"I love you despite the warning signs."
It had been four months since it had happened. Four months since she had conceived. Four months since she knew that it was the beginning of the end, because he was a church official and if she told she'd be punished yet more harshly. And she was starting to show.
She'd managed to hide the morning sickness and the missed periods - after all, that time of month was considered by the church to be demonic, and was rarely discussed, even between mothers and daughters. Not that Chara would want to talk to her mother about anything personal.
"Chara Milligan," her mother hollered up the stairs. "What is taking you so long? We can't be late to the service - it's your first Communion!"
Ah, yes, the first Communion. She had just turned sixteen only days before, and was taking her place, in the church at least, as a practicing member. She would become a full member at eighteen. She paled. Communion required her to drink from the Font of Sacrament, and pregnant women weren't supposed to do so. It was said that unbaptized children could carry demons within them, and so the Font of Sacrament would reveal that nature in a defect that could not be removed. That was why children waited to be baptized at the age of 13, when the unholiest urges would first strike. Any earlier or later and they could be overcome by a devil.
"Coming," she called back, picking out one of her larger dresses and flats.
They walked to church on the cobblestone path. Her parents greeted friends, but Chara kept her head down, trying not to be noticed. No one would do anything before church, but she wasn't exactly popular. The other kids all knew there was something different about her - though what it was wasn't clear. After all, she acted much like all the other children; although she seemed to have more compassion than most.
They walked through the wide oak doors of the church, engraved with the seven souls of the Saints. At the front of the church the familiar mural of the Saints beating back the winged, horned, and otherwise horrifying monsters of hell back into the depths greeted her. She sought out her namesake, bravely fighting at the front of the pack, his sword glowing red with determination.
Could monsters really be that awful compared to humans? she thought blasphemously. After all, the church was so often right. Anyone not a member of the church was a heathen and should burn, according to the doctrine of the Holy Scroll. That went double for the black- and brown- skinned descendants of demons and for the unholy whores of the demon king Asgore. How often had Chara heard tales of grim bloodshed and death, masquerading as glory paid to the Allfather? How many public executions had she witnessed of discovered practitioners of other religions, mostly from across the tracks, some of whom had been her only friends?
Alia, the old widow who had once belonged to a powerful family, who had spent her little savings to buy butterscotch candies for the poor children of the slums. She was always insisted on sharing these with Chara as well, though when she turned away Chara always dropped her meager allowance into her bag. She had burned for defying church doctrine, head turned to the sky in defiance, the smell of burning flesh seared into Chara's memory.
Thomas, the young boy with whom she had roughhoused down by the river, until her parents had found out and charged his whole family with sacrilege. He had watched his parents hung and been taken, sobbing, to be an altar boy.
Katherine, the sweet, gentle young girl who had always followed her with wide, sparkling eyes, gasping at her fine dresses and laughing as she played with Chara's springy curls. She had been caught in the Great Room of the Chapel, which was forbidden to the lower families, and had innocently walked to her death by ritual sacrifice in the Font of Justice, which always ran nearly black with blood. It was by far the most horrifying of the Seven Fonts.
Of course, the church executed criminals, too. People from across the tracks who trespassed, stole, even killed. People from this side who killed. But never the guilty clergy, whose hands were permanently stained with violence and worse.
The Fonts stood in the front of the church. In the middle was the Font of Sacrament, to the left, the Fonts of Justice, Integrity, and Bravery, to the right, Patience, Perseverance, and Kindness. Each had a role in the church ceremonies, though some less gruesome than others.
Chara took a seat at the front with her parents, her nervousness growing. As much as what had been done to her had been an act of hate, she loved the life growing within her.
Notes rang from the organ, a song to silence the congregation. Gradually the murmuring died down, and the bishop stepped to his pulpit, raising his arms to the sky.
"The glory of the God Almighty, to his holy servants and children - the saints - to the One Mother, we gather today in celebration and observance of. We call upon his mightiness to purge us of sin and cast us as vessels to purify this dark and treacherous world.
"Thou art the father, greatest in battle,
Thou art our shepherd, tending us cattle.
Thou art our mother, the milk from your breast,
Which runs through our veins, by which we are blessed.
Thou art the children, lights in our darkness,
Saints from your loins sent down to guide us.
Thou art the holiness of our work in your name,
In your divinity lies our naked shame."
Chara shuddered at those last words. The verse had never sat well with her, but now it seemed to be both more literal and looming over her. A tightness stole out from her chest to her extremities, constricting her breath and flushing her skin with uneven patches of warmth.
"The service today is dedicated to the Tale of the Great War, and what it means today. Thousands of years ago we vanquished the demons of hell and sealed them back into their dark pit. Today we are…
The minister spoke on in a religious fervor, his voice and expressions passionate, and seemingly, compelling, for the congregation leaned forward to catch his now-booming voice, or fanned themselves helplessly, though the air was pleasantly cool. Chara rocked slightly in her seat pulling at the lace on the neck of her dress. She felt a drip of sweat run down under her arm and shifted to rub it away. Her mother frowned down at her and she stilled, waiting for communion to come.
Finally the bishop called out, "Friends, it is time for the holy communion. Today we have three new adults joining our ranks. Chara, Toria, Samuel, please come forward."
Chara walked with the two others with leaden legs to the front of the church. She felt nausea rise to her throat as she eyed the fonts.
"Before you drink of the font of sacrament, you must purify yourself by drinking from one of the Lesser fonts." She had forgotten. She was to pick her poison, perhaps quite literally.
And Chara was to go first. She stepped up so she stood in front of the Font of Sacrament. Her eyes immediately passed over the Fonts of Bravery and Justice, to the left and right of it. None of them were told what properties the waters of these fonts had, denied from viewing communion until their sixteenth birthday. She only knew she did not want to drink the blood of innocents, whether from execution or from the weapons of our soldiers.
She looked to her left. Integrity was there, followed by kindness, which was always empty. The church said they didn't know why that was. Chara had a feeling she did.
She looked to her right. Perseverance overflowed with clean water, and as I watched, another drip ran down and out of the basin.
I accepted the chalice from the bishop. "Choose the one you need most," he whispered to her, his soft, wrinkled hands encircling mine, then let go.
The one she needed the most? That would be bravery. The water ran clear today, not even the pinkest tinge. She hesitated, then stepped forward, catching the water in her chalice.
Chara's hands shook as she lifted it to her lips, the water threatening to slosh over. She drank deeply, then stepped back in horror as the water rose from the basin and formed a thin screen in front of her.
She saw herself, holding her child, hair damp and unkempt and dark bags under her eyes, stark on her pale face. She was looking down into the face of her child with half-glassed but loving eyes.
She found it impossible to swallow as a weight settled into her chest, an ache growing from the center of her heart. Then she gasped, as dark, indistinct figures wrested her baby from her. The Chara in the vision cried out, struggling towards them but easily restrained. At last, she sunk back into the pillows, the glassiness of my eyes now haunted with a cloudy darkness.
Chara struggled for breath as the water poured back around the edges of the font. There were murmurs from the congregation, which grew into a loud roar with sharp peaks of yelling. She stood numbly, unmoving. The bishop waved his arms for silence, and the congregation settled down.
"Chara, I would like to speak with you and your family after the service," he said gravely, but his tone carried an edge of steel.
Toria stepped forward, seeming shaken, but her head held defiantly high. Dipping her chalice in the font of integrity, she stared at Chara and took a long draught. Nothing seemed to happen, but the bishop stepped forward.
"Toria, have you committed any crimes against the church in your memory."
Her eyes widened as her lips trembled, and words spilled over them as water over a peak.
"I have doubted, father," she spoke, turning red. "I have lusted, and coveted many things."
"Very well, my child," he said. "You shall commit to four hours of prayer as penance. You are welcome amongst us." The crowd murmured the final phrase in response, which Chara noticed had been conspicuously absent for her.
Next Samuel stepped forward. He didn't look at either of them, but quickly dipped his chalice in the Font of Justice, which ran purple with the blood of vanquished enemies washed from the weapons of their soldiers. Drinking deeply, he stared fixedly out above everyone's heads. There was silence, then the bishop stepped forward.
"That you are still alive, my child, means that you have committed no grievous sin. You are welcome amongst us."
You are welcome amongst us," the crowd murmured in response. Samuel's face was steady as he walked back to his pew, but as he sat, Chara thought his eyebrow and the corner of his mouth twitched ever-so-slightly into a smirk.
As the service drew to a close, dread flowed like molten lead from Chara's throat to her stomach. Though she wished she could run, her feet seemed inextricably bound to the floor, as if they were already deadened from running all her life.
They stood, and recited the closing chant.
Patience, hold me ready, waiting, drawn back like a loaded bow,
Perserverance keep me steady, keen and accurate arrow.
Integrity, hold me highly, so that I might strike true,
Justice, aim we wisely, so that I may serve you.
Bravery, propel me forward, into heart of waiting foe,
Kindness, at Knowing of the Word, ready to staunch the flow.
For those who accept Chara's Sacrament,
themselves should all be heavensent.
As if sensing Chara's desire to flee, her mother's hand closed around her wrist in an iron grip. He heart throbbed in her chest. Today would be her Judgment Day.