Even the iron still fears the rot, hiding from something I cannot stop walking on shadows, I can't lead him back.

SATAN appears.

Do you know him? Call unto him. Touch him. He is not there. Because he does not exist, Judas. Rather, they must conjure him, and still he is but a vapor blown away by a hummingbird's breath. He is false. He is a lie. He is not real. Touch him. Go ahead.
JUDAS: I don't wanna touch him.
JESUS: Stand up, Judas.
JUDAS: You know I can't do that!
JESUS: No. What I know—is that you can.
JUDAS: Get the fuck over yourself!
JESUS: Will you feed my lambs, Judas? ... Will you take care of my little sheep? ... Will you feed my lambs?!
JUDAS: "Feed your lambs"?
JESUS: You know exactly what I'm asking you.
JUDAS: Go away!
JESUS: If you don't love me, Judas—then you're gonna have to look me in my eyes and say it.
JUDAS: I don't love you.
JESUS: If you don't love me, then why are you here?
JUDAS: Go!

The Last Days of Judas Iscariot / Stephen Adly Guirgis.

HER EYES LOOK SHARP AND STEADY INTO THE EMPTY PARTS OF ME. BUT STILL MY HEART IS HEAVY WITH THE HATE OF SOME OTHER MAN'S BELIEFS.

Heaven wasn't taking its proper place on earth, enunciated in the ancient writings. Hell was the earth, through its acts, of the divine and the profane, of the intoxication induced by groping for sin for which so much escapes without any success. Your own head is clad in confusion and the wreckage of a faith that was vanishing in the wind and drifting away from the coasts. Of dawn and tide, turning to nothing.

Daeva Ashenfell lived in the ornate walls and under the constant gaze of Jesus Christ incrusted in the midst of the chapel, aware that her clawed soul was not going to be enough to restore the crucial inner workings she needed in her sincerity after stepping onto those hallowed floors and confessing before the chapel. That she has sinned, that she has yielded to the avila and temptation, that she is not worthy to be there; opening her heart before the presence of God, knowing that with her hands, in her skin, her eyes, her bones and mouth, they have stolen and torn away spirits that now fade in the atmosphere and haunt her head in tremulous nights, calling her name. Like a habitual nightmare that sits in her head and makes sure to remind her that misery will become an iron inhabitant in her day to day life like a broken record repeating itself over and over again. It digs into her brain, painfully enunciating that there's no such thing that will save her from herself.

Tempting the angel became a gamble. God won't save you, not to escape you. Merciful or not, his work takes its time to prevail. And Daeva was sure he would never do that with her. No matter how long she prayed kneeling in church or in the dreary company of cicadas in the forest gazing up at the balmy sky in search of an answer to her questions. I still do it. I don't feel guilty. I do it to survive; I do it out of devotion. Why does it feel so good? Why does failing you feel so good?

Took advantage of the qualities she gained, she possessed the beauty and the whole tenacity to crawl through people and run as soon as she aroused suspicions. After spending some time in Romania, helping the nuns, the pain caught up with her. The sisters knew something was wrong with her, and as quickly flame flared up, she ran away. Still in a dazed state, cause she could feel again the sensation of the scarlet liquor embedding itself in her gums and her teeth digging into the angel's languid skin, enjoying it, of knowing that her need owed it to him. They called her crazy. I hear his voice. A nocturnal cry in the walls that pierced the holy shrines and became the epicenter of the venom. Daeva weeps, guilt gnawing at her with flesh and bite, Daeva feels that sorrow as a reminder that life took her away and has her back to break her bones and burn her vestiges.

Daeva loved the darkness, standing erect in null sanity. And caged it in her laments and promises. As an emblem of utter evil.

That's why her arrival on Crockett Island was vital.

What at first seemed as harmless as a dandelion, she would sooner or later realize that the inhabitants of a small, insignificant island in the middle of nowhere were even more out of their minds as much as she was. Because the hunt begins with the uncontrollable prayer of a being that faded away too soon, inaugurating its place, is mediated through the inquisitive and hungry gaze of the priest, and ends with death. Death courses through their veins and drags them into the deepest abyss where nihilism and the perpetual call of atonement lie. She cannot remember it, but the voice she hears was close to her ear, it was whispering her nights and piercing her barrier. A sin. It's what made us suspicious.

This island does nothing but drain you. Here you live or die. You endure bruises and learn that monotony will befall you. You watch the tide for a few seconds and the next you are drowning and swimming towards an endless course.

Daeva Ashenfell loved blood. As much as he does. 

But who was he?

Daeva Ashenfell    †    Sophie Bathsheba Thatcher.
Don't you feel satisfied to know that death knows you? That death knows your name?

Paul Hill/Monsignor John Michael Pruitt      †      Hamish Linklater.
I don't feel satisfied anymore. Now and then, you called yourself a sin. You never were. None of this was.

Others Characters as Described.

001. Ptolemaea. Ethel Cain.
002. Salt in the Wound. Boygenius.
003. Bela Lugosi's Dead. Bauhaus.
004. Be My Druidess. Type O Negative.
005. Persephone. Cocteau Twins.
006. Jesus Built My Hotrod. Ministry.
007. Get Down, Make Love. Nine Inch Nails.
008. Enth. Crystal Castles.
009. As It Was. Hozier.
010. Hellraiser. Motörhead.

011. Maldito Duende. Heroes Del Silencio.
012. DNA. Kendrick Lamar.
013. John The Revelator. Depeche Mode.
014. System. Chester Bennington.
015. Rose & Web. Fearing.
016. Girls Against God. Florence + The Machines.
017. Sacrifice. London After Midnight.
018. Black No.1 (Little Miss Scare -All). Type O Negative.
019. MORE. The Warning.
020. Romeo's Distress. Christian Death.

Welcome to Sacred Order! Where I planned on doing a horror/thriller and ended up doing a romance in the middle, sue me. This fic has been with me for a year and I didn't touch again till a few days ago when I was going through my phone notes lmao, I thought it would be fun since I've never written anything like this, I promise to do my best!

Daeva is part of Paul/John, she's part of who he was even though she doesn't remember it. It's a little confusing at first, but it will make sense once the story starts I swear. I LOVE Hamish Linklater sm and I think he is underrated, I couldn't help myself.

Midnight Mass doesn't belong to me, nor its characters or main story, what is mine is all the storyline of Daeva and her development as much as any other character external to the show, changes in the plot, graphics, etc. "Thank you Mike Flanagan" we all say in unison.

Dedicated to duable glenpowells freaklowden bvbyteeth ilangbuwan starjely sacrificialfawn morzzmayhem bIodrena thanks y'all for the support 🥹💗 love u.

SACRED ORDER / A MIDNIGHT MASS STORY.