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Edith Brienne was washed in a mirage of color as she swept between the pews of the church. Light filtered through the stained glass windows; her face was cast in blues and purples and crimson reds. Mass had ended a few minutes prior, but as usual she’d stayed back to assist with cleaning, humming a hymn as she worked. Her long, reddish-brown braid bounced along her back as she moved, and she couldn’t help the smile that had been permanently affixed to her face since noon.
Her mind was filled with images of the party that had been held for her—all for her . She quietly reflected on the colored crêpe paper draped across the refectory walls, the bouquets of freshly-picked flowers that dotted each table, and the beautiful white cake at the center of it all, drizzled with honey and decorated with sprigs of lavender. She had pocketed the feeling of surprise and delight from when she’d initially entered the room to find the whole abbey waiting for her; now she took it out to reexamine it and study its facets.
In and of itself, today was already an exciting day. Edith didn’t ever pay much mind to her birthdays, and she never expected any sort of festivities or gifts for them. Still, she had been looking forward to today for months, years, even: her 18th birthday was the day she could finally begin her path towards becoming a nun, just like the women who had raised her.
Clearly the population of the Abbaye Brienne felt the same excitement—this party had likely taken weeks to plan, and she knew the bulk of the credit lay with Père Jullié, who was currently clearing off the altar. It was probably going to take Edith the same amount of time to finally come to terms with how much effort had gone into a celebration all for her. As she swept up dried bits of dirt left from the shoes of nuns working the fields, she noted the edge of guilt that had laced her smile since the beginning. Truly, she hadn’t deserved such an extravagant party.
Still, she had the distinct feeling that today was the best day of her life.
“What are you smiling about over there?” Père Jullié had finished what he was doing and now stood in front of the altar, his eyes gleaming.
Edith broke from her train of thought, but her face remained just as cheery. “Just about the party again.” Her voice echoed through the ancient stone vaulting. “I don’t think I can thank you enough.”
“Oh, Edith… this is the ninth time you’ve thanked me!” He chuckled, a little noise expanded by the wide hall.
She stopped at the end of the pew and looked in his direction, a bit taken aback. “You’ve been keeping track?” But with a simple shake of the head, she began to scan the floor for more bits of debris. “Well, it doesn’t matter how many times I thank you, because it’ll never convey my full gratitude. Can I do anything to repay you?”
Jullié stepped down off of the altar stairs. “Hm, silly girl. You don’t need to do that.” His cassock piled around him as he walked.
Edith had spotted a lone dust bunny in one of the church’s many small nooks, and narrowing her eyes she approached the foe with broom in hand.
He continued. “Today is a special day for you, so it only made sense to do something big. We must celebrate and raise up our brothers and sisters in Christ!”
“Hmm…” She couldn’t rid herself of the guilt in her chest, no matter what he said. “...While I agree with you about raising up others, you all raise me up every day through your kindness, lessons, and prayers! I don’t think I’m so special to deserve such extravagance.” She wasn’t sure she could ever forget the heavenly taste of that cake.
“Oh no, I completely disagree.” Jullié was walking the center aisle now, but his shoes were clean enough as to maintain Edith’s pristine floor. “You’re a very special girl. The abbey wouldn’t be the same without you!” His voice was steadily slipping out of a shout as he got closer. “You bless us all with your diligence, your happiness, your dedication to the faith, your beauty…”
Edith’s laugh, full and bright, interrupted his string of praise. “Oh, you’re too much!” She waved a hand in the direction of his voice to playfully dismiss him. “Even
if
all of those things were true, I can’t possibly accept them! Pride is a cardinal sin, is it not?”
He was moving through the pew behind her. “It’s not prideful to accept the truth. You’re a special girl, and today is a special day.” His words were clearer with each step in her direction. “In fact, I’ve been waiting for this day for a very, very long time…”
Finally she managed to clear the corner of filth. She turned around quickly and flinched; he had somehow snuck up on her. The broom clattered to the floor. Her mouth tasted sour for a reason she couldn’t explain. “And can I ask, uh, why you were waiting for
my
birthday? Usually people are more excited about their own…”
He didn’t answer.
Jullié closed the rest of the distance in a few short steps, a danger glowing beneath his small smile.
She found her back pressed against cool stone. Her eyes were some desperate mixture of confusion and fear. She had never, ever been scared of Père Jullié, a man who had been her friend since she was a young girl, ate lunch with her, made inside jokes with her, who she’d thought cared for her….
“Well, um…” His tone was barely louder than a whisper. “...Maybe there is a way you can repay me.”
A wide palm skirted up her thigh.
And at once, Edith closed her eyes, gathered everything within herself, and screamed.
...It began from the back of the church. The room shook, and one by one, each pane of sparkling stained glass shattered. Edith barely registered the noise in the sea of her own shrieking.
It wasn’t until she felt a heavy weight pressing down on her that she opened her eyes.
Floating triumphantly in front of her on golden wings was an Angel, broken into segments and surrounded by spinning shards of colored glass.
And below, slumped onto her chest at an unnatural angle, was the body of Père Vincent Jullié.
A new round of screams bubbled up from her throat. She scrambled out from under him and stared as he fell to the floor. Large fragments of stained glass formed a pin-straight line of punctures from the back of his cassock to the base of his skull. The interval was regular, and from what of his neck she could see she realized with a creeping horror that they were placed between each vertebrae. The pieces had been shot with such force and deadly accuracy that his spinal cord must have been sliced clean through twenty times over.
Tears splashed uselessly onto the floor—she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the corpse. Her dress and hands were stained. She could barely think one thought before another came to take its place: Did he suffer? Did I… do this? Was he really going to…? But I thought he was my friend… What do I do? What do I do?
This last question stuck once it got a hold in her brain, an endless loop of wondering about her next step only punctuated by dissonant wailing. But if there was one thing driven into her throughout her life, it was the way to answer that question.
Of course. The Lord will tell me what to do. He takes care of all of us, even the sinners. She ripped her eyes away from the body and stumbled towards the altar. The Angel trailed behind, though she barely noticed.
One last window remained unshattered. Its light filtered onto the ancient stairs of the altar as she knelt unevenly; her face was cast in reds and reds and crimson reds. Her sobs calmed into sniffling as she shut her eyes and forced everything she had left into a chain of silent prayers.
...Her palms proved hard to pull apart as she came back down to Earth. Blood was stickier than she’d ever thought it would be.
The Angel now framed the circular window behind the altar, its face carved into a perfect neutral, its eyes covered by another set of wings.
The window had changed form; what once was a kaleidoscope of color now was a mural, human forms shaped out of disparate pieces of glass.
Edith gasped. The mural was… of her, and the Angel. They were boarding a boat, with an approximation of some other country’s flag on the side.
And suddenly it all clicked. She stood up at once and began towards the exit of the church. The Angel closed its fist and the window shattered onto the altar.
A miracle… and this Angel is my guardian. She slid into a back passageway, saying a few more prayers that she wouldn’t encounter anyone on the way to her destination. Her braid bounced comfortingly along her back. The Angel protected me… and the Lord gifted me a vision, a glimpse into His will. But…
She arrived at her room without encountering another soul. It was important that she leave as quickly as possible and fulfill the Lord’s will. But as she wiped her bloody hands on a dust rag and slipped on a dress she seldom wore, she realized her own will was not yet resolute. Tears welled in her eyes as she packed what important objects she could into her small pouch. Her hands shook as she pulled out a piece of paper, smudging the edges with the blood of a once-holy man.
After she finished her short note, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Still recognizable… She opened her desk drawer to find a pair of scissors. A fresh wave of tears clouded her vision.
With each chop, she lost more and more of herself. Snip. The women who had raised her, had loved her as their own. Snip. Her best friend, turned to Satan in the last few moments of his life. Snip. The life she’d always known, the abbey she grew up in, the town she’d never left. Snip. Her innocence, her joy, her sense of self.
At the end of it she stood in silence and stared at her reflection, a long braid clasped in one hand.
She had the distinct feeling that today was the worst day of her life.
But then the Angel gently floated down from where it had tucked itself on the ceiling and wrapped its arms around her neck. Edith looked at their twin faces in the glass. The teardrops printed on their cheeks were mirror images of each other. Her smile was sealed with wet lashes as she fell into the embrace.
The only traces Edith Brienne left of herself in the only home she’d ever known was a bloodstained
Désolé
in swirling cursive and a long, reddish-brown braid.