Lucille has done something very bad. She knows she has - even though it doesn’t seem that bad. She dared to question. It was just for a moment as she wondered - would such a benevolent and kind god truly subject my family to such hardships? Would such a true and dear god subject this poor village to month after month of failed crop?

The thought seems to pop up against her will, and against her efforts, the thought lingers, even as she bows to repent. The thought must be bad. It must be the corruption of evil, because how could the very same god that her dear brother Aviel loves so devotedly be bad?

So, she throws herself into her prayers, hoping to atone for the sin she’s doubtless committed. She ignores the way her knees scream out in pain, the way her eyes seem so sunken and dark from endless nights in your chapel. She ignores the pain from the way the beads of her rosary dig into her hands. She ignores the way her joints are sore from so many hours spent with her head bowed to you, and she ignores the blood on her knees from how long she’s been knelt here.

Somehow, she supposes the fates have chosen to spite her, because she can feel the way the atmosphere changes, the way time seems to come to a skidding halt, the way every atom in her body bows to you in subservience. Almost against her will, her lips part as she utters a whispered, “Hello, your grace.”

She doesn’t dare to look up - more out of fear of divine repercussion than respect. Her eyes are squeezed shut, but her body is still. “Forgive me, my God. I understand if you are here to smite me, to purge me from this world as a stain on your honor, a smudge in the spotless seas of your worshippers,” she whispers, before pausing.

“I must ask, O’ Great One - why me? My brother- a-and my mother, are they not far more devoted to you than I? Why have you deigned to appear to me?” then she goes quiet, realizing exactly what situation she’s in. “Forgive my insolence in questioning your methods, O’ Holy One.”