Winds blowing harshly upon the face can feel as sharp as whips. That was the realization that Fatima had come to when she was limping along the narrow alleyways to reach the church ahead. The holy building was a grand edifice of civilization, standing in the foreground of mediocrity. Other structures were nothing more than supporting roles and background decor for Fatima's destination. Jogging the last stretch of a plaza, her eyes would be greeted by the grand procession of devotees rushing out in an orderly manner. The church's attendees conducted small talk with jokes and gossip as they maintained a steady flow of traffic out and away from the building. Others rushed faster than most to arrive and resume their 14-hour shifts or savor what little leisure they had left.
Slipping out of her boots as quietly as she could, Fatima stealthfully made her way to the main congregational room. The fox steps in shame, creating little to no ripples of sound as the woman arrives at the lone spot in the back. This singular spot on this entire planet would be dedicated to Fatima, just for the time being, at least. That was more than what she could ask for from the Dominus-Imperator, considering that the woman was late again. More of the late congregation joined Fatima as well but with varying degrees of guilt compared to her. Some couldn't care less and thought the Divine-Emperor had bigger things to worry like a legion of daemons pouring out of the Eye of Terror, than a few people being late to prayers. Some were racked with guilt at failing to attend the daily thrice prayers, as the Master-Emperor would take notice to tally their sins and count against them in the afterlife. Fatima's guilt, on the other hand, was another thing entirely. No, she didn't believe that her sins would be tallied against her in the afterlife. If anything, the God-Emperor would avoid as much bureaucracy as possible.
" Why must I be this way? O' Master of Mankind, I wish I knew the answer." The words were raspy, coming out under her breath.
"There were only 3 prayers a day." Yes, the Ecclesiarchy of Mosul had only mandated the daily prayers to be thrice a day.
Fatima thought of how easy it should be for her to transit from the end of her work shift to the church, making it to attend dusk prayers. Yet, it appeared the Dominus-Imperator had other plans to delay her, anything from traffic jams to mandatory overtime. The sanctified grounds Fatima was over were supposed to provide peace and tranquillity. Rather than the sublime, what Fatima found within her mind was exhaustion from the work she had just finished, sadness for being a disappointment to her parents and clan for her tardiness, and lastly, anger at her parents for dying.
"Baba, why didn't you move into the city with me?" Tears leaked from her eyes as Fatima failed to hold her composure.
"Mama, why did you support his decision?" The stoic mask often worn during her job was shattered by the stream of water flowing from her soul. Instinctually following the ritual with the others in attendance, Fatima knelt on both knees before kowtowing at the statue of the Brightest One. The crying was muffled while the foreheads touched the carpet. Smoke from the leftovers of the thuribles still clung to the walls and ceiling of the room as the golden resemblance stood still. The icon's left hand is outstretched, reaching toward the floor as his face smiles in sympathy. When Fatima's eyes met with the archangel's, there should've been ease, but there wasn't any to be found. All Fatima could hear was the deafening silence and a face that was almost patronizing from Sanguinius. The powerful saint was standing with open wings and an open palm to help up the poor, pathetic, and miserable lot like Fatima from wallowing in squalor. These thoughts bombard Fatima to paralyze her for a time.
"Do you need any help, sister?" Soft and gentle, the words came from a girl younger than Fatima.
"N-no, once the others have left, if I may request," The last words spoken were nothing more than a whimper.
"Ask away," The preacher's tone was as soothing and natural as a breeze. The girl's skin, much like Fatima's, was olive-toned. Whereas Fatima kept her hair in a bun to make life easier while working, the youth had cut her hair shorter as it hung just below the ears with a single straight edge. The doe-eyed clergy gave all of her attention to Fatima's sharp eyes.
"I wish to be able to pray alone before our angel," Eyes still wet and red from crying, the Preacher only replied with a nod. "W-wait! Before you leave, can I ask for your name?" The preacher's inviting violet eyes locked with Fatima's emerald orbs for a second before breaking contact.
Just the tiniest hint of a smile crept up her face, "D'Shahid, Hana Ali d'Shahid," Going back to quickly resuming her task of cleaning and clearing the congregation room. Eventually, even d'Shahid removed herself from the room. Purple eyes are one of the marks of a Cadian, but that could mean any number of other reasons. However, Fatima did spot a faint scar on Shahid's lips, which could point closer to a Cadian explanation.
Swiveling her head around to check, once Fatima was confident that she wouldn't be disturbed, she advanced right up to the giant model. Offering a face of pleading while kneeling on both legs, she held both palms open as they faced the sky. With head bowed, the words from Fatima's brain spilled forth without a sound, "I want to believe. Please help me, Sanguinius! God-Emperor! Any sign to make me believe," Thoughts morphed from ideas to movements of the lips and tongue. Still, she was too afraid and weak to give the mouthing of words to actual noise.
"I want to believe that my parents are safe within your embrace, God-Emperor," Then the following line was uttered as a whisper, "B-but I can't, I don't believe my emperor is divine. No matter how much I want to," Finally, giving power behind the thoughts she's held for years honestly would damn her and her entire clan. All of the punishments and threats of the afterlife didn't matter now since there was only defeat and exhaustion lying at the end of this road. With a single confession, the war within her mind indeed ceased, and there was only peace from her defeat.
The warm, fresh scent of a bakery welcomed Fatima inside and drew her further in. This place was what she had needed after such an emotional high and low.
"Karim!" Fatima called out to have a boy no older than a teen jumping up from under the counter.
"Fatima!" The enduring grin of a boy up to no good cropped up, "My favorite customer!"
"Don't you say that to everyone that walks in through the doors?"
"I mean, yes! But only when you aren't around!" The kid at least had the decency to tell the truth, which caused Fatima to chuckle in amusement.
"Is that a new batch of baylav you finished?" The mare thought of the layered nutty tray of treats made Fatima's mouth water. After such a physically and mentally draining day, why shouldn't she help herself with a little gift?
"Why yes, of course!" The bald child bowed deeply like a knight of old before royalty, "You must enjoy yourself before my cooking, my Shahanshah!" The ancient word for king of kings slipped out and told Fatima to do nothing but eat. And that was something she would more than gladly comply with.
