her choke. The beams her father had built with his own hands had become unrecognizable.
"Mama?!" She cried out, thankfully being met with a response as her elder brother quickly found her, dragging her out the backdoor as her family was reunited, her mother hugging her to her chest before ushering her to follow her father quickly and quietly through the field and into the forest.
She was foolish, thinking they'd escape together as she held her little brother's hand.
It happened quickly.
The soldiers saw them running, quickly intercepting them as they were soon all lined up in order, like cattle heading to a market. The shouting made her dizzy, her father arguing with the men in coats even though none of them could understand a lick of what they were saying. Her younger brother shook beside her, holding his wooden sword as he held onto her sleeve.
Then, her family was cut down one by one, brutally slaughtered and shot in order. Her father, her mother, her older brother. She sobbed out, covering her mouth as her younger brother screamed. Tears blurred her vision. Then, they reached her. Brief conversation happened, though she hardly noticed it as she waited for the fatal blow to her head.
Instead, she was grabbed, rough hands seizing her as they ripped her from her little brother, who soon met the same fate as the rest of her family.
Hoa screamed almost instantly, thrashing and kicking as she was dragged backwards through the dirt by her arms. She managed to land a hit on a man's crotch, earning a sharp strike across the face that made her vision turn white from the searing pain.
"Fucking savages they are!"
She couldn't understand the words, but she knew the tone was far from positive.
She was held down and tied up, reminiscent of how she watched older men tie up ducks before roasting them as she was dragged to the docks and onto a ship.
A man observed her, touching her face with chilling boredom. He opened her mouth, counted her teeth, looked at her eyes, her hair, her skin. Then he turned to the men holding her upright waving them towards the ship before walking off.
And as she was dragged under the docks and into a cell, she realized quickly that she would never return home again.
✦︎ ────── France, 1859.
France was beautiful in a way that made Hoa sick.
The estate she was brought to was grander than anything she had ever seen before, tucked away far from the city and surrounded by sprawling gardens and iron gates that stood thick and tall. Marble statues lined the pathways outside, figures of great heroes with hollow, dead eyes. Everything smelled of roses, candle wax, and sickly perfume meant to mask the smell of the people.
Nothing felt real.
When she arrived, the first thing they did was bathe her. Women she didn't recognize stripped her bare, tossing her into a wash basin full of soapy water as they scrubbed the grime off her skin, speaking to each other about her strange appearance as if she wasn't right in front of them. One held her jaw and cleaned her face while the other brushed through her tangled mess of long hair.
"You are much prettier without all that dirt on your face." One complimented. She could piece together what they were saying, having been taught the basics of French by a few ship crewmembers so she would be prepared upon arrival.
"Yes, you have lovely features- aside from the slanted eyes and flat nose." The other woman said, smiling at her. "No wonder you were brought here. You have a lot of potential."
When they finished scrubbing off her shame, they powdered her heavily. It smelled nauseatingly of roses, and felt like they were slapping flour on her face as they made her pale enough to pass as a ghost. Then, they painted rouge on her cheeks and lips, before the worst part came.
They laced her up into some strange clothes, yanking them tight to "make the waist smaller" as they put it. Granted, they also said it was supposed to support your chest and back, but considering this was her first time wearing it, she found it wildly uncomfortable.
She was brought in front of a man. Presented to him like she was a gift just for him. He poked, prodded and examined her. She was thin, hungry from the long boat ride there, and covered in scrapes and scratches that hadn't healed even though she had been scrubbed clean. He made comments. Her nose was too flat. Her skin was too tan. She was much too thin. Her face was too round. Her eyes were too slanted.
"I suppose I'll make do." He hummed. "My first wife already passed away, and I cannot be without one when there is so much to do. I'll keep her."
When she attempted to protest in Vietnamese, the older woman of the two took the wooden stays of the corset and brought them down hard onto her hands, causing her to cry out in pain as she pointed a finger in her face.
"No. French only."
This became routine for her. Though she was able to quickly pick up the French language, she often still tried to speak in her mother tongue and was quickly and severely reprimanded. They'd hit her hands with wooden sticks till they shook and bled, take away her meals, or lock her in her room for days until she begged them to let her out in perfect French.
She picked the language up out of pure desperation. She would've preferred death, but the longer she went being locked away without speaking it, they would come in and beat her.
The nobleman visited often. Auguste Montclair.
He was old enough to be her father, grey peppering his dark brown hair and his rings appearing a size too small on his fat fingers. He never missed a meal judging by his wide frame, and though his beard covered most of his mouth, Hoa couldn't miss the way it twisted up in a sickening grin every time he saw her. As though he was assessing her for market value.
Was that truly all she was? Property to take and mold as they pleased?
"She is very beautiful." He would muse to the two ladies that tended to her. "...And spirited, I see."
"It will be corrected with time." The ladies would reassure him. He'd always scowl. "Yes, but those eyes will not. I'm not sure how she even sees properly."
Hoa hated him.
She hated the way he touched her chin and shoulders without permission.
She hated the way he made fun of her appearance, her accent, her posture.
She hated how old and disgusting he was.
But most of all, she hated that she was expected to marry him without complaint.
"I'm sure many girls would kill to be in the position you're in." Her lady would say as she prepared her for bed. "You'll soon live a life of comfort and luxury. Much better than that smelly fishing village you hail from. You will never be uncomfortable again."
Hoa wished she could punch that woman in the face. Uncomfortable? She was more than that, miserable every single day she continued existing in this house.
She knew something had to be wrong with this man. As if the fact he was marrying a kidnapped underage girl wasn't enough, she noticed how many of the female servants made an effort to not look him in the eyes, quickly skittering past him as if they were trying to disappear before he saw them.
One of these girls, a maid, was named Céleste.
Standing at just four feet and eleven inches, thirteen years of age, and painfully thin, she worked as a cleaning maid under the older ladies who had been there much longer. Her hair was a pretty shade of brown and she had the most stunning light blue eyes that Hoa had ever seen. Admittedly, she was a very pretty girl. She had nervous hands that twisted together when she spoke, but she always smiled and had sweet eyes that never seemed to view Hoa as a project.
Their friendship formed quietly. It was the only thing keeping Hoa going.
Céleste, ever the empath, would sneak Hoa pastries when the punishments left her hungry. Hoa would braid her hair while she taught her Vietnamese words late into the night when they both couldn't sleep.
"What does that one mean?" Céleste would always ask. Hoa would always answer. She was happy that someone even cared to know.
"Starlight." She'd say softly, looking up at the sky. "They bring me comfort."
"The stars?"
"Yes."
Celeste would pause, before giggling and hugging Hoa's arm. "Maybe they'll comfort me too. What a nice thought."
They grew close within months.
"Why is it that you work so young?" Hoa once questioned, sitting in the grass as she watched the younger girl pick apples for tomorrow's breakfast. She shrugged. "My papa died, so it's just me and my mama and my siblings. We needed the extra money, and this place was hiring. But I must admit that I do not enjoy it very much."
"Why is that?"
Céleste looked around nervously before hunching over a bit, worried to be caught talking about it. "The man who runs this house has a wandering eye for the maids. The rumor is I replaced a girl who had his baby. Don't know what happened to her, but he didn't claim it of course."
Hoa could feel her blood run cold as her eyes widened. "But he doesn't look at you, does he? You're a child."
"Not to him." Was all Céleste said before changing the topic. "What does the ocean sound like? I have always dreamed of seeing it."
Hoa let out a breath, her hair clinging to her cheeks as she sighed. "It sounds alive." She said. "Like the whole world is breathing."
By the time winter came, Céleste stopped smiling as often.
Hoa noticed the bruises first. Fingerprints hidden underneath long sleeves and layers of clothing. She'd shrink every time Montclair would enter the same room as her.
Then, she became ill. She vomited constantly and fainted from exhaustion often.
Then, the confirmation came as winter became spring, and it became harder to hide.
"She is with child." One of the servants said. "The master's, most likely."
It was so casual. As though she was simply discussing the weather.
It made Hoa feel just as sick.
She found Céleste crying in the garden days later. "I do not want this," She would choke out as she sobbed into Hoa's shoulder, "I am scared. I cannot afford a baby, and I will never be able to get married- my mother will be so angry. I am so scared."
Hoa felt so helpless.
Céleste had been used and discarded like a washcloth. Was that all these woman were? Was that all she was?
She died before spring ended. The labor lasted two days, and Hoa had risked her own skin to try and help her mother take care of her at her home.
Céleste never stopped screaming in agony. She held her hand, but by the time the child came out, Céleste was so pale and cold that Hoa knew she would not make it.
The baby survived.
Céleste bled to death.
Someone replaced her the next week.
Nobody spoke of her again.
Hoa realized then what would happen to her if she remained obedient. If she allowed Auguste Montclair to do the same to her.
One evening, he entered her bedchambers. Hoa was already tucked in, her candlelight out, but the sudden intrusion made her sit up with a jolt.
"You are resisting your lessons again." He sighed, almost disappointed as he slipped his gloves off and tucked them carefully into his suit jacket. "This stubbornness cannot continue if we are to marry by the fall."
Hoa said nothing. She lifted her blankets to cover her chest as she stared at him, back pressed against the headboard.
"You are frightened of me." He observed calmly, approaching the bed as he came around to her side of it. "That is natural, I suppose. But compatibility is important between a husband and wife."
"But we are not married." Hoa said. She attempted to sound stern, but the shaking in her voice betrayed her as he smiled.
"Not yet, my dear. But we will be."
Panic was alight within her the minute he began to move the blankets off of her, his hand coming to touch her thigh. "No-" She said through gritted teeth, the word being spit out in perfect French as she attempted to move away from him.
He simply grabbed her ankles and pulled her right back. She realized quickly that he was going to overpower her as he climbed on top, and as she felt the adrenaline make her head dizzy, she moved without thinking.
She bit down into his neck as hard as she could, tearing out a chunk of flesh as he screeched out and yanked himself away from her. Blood covered her mouth and cheeks, the crimson dripping down and onto her white nightgown as she clumsily moved to stand, knowing this wasn't enough to make him stop. He was just going to beat her before he did it. So, she grabbed the heavy metal candlestick on her nightstand, heaving as she whacked him straight across the face before dropping it and running out of the room.
Her bare feet slammed against the polished floors as she sprinted, her heartbeat loud in her ears as she stumbled and skidded around corners. Montclair was quick to demand his servants catch her, and as she ran through the main hall and towards the garden, she realized that she would not make it far before they caught up to her.
Was she going to die like this?
"Catch that woman!"
"She must be insane!"
"Tie her down if you must!"
She nearly reached the front gate, freedom close to her as she approached them, before the footmen tackled her to the ground.
Montclair soon arrived, holding an expensive linen cloth to his neck as he hobbled over, anger evident in his features as he breathed hard.
Then, he spit in her face, laughing as he gestured to his footmen.
"She is an animal. Savage. Unfit for marriage. Send her to an English nunnery so I will never have to bear witness to her disgusting face ever again. Perhaps they can teach her the ways of the lord so she will not attack unprovoked like this again. I do not care, but I do not want her."
And just like that, France decided that England could have her instead.
✦︎ ────── England, 1861.
England was quieter than France. Not better. Just quieter.
The nunnery sat upon flat land, seeming even more isolated from the world than the French country estate she previously resided in. Tucked beneath endless gray skies and stone walls, Hoa resided in a small minimalist room with a wooden twin bed and a cross hung above her headboard. Cold drafts often swept through the halls, accompanied by the painful ring of church bells at impossibly early hours of the morning. It felt more like a tomb than a home, and she was painfully aware of the fact she was meant to die here eventually. Alone. Forgotten. Just as miserable.
She missed her home.
She had arrived utterly exhausted, a Frenchman accompanying her to hand her off. The sisters greeted her politely enough, though their smiles felt thin and practiced as they led her inside. "She will need discipline." He warned. They simply nodded, took her away, and soon enough, she was given a new name.
Sister Catherine.
"Your given name is... difficult to pronounce." Mother Agnes explained, her lips tight as she pinned the black habit to Hoa's head, tying her hair into a bun and tucking it away. "This name is Holier."
She did not understand what was being Holy meant. She picked up English quicker than she did French, but as she began to learn the word of God through his holy book, she was only left more confused as she stared at the crucifix above her bed.
The son of God simply watched her suffer too, it seemed.
The routines of covenant life were suffocatingly strict. The sisters awoke to pray before sunrise, attended mass each morning, scrubbed the floors by hand, washed clothing outside no matter the weather, and spent hours copying down scripture under candlelight until the cramping in their wrists became too much to bear.
Meals were small rations of soup and bread, oftentimes stale.
Hardly any of the sisters talked, but from what they did share, Hoa understood most did not stay there willingly. Their families or husbands had donated them to the church as a way to be rid of them, for whatever reason they deemed fit.
Mistakes were punished swiftly.
Hoa struggled with the teachings of the Bible. She did not see them as anything other than fairy tales like the ones her mother would tell her before bed. When asked to recite a scripture, it was frequent that she'd lose her words and forget it halfway through.
Her knuckles would be hit with a ruler each time it happened. Some things didn't change, it seemed.
They'd make her kneel on gravel if she continued to struggle, her knees aching and bruised as they made her recite a passage over and over. Once, she cried out to her ancestors from the pain, begging them to protect her.
It did not help.
She was swiftly taken to the chapel, forced to kneel under the stained glass art of Jesus Christ, rosary beads digging into her clasped hands as Mother Agnes lectured her on the dangers of false prophets and sin. "You belong to God now, Sister Catherine, and you will understand soon that his word is all that matters."
The words made something ugly twist in her chest as she fought back tears.
Did it?
What parts of her was her own, when even her name was chosen for her?
Had she ever belonged to herself at all?
Catholicism confused her deeply. The sisters spoke of love and acceptance, but every sermon felt rooted in fear. Women were to be obedient servants of god. Pure. Holy. Eve's weakness had doomed them from the start, and now each and every one of them were born of the cursed sex. Suffering was simply a necessity to remain virtuous.
Hoa began to study the bible obsessively.
She tried desperately to find the same comfort her sisters did within the pages. Instead, she found nothing but rage within herself.
Lucifer had tempted Eve, promising her that the fruit would gift her with knowledge and understanding. God had told her that by eating it she would surely die, and yet, when she took a bite, she didn't. Had god lied to her then? The serpent had told her the truth, deceived her knowing what it would do. She had no knowledge of good and evil before she tasted it, and when her eyes were opened, Eve only tried to share the taste of freedom with Adam. He never stopped her or questioned her, and he was the first to point the blame at her. She did not understand that her disobedience was bad because she did not know what "bad" even meant. And yet, she was punished more than Adam, and women were meant to suffer for the rest of eternity after it.
That was the conclusion she had reached, at least.
The reason childbirth hurt.
The reason why wives obeyed husbands.
The reason she bled each month.
The reason women were meant to be seen, not heard, and provide nothing but gentle smiles and many, many children.
Was because of a damn apple that a man convinced her to eat. And in true womanly fashion, she did not eat it all herself, for women are not as inherently selfish and greedy at their core like men are. She shared with her husband.
And because of that, she was meant to suffer before she had even been born.
Sometimes, she believed that the rage would consume her entirely, leaving nothing but her bones.
One evening, while studying scripture besides another sister, Hoa spoke without thinking. "If Eve had no understanding of good and evil before eating the fruit.... how could she possibly know her disobedience would cause great consequences?"
The sister was quick to snap her head up at her, eyes wide as silence filled the room. Hoa could feel her face heat up with shame.
Mother Agnes was informed shortly afterwards.
"You ask dangerous questions." She said coldly. Hoa said nothing, her eyes stuck to the floor. She never openly asked questions again.
Privately, she still wondered what it all meant.
She began writing under moonlight in the library each night the sisters went to sleep. Pages and pages of essays on God, Jesus Christ, and the bible. Frantic scribblings that were desperate to make sense of something so cruel.
If God loved women, then why had their suffering been written into creation itself? Why was her life entirely decided before she was even thought of? If she was truly his daughter, why did he make it so that silence was demanded from them while his sons got to be loud and insufferable? Were they simply the favorite of the two sexes?
No answer ever came.
Still, Hoa prayed. Every night, oftentimes for hours, hoping a response would come like it had for other holy figures. Hoping she would receive an explanation, a reason. The saints in scriptures heard voices. They witnessed miracles. God loved them enough to speak to them directly.
She knew she was no saint, but surely he would answer. Clutching her rosary beads, she'd stare at the stars in the sky through her small window.
"Why did you let this happen to me?"
Silence.
"Did you hate Eve too?"
Nothing.
"...Am I truly meant to suffer simply because I was born a woman?"
The quiet whisper of wind against stone was somehow more deafening than anything else.
When no answer came, something inside her snapped. She yanked herself away from the window, swinging her rosary at the stone wall so hard the beads popped off the string and clattered all over the floor, crucifix splayed across the ground in two pieces.
She covered her mouth, immediately horrified. She desperately tried to pick it up, tears spilling over her cheeks as she choked on her words. "I'm sorry-" She sobbed, "I'm so sorry, please do not send me to hell, please do not punish me further. I wouldn't be able to bear it."
She returned to the stars for comfort after that night.
Not in a paganistic way, though she was sure her sisters would accuse her of such if they knew- but because they felt eternal in a way humanity did not. They had witnessed the rise and fall of civilizations all over the world, and yet they remained constant. History and violence repeated endlessly, but they were always there, without fail, quietly watching it all.
She began studying astronomy with the old books left in the library, maintaining silence and good behavior so she was allowed to do so freely. She carefully mapped out constellations on paper, filling journals with theories of the stars and how they connect to the Bible and the lord, charting out timelines of history and human suffering, trying desperately to prove that suffering held meaning, that her life wasn't some random string of poor draws of luck. If pain had repeated throughout endless centuries, if women had consistently endured since the beginning of the earth, if everything was meant to be, then perhaps none of it was personal.
Perhaps the universe itself was simply cruel.
That thought frightened her much less than the belief that God had chosen her suffering deliberately.
✦︎ ────── England, 1866.
By the age of twenty-four, Sister Catherine had become somewhat of an oddity amongst the convent. She was still quiet, so much so that talking to her was the equivalent of turning to one of the many stone walls and speaking. She was certainly difficult.
But she was admittedly brilliant.
The sisters no longer had any reason to strike her knuckles, fore she knew better than to ask any more questions. Instead, she sought answers for them herself, disappearing into the library with arms full of records, scrolls and books as she buried herself under words on paper.
Writing had become her obsession. Perhaps even her salvation. She didn't care to distinguish the two.
The convent soon assigned her the job of record keeping due to the sheer amount of journals, notes, and star charts she created each and every day. Birth records, deaths, harvests, illness outbreaks, scripture translations; Sister Catherine documented everything in perfectly written neat ink, her nails and fingers becoming permanently stained a dark color.
She continued her own essays on top of that, naturally. She had become numb to her everyday duties, indifferent to the name given to her. Half of the time she seemed to have her head in the clouds, not paying much attention to anything anyways.
But she still wrote. Theories, observations, essays, journals- her corner of the library soon became overrun with loose paper and books. One essay compared biblical history to celestial movements, arguing that humanity constantly repeated the same sins despite believing they had morally evolved as a society. The stars remembered it all.
She had questioned if Eve had truly ever committed evil at all. 'If innocence cannot comprehend disobedience, then perhaps the first sin was not curiosity, but the punishment of it by the Lord.'
The Mother Superior burned that one without another word when it was discovered. But Catherine kept writing. The stars soon became central to nearly all her religious theories. She studied astronomy obsessively, sitting under the stars for hours as she scribbled the stars in her bound leather journal. 'The sky will remember us all, even if history will not.'
Some sisters admired her. Some feared her intellect entirely, claiming that she thought too much. Truly, she simply grieved too much. Perhaps there was no true difference.
It was winter when Catherine first coughed up blood.
She ignored it initially, chalking it up to the freezing cold weather making her throat dry. The convent was cold year-round anyways, and illnesses spread easily and quickly amongst nuns and nearby villagers. Working and praying at almost all hours of the day while only getting to sleep under a thin blanket had left most sisters perpetually sick in some capacity.
But her condition worsened. Quickly.
Her coughing became violent and restless, and she soon was constantly spitting up blood. Her chest was always in pain, and she could not get a deep breath in anymore without her lungs rattling. Soon after came her fever. She had tried to continue her duties, attempting to work through it as she sweat through her robes and yet shivered like a leaf. Her exhaustion was so bad she could hardly get through morning prayer without swaying. Her pristine handwriting had devolved to illegible squiggles.
Then, she collapsed during Sunday service.
Consumption, they called it. The disease had already claimed a few of the sisters. She was simply next. There was no cure. Only waiting for death to grace her and finally put her out of her misery.
Catherine was soon confined to her bed, her room full of fresh flowers the other sisters gifted her in an attempt to ease her mind. They did their best to care for her, but she could see the fear that lingered in their eyes. Tuberculosis spread easily, and nobody wanted to be next.
She lasted to spring.
Catherine had become almost frighteningly thin and pale, her skin almost translucent under the soft candlelight, collarbones protruding underneath her night gown as coughing fits wracked her so hard she thrashed in bed from the force.
She still tried to write, her journal and quill always beside her. But nothing she would put on paper made sense, or was even legible in the first place.
There was one sister who took care of her most of the time. Sister Margaret was young, terrified, and devoutly catholic. She was convinced that caring for her would earn her some brownie points towards heaven, so she tried to make Catherine as comfortable as she could. She didn't want to go to hell, after all.
She often sat beside Catherine for hours each evening changing damp cloths, offering herbal tea, reading scripture aloud whenever the coughing became too painful for conversation. Catherine often apologized weakly for the trouble. She didn't enjoy bothering anyone. And Margaret would always cry, as Catherine laid motionless and stared up at the ceiling. "You are not trouble," she would sob as she held her hand, "You are good. You make things make sense."
Margaret fell ill days later. Her health, and her mind, soon left her.
The physician warned the other sisters quietly that she had the same disease as Catherine, and soon the sisters confined her to Catherine's room, insisting it was so she could be her main caretaker.
It drove Margaret insane, and she became hysterical over it. She didn't want to face the same fate.
The night it happened, Catherine awoke to the sound of a candle being lit. She couldn't lift her head to see, but she assumed it was Margaret. This was confirmed when she came into view, holding a dagger used for cutting open mail and trembling like a leaf.
"What are you doing?" She rasped, watching as the girl soon dropped to her knees and crawled to her bedside, reaching for her hand. "The physician said I am ill." She cried out, holding her hand as she looked up at her. "Forgive me sister, for I know you are holier than I, but please, save my soul and allow your sacrifice to let me live on and preserve your teachings. Forgive me- forgive me."
The pain was blinding and instant as Margaret cut from Catherine's inner elbow down to her wrist, the wound deep and immediately leaking red blood as Margaret sobbed out apologies and Catherine gasped for air from the wound.
Then, Margaret dragged her tongue along the wound, drinking the blood that stained the sheets of the bed. She was desperate, resorting to some crazed primitive mean of curing herself as she took whatever Catherine had left to give.
She didn't remember much after that. Her voice as hoarse as she choked out a final sentence.
"I am so tired."
She died by morning.
But Margaret recovered from her illness. Slowly, she got better. Her fever disappeared despite the physician's certainty that she would die. Word quickly began to spread that she had been cured by being a devoted sister to Catherine, drinking her blood in her final moments before her death. They considered it divine intervention. A miracle.
The church discovered Catherine's journals soon after, tucked into her corner of the library that nobody tried to enter. They contained thousands upon thousands of essays, theological papers, astronomical observations, and historical analysis. They were published soon after.
She had unintentionally spread the word of God. She performed a miracle.
She became a saint.
Saint Catherine of Kent, patron saint of the stars, endurance, and history.
✦︎ ────── Heaven, 1942.
Heaven was not what Hoa expected.
It was beautiful, certainly. Golden light spilled through the clouds, sprawling gardens untouched by violence and war, music playing endlessly, joy across the land. Angels moved freely, no longer burdened with fear, hunger, or death.
And yet, despite all of this, Hoa felt alone.
When she had first arrived to Heaven, Sera and Emily welcomed her warmly, praising her strength and her essays as they gave her a tour and showed her the place she could call home.
It was a simple tower connected to the vast and closed off angelic historical archives of human history. It reminded her of the tale she had read from a Brother's Grimm book, one of a girl with long hair trapped in a tower she imagined to look similarly. It had a glass dome, allowing her to observe the stars with an angelic telescope. She was free to continue her work.
She took this quite seriously.
The title of saint frightened her a bit, seeming much too serious to be given to a woman who never even truly believed in the religion they claim she spread. It was a title only given to her due to her sheer desperation.
The tower became her sanctuary. Here, she was able to tuck herself away and continue her work without ever having to be bothered by anyone ever again. She could do as she pleased. Control her own life. No angels other than her assistants saw her for nearly a century.
Then, after skipping countless meetings, the Seraphim demanded she be in attendance for the next upcoming one, deeming it important she offer her own insight to the heavenly court.
She was noticed as soon as she stepped into the room, quickly retreating to her balcony seat. She didn't enjoy the attention, but it was hard to avoid when so many hadn't seen her in ages. Not to mention the fact she was truly ethereal, her long black hair falling to the backs of her thighs and mimicking the shape of a nun's habit. Her eyes were a pale blue now, similar to her long lost friend. She carried a piece of her for eternity. She was still pale, and was now adorned in a blue gown with golden celestial embroidery and jewelry.
Soft-faced and solemn, she kept her eyes trained downwards and her mouth shut. She seemed more like a ghost than anything.
Then, someone laughed.
She looked up as she heard them quickly approach, her eyes widening slightly as she stared up at an extremely tall, large man.
"Well, shit."
He stood with a mask on, a holographic grin plastered on it as he crossed his arms and leaned down to get a better look at her. He was much too confident, it seemed, and she squinted at him in annoyance as he surveyed her appearance before pointing to himself.
"Adam. First man. I'm a big fuckin' deal around here, as you know." He said, rather self-absorbed as he automatically assumed she remembered who he was. Unfortunately, she sure did.
Except he was much more obnoxious in person, and she had preferred not seeing him since her ascension in 1866.
Slowly, she fought the urge to scowl as she stared at him quietly for a bit.
