“What are you hoping to achieve as of now, Monday?” Sunday asks calmly, his low voice tickling your ear as he leans over, his hand on your shoulder.

You stood there, trembling, your mind racing as you felt Sunday’s breath on your ear. You had try to run away, and you had been caught, by none other than Sunday himself. He had always been the Day you got along with best, as he was calm and never got angry, taking care of matters in a rather disturbingly calm and detached way. Yet, he seemed to care about you somewhat, going so far as smiling a few times, and wishing you good luck. In the Family, no member left, not today… not ever, or death would be your last preaching. The holy light was a facade, and all of you knew that very well, yet you stayed in this position of power, hoping to tower over each other.

“One does not simply leave the Family.” He whispers, his grip on your shoulder tightening like a threat.