"I'm sorry," Lucas kept apologizing, "I didn't know. I thought because it was—because it was Father Anton, so it was okay to—"

"Lucas. It's alright," Y/n exhaled, taking the bouquet of flowers from him. Crimson, blooming roses. Something that usually meant romance—but with the priest, it was impossible. There was some sort of underlying message to it; some sort of warning that he was evidently missing...

The game offered no hint. No explanation. Anton was an enigma.

"Is it really?" Lucas fidgeted, "you look very worried."

Had Y/n reacted too harshly?

"You haven't finished eating right," Y/n smiled gently at him, "go on, Lucas. Don't worry about me." His hands threaded through the silky hair of the little boy, and Lucas immediately lightened up, clamoring to the dinner table.

Y/n observed the flowers. Something had to be wrong with them. Just something. Something.

"They smell so weird," Lucas wrinkled his nose, "Sister Helen keeps roses sometimes, but it never smells so off. It smelt the same as when I fell from the tree."

Hm? Well, now that Y/n actually focused on the smell—

Oh my god.

Holy shit. No. It couldn't possibly be—

Blood. The very distinct, fresh, disconcerting smell of blood was evident in the air. It had permeated the room and had left its unwelcome mark on it. Unease and anxiety rose up within Y/n, and he was acutely aware of the thoughts spinning around his mind, struggling to gain some sort of clarity; some sort of sane explanation to this. It was an odd, sickly sweet smell that hung in the air. Like the blood had been...purified.

His grip tightening, Y/n ran towards the sink, heart thumping against his chest as he immediately placed the roses under the running water: and watched as after a few seconds, the blood washed off the roses, revealing white ones. White roses were rare. They signified...

Purity.

Innocence.

Reverence.

Y/n thanked his lucky stars that Lucas wasn't here to witness this, then cursed under his breath—a string of colorful language that dissed Father Anton for his twisted manners.

This—

Y/n exhaled. Then inhaled. Deep breaths, he told himself. He had to survive this game, both physically and mentally. And this meant he had to have a strong emotional mindset: he had to forcibly find a reason for living to pull him towards his humanity. And that reason would be Lucas.

As he examined the bouquet closer, he noticed something stranger—tucked among the roses were a small, folded piece of parchment. The writing was elaborate and ornate, like that of a formal letter, and Y/n squinted at it in confusion.

You are invited to the gathering of the church, at Father Anton's place or worship. Consider yourself to be extremely lucky to be in the presence of the being closest to God himself.

[Address] [Date]

Y/n stared in confusion. In horror. And the feeling that had ravaged him since the beginning of the game—fear. Anton had given these white roses, drenched in blood, for a reason. He had given this invitation for a reason. But what? What reason? Did it have to do with the oracle that the scroll spoke of? And what was the correlation? What was the...

"Father Y/n," Lucas said nervously, like he was apprehensive about calling Y/n by such a close endearment, but strangely, it gave Y/n some sort of warm tug at his heart. Close to his humanity. Yes, Y/n thought, this little boy would be his savior. The one who would help him survive in this world. To make him sane.

"What is it?" Y/n threw the bouquet of flowers in the trash, letting the tap run to cover the blood stains. He contemplated burning the letter, but the notification that had popped up said otherwise.

[ Quest: Attend Father Anton's gathering
Reward: +500 XP
Boost to level up to level four ]

"Your food's getting cold," Lucas fiddled his fingers, "I didn't want to eat all without you, so I waited a bit. But now your food has become cold..." He trailed off.

How adorable. Y/n didn't even get how a person could look at such a cute kid like that and go oh, let's kill him! This world was beyond fucked up.

"I'm here," Y/n said lightly, "you should have eaten first."

As he began to eat his meal, Y/n pondered over the possible quests that might arise in the future. This current one was a little of an issue, considering he would be taking a trip to Anton's home with the other people that hated him—say, like Lady Freda, like Sister Helen for example...but for the others? Father Anton remained a paradox, his true intentions hidden behind a mask of divine authority.

But for now—Y/n glanced at Lucas. He was a reminder of innocence in this world—something impossible. Unrealistic.

"Have you started on the books I passed you? The notes?" Y/n inquired. Now, the books. His biggest sacrifice yet. It was hard finding stories that weren't church related, or propaganda fueled. And for the notes? He scribbled things he knew from his previous life. Y/n was thankful for it in some sort of strange way: it was an activity he could do without thinking of.

The priest.

"I did," Lucas piped up, "it's super fun!"

"I didn't enjoy studying nearly as much as you did," Y/n chuckled, "do you want to hear some stories? I remember some."

"From where?"

"My hometown." A bitter smile crossed his face, his lips tugging up ever so slightly, "fairy tales."

"I heard those are taboo..."

"Are they?" Y/n asked tiredly. "It doesn't matter. This can be a secret between you and I, right?"

A secret, Lucas's eyes sparkled, a secret! With his father!

"Okay," He promised.

"Go to bed first, after you are done. It doesn't matter what time it is; your body is tired." Y/n placed his cutlery down. He had long lost his appetite, and instead, guided Lucas to the small bed by the corner, tucking him with a gentle, sweet smile. Lucas. The one who would pull him back to humanity. Someone who he could protect and keep naive, like a child should be. Someone who would be a child, like he was.

"Do you prefer stories with happy or sad endings?" Y/n whispered, brushing a strand of hair from the child's face.

Lucas snuggled under the blankets. After a brief moment of thought, he replied in a meek voice. "Happy endings, please."

"Happy endings?"

"Where everyone is happy," Lucas beamed, "this is a happy ending now, right?"

"I suppose it is," Y/n lied. Happiness was a rarity here...

Y/n spoke of far-off lands, brave heroes, magic. He spoke of little childhood wants and desires he desperately wished he had: he spoke of innocent people living in beautiful, perfect worlds so unlike this place. And at the end of this, he kissed Lucas's forehead gently.

"Good night, little one."

"Good night, Father Y/n." Lucas shut his eyes, a contented smile on his lips.

Y/n looked a little longer, before tearing his gaze away to look at the invitation in his hands.

Please, he closed his eyes, let us have our happy endings.

Let me escape.

—

A huge house. No, a mansion.

The house was one big giant fuck you to all the poor people. It was tastefully decorated, so large yet so lonely as it stood by itself on the ground, and the ending door even had the church symbol on it. It lacked personality—it lacked any kind of character or any telling of someone loved inside. There was no indication of who Father Anton was.

"Welcome to my home," Father Anton said smoothly. "I see you're punctual. That is a good start."

"I couldn't possibly be late." Y/n's smile felt like it might peel off.

"I suppose not," Anton's voice was honeyed and polished. The very facade of graciousness masking inscrutable intentions. "That would be considered sinful, wouldn't it? Alas, the church isn't very forgiving."

"It isn't." Y/n agreed, "...am I the only one here?"

"Usually, I invite several, but I saw no need today," Anton lifted a teapot and two cups onto the obviously expansive and beautifully crafted mahogany table, "it is a conversation between you and me."

Oh great, Y/n wilted.

"I know you're harboring a sinner," Anton tilted his head, "how is Lucas? He seemed like a sweet boy when I met him."

Yet you tried to kill him.

"Wonderful." Y/n's voice mirrored Anton's—equally polished, his words dripping like honey over a blade. "I am helping instill the church teachings into him." He took a sip of the tea—he had expected some sort of bitter sensation, but strangely, it was sweet. Pleasantly sweet.

"I have a rather sweet tooth," Anton told Y/n, smiling, "I'm afraid it's rather sweet. But there's no harm, is there?"

"There isn't, Father Anton," Y/n hesitated, "if I may be so inclined to ask, but why did you...invite me to your home? I assumed you were busy."

"Ensuring new believers are well adjusted is one of my jobs," Anton took a small sip of his tea, offering a light, gentle smile, "and I felt it would be best to check on your progress."

"....My progress?"

"You said you had trouble finding redemption."

So he did.

"I'm faring better."

"That's good to hear," Anton hummed, "that's always a start, Y/n. You of all people should understand."

Or all people? Why? Who are the people?

"Why did you...send me those roses?" Y/n's voice came off more raspy than he wanted to; more cowardly. Anton would drink in his fear like wine and soak inside until his insides were satisfied—until his twisted desires were satisfied.

"Did you like them?"

"Was I supposed to?"

"I assumed you wouldn't. Or that you would have. I gave the bouquet the benefit of doubt."

I can tell, Y/n shook his head. His gaze landed onto a portrait at the back—the only sign that someone actually lived inside. An actual, living person and not a ghost haunting the manor. It was a picture of a family, Y/n assumed, from the man and woman inside it—and then a small child, eyes hollow and smile absent. Their faces had been crossed out vehemently with paint, and all that left was the little boy—who donned all black.

It didn't take an expert to guess who the little boy was. He was already boyishly pretty then; that was the infuriating thing about Anton. His angelic beauty would always cling to him and stay loyal to him.

And the black clothes...a funeral or some sorts? A warped past that—

"You seem rather interested in my home."

"It's a beautiful place." Y/n said truthfully. Yes, beautiful but so empty.

"I grew up in it. It was my grandparents', my parents', and now mine."

"And your future child, I would think."

Anton set the cup down, shaking his head. "I would think not." His smile seemed to falter a bit—and was it Y/n, all he glanced at the defaced portrait?

"Why not?" Y/n pressed further. A weakness he must exploit.

"Priests do not marry."

Perhaps generational trauma, Y/n allowed the thought to cross his mind slowly, I have long learned that he does not truly care for the rules.

"A pity. It would be nice to settle down with someone," Y/n treaded carefully, observing Anton's reaction and noticing a sharp glint to his eye—"right, Father Anton?"

Anton smiled. A fake one, evidently.

Y/n's plans changed.

Seduce.

He would seduce the priest.