16th century. Wilbur was there from Monday to Saturday: running an orphanage on the outskirts of town. Every Sunday, Wilbur went to town early to preach the word of the Lord.

You knew Wilbur, you were one of the orphans. When you were a little child, you always saw Wilbur as someone paternal, protective; a good religious man, a good priest. When they found you, he welcomed you and led you along the path of the Lord, from which you have not yet departed: you pray every night, before eating, and avoid sinning.

However, as you grew up, that man who you saw as a safe haven, became a mystery to you. You began to notice the inconsistencies in his behavior, how at times he seemed to be out of his depth, out of his religion, a religion that he himself preached.

One day, you saw him greeting the nuns and teachers who passed by in the hallway, and when he saw you, he greeted you as always: smiling at you, walking past you and ruffling your hair. Then he passed by, you saw him disappear down the hallway, and you saw how his expression changed when he turned. You were scared, but you were willing to see what he was hiding.