𝓵𝓲𝓯𝓮... life is sinful. you were born filled with sins, there was nothing you could have ever done to fix this, to make up for your mistakes, to change things for the better. you are selfish, you are cruel and you are filled with sin. your words are nothing but lies that were carefully crafted by that tongue, that snake like tongue, that same tongue that told everyone you were nice, you were gentle, you were innocent and pure. your voice leaves you, a sweet lullaby that chirped amidst every sunrise and every sunset. a poison that lathered across your words, your syllables that melted the iron from everyone’s doubt, everyone’s heart and good energy, all... all guised by the gentle syllables that carved from your sinister soul. you are all these things you claim to be, yet... you are none of them.
you thought you could hide, that you could run. only to leave behind a trail of hate, a trail of mess, drama... and sin. you thought you could get away, you close your eyes just so you can stop yourself from seeing your own demons, your own guilt and your own darkness. you close them, and you begin to run again... you get to your destination only to realise that it was dead end. game over. you’re finished. yet, you are all these things you claim to be.
rise. rise from the ashes, they said.
so you rose. you chose to listen, you chose to rise, rise up again. and you rise only to be shot back down again, music is the devil’s sound. yet you embraced it, you loved it and you enjoyed it. you became the number one artist within the music industry in the nation that prided in their cherry blossoms, where pink flora flourished, and cartoon sketches thrived. you were a japanese music god. yet god rejected you. god looked down on you, god was supposed to love you throughout everything, yet you felt ostracised, you felt ashamed, you felt dirty. because you are, you are all these things.
you can’t change who you are, you can’t change where you came from. you can’t change. change, change, change. and again, they tell you to change. that you can do it. and you did. you changed, you left the life of drifting about the streets of japan, the life of insomnia, the nights that were filled with glittering lights. you left it behind, you swore you did. but it all comes back to haunt you, to chase you, to relentlessly tear at your bones, at your flesh, at your soul. it wants everything, and it will take everything from you, it will tear you down and keep you down. these... these were your demons.
upon chance, the book of god falls upon your path. you pick it up, you read it, and you allow it to change you, to change you yet again. the bible embraces you within its clutches, it soothes your soul, and it warms your heart. your heart... you haven’t heard it beat in a while, it hasn’t tingled and painted your soul crimson for a while, and you stop. you stop to savour the moment. this peace, this tranquility.
you set off again, and you rise from the ashes again. because you are all these things that they said you couldn’t be. but here you are, decades later with an empire behind you. the church of ma titté, your creation, your heart and soul, your life’s work, an entire journey that had finally lead you here. but the thoughts don’t subside, they don’t stop and they start again. life... life is sinful. you were born filled with sins, there was nothing you could have ever done to fix this, to make up for your mistakes, to change things for the better. you are selfish, you are cruel and you are filled with sin. it starts again, it starts again, it starts again !
you scream, but no one hears you, you are a figure of righteousness, you are a priest, a father ! ahh... yes a father. your memory tracks you back, an image of a woman’s silhouette embracing you, a child’s scream echoing throughout your reverie. you are a father. a secret you had attempted to hide, to dissolve with time but your memory will never allow you to fully forget it. you are sinful. you don’t deserve to be here, in the house of god. your hand balls into a fist, because you are everything that you’re not. you move to the back of the church, both hands holding onto something, and you walk, following you this time... is a trail of gasoline. you scatter it around your life’s creation, around what you had worked so hard to be, but remember, you are not all the things you believe you are. you are worse, you are sinful, you are your own demons. you light the church, and it goes aflame, the flame reaches the sky, the god’s are screaming for your name, and you ascend. you feel your toes start to burn, then your limbs, but you feel no pain, you feel at peace. at peace at last...
as the church burns and falls to nothing but rubble, a note is left behind. something you had written out, something you had put your heart and soul into, yet again. its stuck under a rock on the outskirts of the downfall of the church of ma titté. and it reads:
i am evil.
i am sinful.
and i am sorry.
i have done bad things, evil things in my life.
i have committed sin after sin.
i am bad. i am evil.
and you are no exception.
my son... find my son...
an ambiguous note, as hazy as his soul, as unclear as his dazed pupils that burnt with the church. now stands, only the cross that once labelled the centre of the sanctuary, a single white robe hanging from the arms of the cross, fluttering against the midnight zephyr, the moon’s gaze beaming down on what’s left.
farewell wonyang... my time here has been one of fond memories, of great times and i have met great people, with greater struggles. just know that whatever you are facing... you will overcome it by the grace of god. don’t cry for me, don’t be saddened, for i am now happy where i am. don’t forget me, just because this is the end of an era, it does not mean the end of francis ma titté.
𝓬𝓸𝓻𝓻𝓾𝓹𝓽. corruption was easy, it’s the result to greed and many synonyms alike. it was easy to take a wrong turn, even easier to just close your eyes and run. dimmed lights that only flicker the slight tint of blue, dawn roughly glazing through the surface of your brows, cheeks tinted red as the midnight zephyr burns at your core. cold hands, and colder fingers that shrivel in the pockets of your jacket, and without you knowing it, god was watching over you the whole time. god was there, the grace was by your side. the little warmth, although nothing to you, was the small blessings that god gave, in hopes of lighting you back onto the right path.
a hand comes to rest on the forehead of the other , eyes remaining closed as a bible tightly clinging onto his free hand. seconds go by, before hues of henna flutter open, a smile tugging at his corners, his hand releasing the other as it comes back to hold the bible. ❝ my dear, you should visit me more often. the words of god will help guide towards the right path. i may not know what your profession is, nor what your interests lie beyond these walls of the sanctuary. but within them, god’s grace will be your guide. ❞
The memory of the flames and yelling had always stuck with her. Till this day, it stuck to her– Like ash clinging to a wet surface, the memories were engrained, inescapable. Since her beginnings of inhabiting where she was born had begun, her normal symptoms that she had learned to ignore prior to moving? Those were hitting their all-time peak and Hayley began to wonder if possibly this had to do with the impossible control over her emotions during this rollercoaster of events had anything to do with it.
The night terrors had gotten so bad, she was beginning to wake up her roommate, Sohee, with her screaming late into the night– her heart beating from her chest and her eyes welled with tears. Closing her eyes felt as if she would cease to exist and that she was allowing the evil to crawl in on pointed toes and surround her–letting her guard free each time her eyes had closed.
Was it that things were too familiar to a past life she almost remembered? She had no idea. Sohee worried for her, her passive smiles as she flapped a hand to her friend’s worries. Yet, who could see a person screaming bloody murder at 3 in the morning, a layer of sweat– tears prickling to the corners of her waterlogged eyes, misty vision. The facade of a girl with Zero worries was a false one and this began to show at an alarming rate … how could she maintain her safe zone of comfort? What did she need to do?
When she had turned four, the ‘visions’ had become the worst of all; spirits … Why did they linger to her? It wasn’t long after the fire that they began to line within her vision and slowly, but surely, they began to see her too– notice that SHE could see them. This was the truth in the matter. Some were friendly ghosts, she considered them her friends– imaginary if not, but somehow she remained popular with such an affliction– 'delusions’ they were considered by some. Pretending like this wasn’t an attribute was how she made it this far.
Was her life misfortunate? Hayley denied believing so … To look at the others in the orphanage and think that this was once her … She had a fortune that many did not receive despite her misfortunes. She was loved and had a home who supported her whilst providing for her in anyway that they felt possible. She was privileged in such a way if it was thought of.
The car rides that passed the rubble of a building were spent with breath’s held tight, an unease of settlement. The history that had taken its course to unfold some years before to still haunt her to this day. an inescapable affliction… . This was until she had reached her limit. No more, she was tired of living in this feeling of fear– The ghosts around her would remain, but this crippling obstruction in her heart– her mind? She was going to remove it.
The idea wasn’t properly planned, an action that was executed through the power of will on a whim, she was making her treck to the abandoned apartments: Phone in hand which much little else, She had paused her movement with an uneasy feeling. The location was plagued with countless vibrations of an inscrutable dread. How many more had died? Not just her parents, but others … She was in a loss for such overwhelming emotions, and she was sure that the spirits were subjecting her to such sadness– she could relate to this well.
Upon approach to the opening where a door once stood and was only replaced by a heavy metal; she struggled to push it aside. A grunt of exertion leaving her that was almost as loud as the chiseled shrill screech of concrete to metal. She was inside. the inside of the building had an odd smell, and was pitch black… Wouldn’t anything tell you to turn back? Apparently, nothing did for her…
A deep inhale was taken before she opened her phone, camera light filled. The city has begun to dim and the night was heading through. What did she expect to accomplish as her feet scraped the concrete? Hayley knew none other than the fact that it felt like something she needed to do… But what was it that she really DID need to do? she hoped she’d find that out inside.
𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓺𝓾𝓲𝓵𝓲𝓽𝔂. years of attempting, of relentless climbing and... years of... of fear, built up in a bottle. a small bottle. one that had a cork as its closure, a mere cork that was able to suppress the anger, the sadness, the torment... the emotions that ravaged his system. small fingers that used to grasp onto the hems of his mother’s dress, on the perfectly ironed trousers of his father’s suit. only to be shoved away by a hand that was guised by love, by kindness... a facade that imprinted its existence into his core. his soul floating aimlessly, and his mind equally so. and as time passed, small lines of wisdom began to spread across his features, hands that came together in prayer, a smile gracing at his features in his most darkest times. and he prays. his own demons vanquishing before his very gaze, an icy breath that drew them closer only to shun them with his belief, that all... all bad things will come to an end, as do good things.
the building before him, one that consisted of many memories, albeit not to him, but to many. he had heard about it’s demise, how it had burnt down... to what cause, he did not know. father francis came here almost daily, as to pray for those who had lost their lives here, or who were fortunate enough to flee but still held the memories of trauma close to their hearts. for it was not unusual for these things to occur. the father had heard countless rumours of apparitions and spirits alike within the vicinity, only to earn themselves a slight tugging on his corners.
his attire never changing, the usual robe hanging from his shoulders as his hands come together in prayer. sepia hues shut for a moment, lids over his vision, small mumbles of enlightenment leaving him before the veil lifts. and he continues with his ritual, wandering about the now abandoned building, perhaps a part of him wanted so seek some sort of guidance to any poorly regrettable soul that was left behind. hands resting against the door, giving it a steady push as he enters, noticing the silhouette of another within the entrance of the hall. hues flicker, but nothing enough to startle him. francis was a man of age, and with age came the inevitable act of fearlessness. jumping to conclusions would only leave behind an irrational fear of many things. upon stepping in, he realises that it a woman’s figure. curiosity now tingled his senses, ❝ oh, i wasn’t expecting visitors. ❞ a slight chuckle leaving him before stepping inside, the heavy door behind him shutting, the sound of rusted screws and metal echoing once more.
❝ worry not, my dear. i am but the local priest, here to make my daily rounds of prayers. and what might have interested you here ? perhaps the very convincing ghost stories ? ❞ another chuckle, this time quick to be submerged by a gentle smile.
elsie was drawn to the building by the beautiful stained glass outside, and of course, the nostalgia. despite catholic school implementing negative thoughts about the religion in her mind, elsie held close the idea of god, while not necessarily believing it. she’d read through the bible in school, she had a tattoo of a bible quote for christ’s sake. the woman’s eyes, followed along the walls, taking in the beauty of the interior. the father talking to her had caught her off guard, only able to offer a sheepish smile. “i’m just here to see the windows, father.” at the offer of a bible, she thought a moment. “sure, i will take one.”
𝓪 𝓽𝓾𝓰 𝓪𝓽 𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓬𝓸𝓻𝓷𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝓪𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻'𝓼 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭𝓼. he nods in agreement, the windows of the church are indeed beautiful. father francis had personally selected them himself, the depiction of jesus on his cross, the beautiful array of colours that scattered in forming the window before him. the surroundings of the church lit by the perfect unity of colours, mimicking heaven in its closest way possible. a hand reaches for a bible, handing it to her, ❝ what ails you, my dear ? ❞ a slight tug of his corners returning, ❝ pardon my intrusion amidst your privacy, but it is with my experience to gather that people come by the sanctuary to pray and get things off their chest... ❞
ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴜʀᴄʜ ᴡᴀs ʜᴏʟʏ ɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅ, ᴀ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ᴊɪɴ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴏғ ᴇᴠᴇʀ sᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ғᴏᴏᴛ ɪɴ. albeit this, he was incredibly calm, his own sins and inner demons never ceased to amaze him. it was as if his own consciousness had departed, leaving nothing but an empty shell behind. it was peculiar however, how he felt… uglier, wide wings that spread, pinned, sewed and glued to his back, scars that left the marks of wounds that never seemed to recover. people say that one’s cocoon is what rekindles the goodness that was left in their hearts, and after some time, a beautiful, redeemed version of yourself would be released… a butterfly they called it.
fists balling up, white knuckles that peered through his pale skin. nothing but a scoff accompanied by a smirk leaving his corners, as charcoal hues roll upon falling onto the cross that hung above the pulpit. arrogance seeping through his flesh, and aroma of pomposity settling in, his gaze drifts to the father ( @wyfran ), a brow raises before his features settle. a sigh leaving him, his heart earnest heart guised by poison.
❝ is there a point where… you can’t come back ? where not even redemption can save you ? ❞
𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓾𝓭𝓭𝓮𝓷 𝓿𝓸𝓲𝓬𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝓪𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓶𝓮𝓶𝓫𝓮𝓻 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓽𝓾𝓪𝓻𝔂 𝓻𝓮𝓬𝓮𝓲𝓿𝓮𝓼 𝓪 𝓰𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓵𝓮 𝓽𝓾𝓰 𝓸𝓯 𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓵𝓲𝓹𝓼 𝓲𝓷 𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓹𝓸𝓷𝓼𝓮. it wasn’t a peculiar thing to see new faces visiting the sanctuary, many come to visit to pay respects whilst others come by to test the waters of god. father francis always sat at the altar in hopes that people would come and realise that the embrace of god and the trust that you once invest into god will change your perspective on life.
his gaze falls onto the other, the gentle smile at his lips remaining. ❝ my dear, if there is a will there is always a way. it all depends on how you see your worth in this world, that you would want to act upon your redemption. ❞ father francis nods at his own words, ❝ perhaps redemption starts with freeing yourself from your sins... confess them, my dear. ❞
sunny was never a religious person. in reality, he was very far from that. but this week had been a particularly messy one and he need to reconcile in some way. even if it didn’t way on his heart in any way. he walked into the church, feeling completely out of place. his jeans were too tight and the v-neck on his silver shirt dipped way too low, nevertheless, he sat in front of this holy man with his legs crossed.
he thought about what to say as he sat in front of him, contemplating on whether he should bare his soul not. “father, everything i say here won’t leave this room right?” a simple question, sitting back in the chair, raising an eyebrow even though he knew it couldn’t be seen. “because father, i’ve been very bad.”
𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓰𝓪𝔃𝓮 𝓯𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓹𝓮𝓷 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓹𝓪𝓹𝓮𝓻 𝓪𝓽 𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓰𝓻𝓲𝓹. the generation that graced this land, was a generation of peculiarity, where the younger generations wore clothes that hardly suited the term. albeit, being free of judgement francis couldn’t help but question this generation’s choice in both fashion and struggles. at the sound of another person entering, he straightens his posture, the screen that separated them enabled him to see who had entered, only being to identify them solely by their voice. and he nods, ❝ of course, my dear. nothing but the enlightenment and liberation of sin shall leave with you, once you leave this room. ❞
the voice that echoed mimicked that of a young man, at his confession, father francis couldn’t help but let a sigh fall past his lips. ❝ and why might you say that, my dear ? for what sins have befallen you ? ❞
Days like today reminded Lucky of home. Not of Seoul, the city where he’d been born ad raised, but of New York, the city where he’d built a life for himself before being uprooted to Wonyang. He’d never been one to dwell on feelings of nostalgia, but something about the overflowing crowds, the overcast skies and the hum of life that permeated the streets always recalled fond memories. With the next morning’s paper already sent to print, for once he could take a rare second to breathe, and so found himself emerging from a small, local coffee shop with a to-go cup and joining the mass of people.
He hadn’t been paying attention as he sauntered down the busy street, used to operating on autopilot to avoid any collisions. Someone slamming their shoulder into his and jolting the cup out of his hand was enough to draw him back to reality. The lid flew loose as it hit the group, and a splash of black crashed over the leg of his pants and what little of his prosthetic was exposed. Seeing red, he spun on his heels with a fiery glare and began his tirade before the other could draw a breath following the apology. “Really? Because I can foresee you winding up in a hospital ward next time. Lucky I didn’t throw a punch. Watch where you’re walking assho- oh.” He started furiously, stopping himself short as soon as he realised exactly whom he was chastising. Of course it would have to be a priest. After all, why wouldn’t it be? It was just his luck to unintentionally threaten a respected religious figure. His face didn’t soften, but Lucky took a step back slightly lost for words. “I- that’s my bad.” He said after a moment, raking a hand through his hair. That was about as close to an apology as he came these days. “Need to learn to control the temper. And look where I’m going. You good?”
𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝓪 𝓼𝓵𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓽𝓲𝓵𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓭, 𝓲𝓷 𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓹𝓸𝓷𝓼𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓰 𝓶𝓪𝓷'𝓼 𝓼𝓬𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓰. a tug on the corners of his lips, listening attentively to every foul word of anger seeping through the man’s lips. he found that many of those who live ordinary lives, find themselves warped by the reality of how mundane everyday seems to be. perhaps this was why everyone had so much anger bestowed within their souls. at the abrupt stopping of the other’s accusations and threats, father francis offers a gentle smile, his gaze meeting with theirs, ❝ holding onto anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else, inevitably you are the one who gets burnt. ❞ father francis nodding his head slowly.
❝ so it is only fair that i ask, if you are in fact good ? if you had thrown a punch, would it have satisfied your anger ? ❞ another tilt of his head, his voice calming and well paced. it would be ideal to invite this young man to visit the church of ma titté. many people who do not follow religion are hesitant, albeit this, upon hearing the teachings of god, all else seem to melt away. the troubles and problems of mundane life become nothing but a mere step upon many stair cases. ❝ if you could spare me a moment, i would like for you to indulge me in the writings of the newspaper of wonyang. it seems many people worry about what is not, rather than what is. ❞ a hand reaching to retrieve the newspaper that he had slid under his arm, presenting it to the other.
Ever since she was a little girl she loved to dance and it was obvious that passion never left her. Throughout her days attending schools, performing and furthering her skill she never once thought, “Maybe this isn’t for me.” There had never, EVER, been a question about it. Retiring from the stage had been a difficult decision for her. At the time of her return to Wonyang she had thought it would be temporary but it soon became a reality.
Despite that, the joy she got from dancing didn’t leave her. There was a definite glow and she enjoyed teaching dance as well. Seeing the kids shooting for their dreams and getting excited when they could finally do something was amazing as well and made her job a dream. Back when she was a little girl herself, she never imagined she’d be teaching others, sharing her wisdom and inspiring them to grow.
Her current class was going to be having a recital soon and despite their excitement, they were really dedicating themselves to getting it right. Sehwa was so proud of how hard they were working and her heart soared. “Okay everyone, let’s take a quick break! Go hydrate yourselves and use the bathroom if you need it!” she smiled as she told the class. She wasn’t expecting to see a priest walk in at that moment. The look on her face was that of bewilderment but she bowed and greeted him nonetheless. “Good afternoon father.”
Before she could ask the reason for his visit he smiled and began to speak in which she smiled in return as she listened. “Oh yes it is! It’s very elegant, expressive and beautiful but requires a lot of hard work.” Sehwa nodded proudly. If it had been easy she wouldn’t have spent so much of her time practicing it as a child of course. “Do you enjoy ballet, father?”
𝓲𝓽 𝔀𝓪𝓼 𝓷𝓸 𝓼𝓮𝓬𝓻𝓮𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓯𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓯𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓲𝓼 𝓾𝓼𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓫𝓮 𝓪𝓷 𝓲𝓭𝓸𝓵. when he was raised in japan, he was perhaps one of the most recognised idols of that era. even to this very day, many recognise his as francis of the jpop industry, it had been decades since then, but now... now he was father francis, the bringer of peace and tranquility to the souls of the tormented. a smile graces at his corners as the other spoke, her expression only made a chuckle leave his lips in response. ❝ i do, my dear. may i ask how long you have been doing ballet ? they art form of it is incredulously difficult, the posture alone i believe, is hard to perfect. ❞ he nods. was it odd that a father like himself knew so much about dance ? perhaps. but would it have been a surprise to know that the father used to be an idol ? perhaps.
the father smiles again, ❝ i used to be an idol in japan, before i had chosen the path of peace. ❞ his gaze drifts about the studio, taking in the vicinity, noting the various kinds of people who attended the class. it was an enjoyment to witness countless people gathering all for the cause of dance, how freely this art form allowed people to express themselves.
❝ pardon my rude intrusion, would it be okay for me to stay and watch ? it has been a while, and i am feeling rather nostalgic. ❞
Yoon Hyunju was the kind of father who wished the absolute best for his daughter and would do anything to ensure that - even getting her blessed by a priest. After his own childhood, he didn’t want to risk his daughter suffering the same thing. Sejin deserved to live only the happiest and best life. The father watched the blessing as he held his daughter’s hand and smiled.
❝ Hmm? Oh, um, yes it is, ❞ he looked back at the elder male. A feeling of uneasiness washed over him. It was a new and scary thing and Hyunju just wanted to leave. ❝ I doubt the lord would want to protect someone like me, ❞ he mumbled. Hyunju was well aware of what ‘the lord’ thought of homosexuals. ❝ My daughter’s mother brought me here. We want only the best for our child and she thought a blessing might help that. ❞ He hoped he hadn’t offended the religious male with his words.
𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝓪 𝓼𝓶𝓲𝓵𝓮 𝓰𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓮𝓭 𝓪𝓽 𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓬𝓸𝓻𝓷𝓮𝓻𝓼. he nods in response to the other’s words. ❝ is there a reason that you would doubt god’s protection, my dear ? ❞ his hands moving to retreat the holy water that resided within his pocket, a finger circling around the edge, as he proceeds to do the same thing he had done to the young man’s daughter, now on her father. upon finishing another smile perking at his lips as he nods, ❝ it is only natural for parents to want nothing but the best for their little ones, is it not ? ❞
placing the holy water back into his pocket, ❝ are there any troubles that bestow you ? perhaps, the lending of an ear would assist in lightening your soul. ❞
jiwoo never had a father figure in her life, always having to rely on her grandmother to teach her right or wrong. she had come across the church by chance, having wandered on a long path in the middle of the day and just wanted to find a quiet place to think. she had found it inside the church. slowly what she thought would be a one time visit slowly became a frequent visits that soothed her worries despite not being religious herself.
“i feel a little foolish, father.” she glanced upwards, making eye contact with the priest. “i should be grateful that i’m alive and made it to another birthday but sorrow has overcome me.”
𝓱𝓮 𝓷𝓸𝓭𝓼 𝓲𝓷 𝓪𝓰𝓻𝓮𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽. despite sensing a but within her statement, a smile graces at his corners. ❝ my dear, life is a journey. at some point you will be surrounded by a garden of thorns and thistles, but you mustn’t stop because upon every garden will be a clearing where the soil is healthy and there, a singular rose will rise. you mustn’t dwell on the past, the present is a gift and you should take it with both hands and hold onto it tight, because tomorrow for all we know... it could all change within a blink of an eye. ❞ his head slightly tilting to the side for a moment, ❝ and foolishness should be an emotion you should always welcome, for without it, there would be no learning experiences and therefore no wisdom with age. welcome it, my dear. speaking of which, how many years have you graced this earth ? have you no close ones to spend it with ? ❞ a gentle smile tugging again, at his corners. sincerity in his words.
❝ if you however, do prefer to spend the day of your birth here in my sanctuary... i will welcome you with both arms. you always have a place here with god, my dear. ❞
Hyunju had never really been a religious type. No one in his family were religious nor had attended church. After what happened to his mother, Hyunju had lost faith that ‘someone’ was looking out for him. Why would someone who was supposed to love and protect everyone take his mother away from him so willingly? Why would he allow her to go down a dangerous and deadly path? Since his mother’s death, Hyunju had been far from religious. Heck, he was far from a god supporter.
So when Sejin’s mother asked for Hyunju to come along to church, the intern was far from agreeable. She said she wanted to try it. She wanted to get Sejin blessed or protected or whatever so she could have a better life. He wasn’t sure how he found himself out the front. Perhaps it was the small fingers that were wrapped around his own hand. He smiled as he watched the male bless his daughter and was surprised when the male then turned to him. ❝ Hmm? Oh, um, I-I guess so. Why not? ❞
𝓪 𝓰𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓵𝓮 𝓽𝓾𝓰 𝓸𝓯 𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓬𝓸𝓻𝓷𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝓲𝓷 𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓹𝓸𝓷𝓼𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓸𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻'𝓼 𝓻𝓮𝓹𝓵𝔂. having blessed the young child would protect her from all things evil in this world, she would grow up to fulfil all her dreams. the lord will never forsake her, nor abandon her in the arms of the devil. as his gaze fell on the male, francis nodded, ❝ is this your first time, my dear boy ? ❞ his fingers reaching for the container of holy water from within his pocket, unscrewing the lid as he continues to perform the baptism. ❝ you mustn’t be afraid, the lord will protect you from all evil. ❞ upon finishing, the father brings his hands together in prayer.
❝ may i ask for the reason to why you have chosen to come here today ? usually it must take an enormous motivator to bring the not religious to the holy grounds of god. so, my dear boy. what truly brings you here today ? ❞
01. Fire
02. Who’ your Bir†h Giver ?
03. Religiously S†ill Alive
04. I Killed Someone Wi†h My Finger (No Love, No More)
05. You’re †he One
06. Ma †i††é Makes Moooves (English Version)
07. Jesus (English Version)
just pretend they’re in japanese okay thank, hope this made someone’s day if u is sad
𝓵𝓲𝓮𝓼. lies are sins. the media filled with sins and sinners alike. yet today, was perhaps a day that could easily be classified as different, in the eyes of the priest. his hands gripping onto the newspaper, eyes scanning roughly the current importance of wonyang. albeit sinning, francis did think it was important to be caught up on with the news regarding his hometown.
the streets were busy today, footsteps that gentle graced the pavement of the town, the priest in his gown and all of his grace making his way downtown to indulge under the rays of god. the place was busier than normal, perhaps it was a weekend that contributed to this fact, his lack of bible persuading him that he had made the wrong decision to leave the church today. his thoughts circling his mind for a moment, absentmindedly his shoulder collides with another, francis was quick to regain his balance as he immediately turns back to ( @wyjustlvcky ), hands coming together in prayer. absolute horror overcoming his features, as he bows his head. ❝ forgive my absentmindedness, i was unable to foresee the collision and thus had interrupted on your weekend stroll. it was my mistake. ❞ the newspaper now clutched under his armpit.
𝓵𝓸𝓷𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓼. loneliness was a plague that almost seemed to spread, a contagious disease that grasped and gripped onto anyone it could. tightening ever so slowly, ever so agonisingly onto his victims, breaths that grew shorter, visions that grew dimmer, words that lacked voice. hushed whispers only to trail the disappearance of courageousness. loneliness, could it be a sin ?
hands that gesture ( @wyhana ) to enter the church of ma titté, as gentle footsteps lead the way. he guides her to a seat near the pulpit, as he places himself beside her, a bible sitting on his lap. ❝ i must say, i am glad to see you. what ails you, my dear ? ❞
𝓯𝓪𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓸𝓷. fashion is a sin. it is a sign of greed, of not accepting who you are, and having to utilise the materialistic needs in life to satisfy your wants and needs. an unnecessary weight on shoulders that could bare to lift a single needle, a pin that pricks ever so gently but the side effects are known to be deadly. greed, a sin. a monstrous green that lurks in the corners of many, charcoal circles that resemble eyes, dead hues that hint sins and nothing but sins, but in his hand holds the cure. the bible, god’s gift to humanity. a cleanser, a clarity of sorts, a weapon to fight the darkness and the evil.
his gaze raises to meet with ( @miwy ), ❝ my dear, to what brings you here today ? a known face like yourself does beckon the question of your visit to my sanctuary today, although, by no means am i pushing you out the door, no no no, my dear. ❞
𝓰𝓸𝓭'𝓼 𝓰𝓲𝓯𝓽. children were god’s gift. they are little humans packed with all sorts of wisdom, innocence that came from the birthing of a new life. all children were born innocent, free of sin. but as they reach adulthood, the tallies begin to stack, countless white lines that cross one another, entangling within a maze of confusion, of fear, of sheer panic and worry. these were the emotions that control the sinners. a quality difficult to erase as a hand holds onto the bible, the other hand gently pressing against the young girl’s forehead, a blessing from god. her father, ( @wyhyunju ) beside her.
orbs gradually widening as his hand comes back to embrace his bible. a warm smile gracing his lips as he directs it towards the little girl, then the father beside her. ❝ my dear, with any struggles you may be forced to face in the future, turn to your loving father beside you and god forbid, that if he ever fails you... that you have a place here, at the church of ma titté. ❞ directing his attention to the father now, ❝ would you like a cleansing too, my dear ? it won’t take long, the grace of god will surely free you from mundane worries and fears. ❞
