Confide in your mentor

You pull yourself from your bed come morning feeling more exhausted than you did when you went to bed the previous night. **** to be late twice in a row, you get yourself ready for the day to come. It is, thankfully, the day of rest in the week, by Phoenican standards. The Archdeacon will have his sermons for the congregation in the city, and you and the others within the Sisterhood will be required to assist as needed, but by midday, there will be no scheduled tasks or chores beyond preparation of dinner, which was usually the highlight of the week. As you trudge your way through the events of the morning, you feel a stronger feeling than exhaustion. Two, really.

Embarrassment, being the first. Each and every time you look in the eyes of another being, you feel as if they are judging you, as if they know both what you did on that altar the night before, and what happened to you in your dream. Worse, you get the sense they think you enjoyed your dream, like a filthy pervert. A debased slut who succumbed to her demonic tendencies. It was only a matter of time. You try your best to remind yourself that you're none of those things, but you can't help it. You feel the need to scream out and run, despite absolutely nothing happening.

Fear, being the second. Fear that maybe it wasn't actually a dream at all. It seemed so very real. You remind yourself all dreams do in the moment you are in them, but you counter that unlike a dream, you can recall everything perfectly. The smell of the sulfur, the sharp jagged edges of the ground. The calming feeling of putting your mouth around Mommy's welcoming nipples...You start to fear that maybe your embarrassment is justified. Maybe you did enjoy it, all the more worrisome if it did actually happen. And if you are that way, how long before you fulfill your purpose? You start to see demons in the cathedral, behind every candelabra and hiding in every shadow. Shaking your head, they disappear. The results of a fevered imagination, you try to tell yourself, but the nagging question remains.

What if it's not?

The last of the sermons over, the Archdeacon customarily stood by the entrance to the Cathedral and shook hands with his followers as he exited. He was warm and chatty to a fault, which naturally led to him to be such a great leader to these people. Among the crowd, you slowly push your way towards him. Somehow, just standing near him helps you feel a little more at ease, as if the pressing darkness of your nightmare wasn't quite so fearful.

"Demetria, is there something the matter?"

"I'm afraid so. There's something I need to talk to you about, something personal."

He listened well despite never having his eyes or his ears directly upon you, still greeting others as they left "Yes of course my dear. Let us share lunch together, and you can tell me everything that is on your mind..." In an atypical gesture, he uses his free arm to wrap around you and pull you close in a semi-hug "Don't worry, you can tell me anything. Whatever is troubling you, we can address together" His friendly touch and soft words warm you up, and reassure you, for the time being. You take claim to a small table in the courtyard, and take a portion of todays lunch for each of you. A simple pasta dish, meant to just hold over until the ensuing dinner. Dressed out of his formal attire, Archdeacon Doolyn moves as quickly as his bad leg permit him without strain.

"Thank you my child. Now, what's troubling you."

You bite your lip, afraid to share all of the details about you and Rosita. You decide to start with the real concern. "Something very strange happened to me through the course of the night. I had a very bad dream that seemed impossibly real, and I'm afraid of what it means."

The Archdeacon was quick to surmise it as little concern "Everyone has bad dreams Demetria, nothing more than that. If you'd humor an old man's curiosity, what about this dream causes you so much fear?"

"I met my mother, Archdeacon". Fergus stops eating to process this information, contemplating. "You didn't meet here in the Cathedral I take it..." you shake your head no, quietly

"I see. Well, I understand why you're afraid. Being a demon, if she did truly contact you, she has nothing but sedition in her heart, and she has no love for you, despite what she claims. You are simply a means to an end for her."

"Yes, Archdeacon. I understand"

"What she tell you?"

"She told me that I was the key to her and other demons being unleashed on the world. That I was a part of a master plan, and that I would have to engage in...debauchery for that to happen."

"Well, you've always been a temperamental and emotional young lady, but I don't see that being a problem. Not without her influence. You've always been well behaved, and I don't fear that will change. If you have any desires that you need to confess, speak to me privately. The rest of the congregation will not hear of this, I promise. I will not judge you for any deeds you've committed, or any thoughts you have."

Out of nowhere, you blurt something out "Well, I prefer it in the ass, actually!"

The Archdeacon nearly chokes on hearing this. You cover your mouth in embarrassment, unsure as to what possessed you to blurt that out.

"Demetria! When...how?"

You're too far gone now to not answer his question truthfully. "About a year ago. One of the Jones boys was...infatuated with me, and I thought he was cute. He was weirded out by...you know, so we tried that instead."

Fergus looked wide-eyed at you, apparently having thought you were still a virgin until this point. "Well, thank you for telling me this, although I am disappointed this never came up in your previous confessions."

"I'm sorry, Archdeacon."

"I know, and you are forgiven. Your...experiment, with the Jones boy was innocent enough, I suppose. Just...be gentle with this old man before you say something like that again"

"Of course Archdeacon"

"Let me know should anything else occur. If this really is your mother and if she really does mean to use you as a gateway, this will not be a challenge you can handle on your own. Now, nothing else for it for now. Let us go help in cleaning, and see if the other sisters need help preparing dinner..." You feel immeasurably comforted by the Archdeacon's presence and by his words. So long as he is near, there's nothing that could go wrong.