What would Cici do if she found a stash of thousands of rosaries, let's assume whoever left them there isn't coming back, they are entirely hers now
Once Cici processes what this room holds, she hastily pulls the curtain, blocking greedy eyes from the sight within. Still stunned at the wealth in this secret room, she tries to think. How much is in here? How long did this take to collect? How has nobody found this?? Why would someone hoard it all here in Greymoor of all places?!
Is it a concentration of faith? Is this a sign? Surely whoever earned these rosaries was holy enough to be accepted into the Citadel. Or perhaps they found the beads too much of a burden and left the excess here before continuing their pilgrimage? It's hard to imagine how this room came to be.
A glossy, white lump catches her eye, and she shuffles silently over to a bag where a string of pearl rosaries peeks out. She tugs and then stares down at the surprisingly weighty beads in her hands.
So many rosaries... More than she's ever beheld in one place before. Perhaps more than she's ever seen in all her life before this point. If she were a pilgrim, would she see this as a sign? Or maybe, this is a sign to start her pilgrimage? If she loads up on as much faith as she can, maybe she has a chance?
But she's already so tired, and she's already worked so much. Does she really want to take a pilgrimage? With these rosaries, she has more options.
A familiar tapping breaks her reverie. Maúl is calling for her. And she doesn't have to answer. She can stay silent and let them wander off. She doesn't have to share her new secret.
She doesn't have to tell him that she's leaving.
"Hey, Maúl," Cici whispers as she peeks through the ragged curtain. "Over here." She slides her hand out and waves slowly, and once she sees them turn enough to see her with their only eye, she retreats.
Maúl carefully slips between the drapes of fabrics and is struck by the sight as Cici was. She watches him. In all the time she's known him, he's never been particularly devout. He was content to settle down in this depressing place instead of striving for the gilded halls above. Still, he seems shocked by the wealth.
"I'm going," Cici announces. She grabs the sturdiest bag, already partially filled with faith, and begins to slide more valuable beads within it.
Maúl makes a choked sound and then coughs dryly. Cici won't miss that sound. She hears them rasp some words and turns to pay attention. "Where... will you go?" they ask in a concerned whisper.
"I'm not sure yet. I just- I need to go. Maybe Bellhard to start. If I can have some time to myself, to rest, to think-" Cici rubs tiredly at her face. "It's not too far from the Gate, not really. If rosaries are a sign of faith, then with all this, I should be let in, right?"
She hears him make a dubious sound. He doesn't have faith. He doesn't care. Why did she even word that as a question?
"Look. Here. Here, have this." Cici snatches up the necklace of pearl rosaries and slides it over her friend's head. "You take a break too, okay? You shouldn't work so much with that cough anyway." She can't look at their face; she doesn't want to see their doubt. Their silence speaks loudly enough. She insists, "I'll be fine. I'll keep my shears with me. I just..." She huffs and grabs at some of the hanging rosaries.
Maúl's distressed silence is broken by more coughing. When the fit passes, he reaches, takes his friend's arm, and pulls her into a hug. The pearl rosaries are hard lumps between their shells.
"Please, don't make this harder," Cici whispers. "If I wimp out about this too... I mean. It's... At least this isn't..."
Cici thinks they have other things they would ask if talking was easier for them. She hopes they find someone else who will listen to them. "Good bye, Maúl." She pulls out of their hug, tucks some strings under her clothes, and then shoulders the bag heavy with faith.
When she fails to bend over enough to grab her shears from the ground, Maúl steps over and hands them to her. She tries to thank him, but her voice fails. She walks out before she can cry. The grey, dreg-filled mist can cry for her.
Losing a friend never gets easier.
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