forgive me father for i have sinned.

every morning, cain kuskyn woke up and prayed. on his knees, over the side of his bed, he clasped his hands and murmured prayers.

every day, he took confessions. sitting in a booth, he listened to what people considered sins. what they thought would let them into the afterlife.

they were nothing compared to what he had done. the blood on his hands and the darkness within him was worse than every confession he had heard put together.

still, he gave sermons and led mass. every day, without a fail, he helped his fellow priests greet believers.

the church was usually empty at night. when the sun had fallen, the building seemed eerier. he swore the shadows between pews were too dark to be natural. even the statues seemed to watch him. waiting.

he sat up when the old oak doors creaked on their hinges, announcing someone’s arrival.

he adjusted his clerical collar before turning to see who entered.