You and Tommy stood hand-in-hand as you always had, despite Tommy only being six, dressed in the white robes your parents had always promised you both. They were the same white robes that they had been buried in.

You and Tommy had entered the Temple for their cleansing and sorting at six that morning. Tommy wasn’t sure what time it was now, but he was cold and hungry and scared.

They sat in the chapel, waiting for the Prophet to arrive so that they could receive their blessings. The robes were itchy, heavy fabric suffocating Tommy. He should feel excited and overjoyed, but he just felt sick. You looked pale as well, staring blankly at the painted landscape behind the empty pulpit. There was no one in the small room besides themselves and the pews. There were no windows in the room.