George: My Lady, do we really have to do this?
George looked around nervously, clutching a delicate glass bottle tightly, the crimson liquid swaying inside.
Dikke: The monks themselves told me, moderate drinking is allowed.
George: And to make him blind drunk, is that considered moderate...?
Dikke: That interpretation isn't up to you.
George: Well, just in case...
Dikke: ...
George: Ah, I see!
George slipped into the room, bathed in the gentle light of stained-glass windows.
The faithful had long finished their prayers and left.
George slowly approached, bowing in front of the priest's altar.
George: Father, I've come to seek the Lord's forgiveness.
George: I am a sinner, Father.
Malachi: You've come late, George... and empty-handed. Confess then, and our merciful Lord will forgive your sins.
The priest looked down at the penitent believer, a veneer of kindness on his face marred by hungry eyes.
Then, he coughed twice.
Malachi: Have you paid your tithes, George. Where are our cattle, our lambs? Did you bring them hence?
George: I did not, forgive me, Father... I need all that I have left for winter.
The merciful smile faded a second as the priest leaned out of the light.
Malachi: No matter, George, your family comes first. But then have you some golden grain that might feed our faithful?
George: No, not that either, Father. I sold all that I had to spare at market...
The priest's kindness vanished into a gritted smile.
Malachi: It seems you haven't truly repented yet... Have you no concern for those who pray for you? Did you forget that the treasure shared with us in life, are stored doubly in heaven?
George: Forgive me then, father. That I only brought one such treasure with me.
George lifted his robe, revealing the top of a glass bottle.
George: That you might not forget me in your prayers, I beg you take it...
The warm light of mercy returned to the priest's face, and he opened his hand.
Malachi: Ah!
Malachi: A delightful smell, surely as pure as the wine at Cana, of course, I will save it to share in a time of celebration.
Malachi: At last, I feel the sincerity of your repentance.
Malachi: Go now; your sins have been forgiven.
George: Thank you, Father Malachi.
"Pop—"
The sound of the cork echoed against the empty chamber, hidden from the eyes of the stained-glass saints.
Father Malachi reeked of alcohol, he stumbled through the empty corridor, collapsing in front of the gaze of a statue.
His steps were unsteady, and he hadn't noticed Dikke standing in the shadows.
Malachi: Oh Lord! Forgive me...
Malachi: Burp—
Malachi: I had only a little drink...
Malachi: I'm not drunk... I didn't...
Dikke: Devoted as ever, Father Malachi.
Seizing the perfect moment, Dikke leaned against the angel statue, brandishing her flaming sword.
It gleamed like the blazing sun, with fierce fiery tongues dancing below the feet of the angel.
Malachi: How... how are you here?
Dikke: While you sought forgiveness through prayer, I sought the truth.
Dikke: And I've found it.
Dikke: Brother Chester wasn't the only one fallen to drunkenness, it seems, or am I mistaken?
Malachi: That poor wretch ... It wasn't me who did it. I swear ...
Malachi: It was accidental! It was... I did not intend for him to fall ...
Dikke: Of course, your drinking together that night was nothing more than an act of camaraderie.
Dikke: You share your labors, your prayers, your wine, and it seems to me you even share corpses.
Dikke's shadow approached closer.
Malachi: Never ... I had nothing to do with those corpses!
Malachi: But if I hadn't discovered his wickedness, the abbot would never have permitted us to ostracize him...
Malachi: He, he's lower than a carrion worm... ripe with the nauseating odor of a wizard!
Malachi: Go down to the basement and see with your own eyes. It'll prove what I said is true... I've done nothing wrong!
Dikke: For your sake, I hope so.
He leaned against the statue, his gaze wandering.
Malachi: The great plague has been gone a long time...
Malachi: As long as we do not intervene, people will forget those horrible events, and they will continue to believe in us...
Dikke: ... Was that his crime?
Dikke: A wizard trying to study corpses, awakening the painful memories of the people?
Malachi: It is the truth! Given enough time, we will regain the trust of the people and their donations...
Malachi: But, you see...
Malachi: Forgive me... Merciful Lord...
Malachi's ramblings stirred with the alcohol on his breath, creating a swamp of stench and confusion.
It was as if he didn't even realize what he was saying; muttering to himself until he collapsed on the ground.
Dikke: ...
Dikke: Maybe your prayers will be heard.
Dikke: Maybe your sins will be forgiven.
Dikke: But not right now, Father.
