Chapter Text
The church has something almost eerie to it when you are nearly the only person there. It is a weekday, no service on the schedule for today, and unlike the last time you were here on a Sunday morning, the rows are almost entirely empty. Each step you take can be heard echoing through the air. Only a handful of people are present, sitting far apart, some praying, and some seemingly lost in thought.
You are not even entirely sure why you are here, and yet you feel almost drawn to the confessional. The last sermon you had listened to, well, tried to listen to, had touched something within you. Even though you probably missed a large part of it in your distraction, some of the things said had reached you, and they linger. Thoughts about carrying around a burden, talk about secrets weighing you down and becoming big enough, so they start to influence every part of your life. For a brief moment, you had almost felt as if the words of the priest had been specifically for you.
And now here you are, still unsure, but somehow this feels right. Like you are supposed to be here.
The confessional itself is much darker than the rest of the church. You close the door behind you, and with it, all traces of daylight disappear. Maybe it will be helpful, you think. In the dark, things seem less daunting, somehow.
"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," you mumble the familiar words under a quiet breath. "It has been months since my last confession."
"Months, my dear?"
The deep and questioning voice that comes through the divider sends a shiver down your back. It's familiar, and though the light is dim, you know who sits on the other side of the confessional. You have listened to his sermons before while being terribly distracted. You remember thinking just how unfair it is that a man of the church looks and sounds like he does. Even in the low light, you can see the white strand in his hair shimmer, and you remember the time you had watched him draw it out of his face during a prayer and how the look had sparked something in you. There is a certain irony to the fact that it's him now hearing your confession when he is also the reason you're struggling in the first place. Not that you would ever tell him that.
"I…" you start only to drift off quickly as you have trouble voicing your thoughts, embarrassment rushing through you. "I have no excuse for that," you admit quietly, and through the screen, you hear a soft, almost indulgent sounding laugh.
"There is no excuse needed," he says kindly, and the rush of relief that runs through you at that surprises even yourself. But his voice shifts slightly, taking on a tone you can't pinpoint as he continues, "You are here now because you know what you did wrong, isn't that so?"
When you breathe out a quiet yes, he gives you an approving hum.
"Then lay your burdens bare before me, so I may help you."
Your throat feels terribly dry, and you fiddle with the hem of your shirt before you take a deep breath.
"I have had thoughts," you whisper quietly. "Thoughts I shouldn't have, and far too many of them then it would ever be appropriate."
For a moment, he says nothing, and you think you can hear your heart beating out of your chest before he shifts and leans forward.
"I think you need to be more thorough with your confession, my dear," he prompts you. "Tell me more about these thoughts."
"I can't just..." you start before you trail off, biting your lips. Your cheeks burn hot in shame at the thought that he wants you to be more detailed.
"My dear, if you are not willing to confess, no priest on this earth can help you," he points out. "If you want to be forgiven, you must first tell me about your sins."
You think about simply making something up because the truth in greater detail is far too embarrassing to confess. Yet when you try to think of something, you are distracted by a sudden feeling of warmth around you. Like the air has heated up. It makes it a bit harder to breathe, and before you can think clearly about it, the truth falls from your lips regardless of your apprehension.
"I've had more and more impure thoughts. Not just every now and then, but all the time. And I've kept them a secret, but I haven't tried to stop them."
Mortified, your hand flies across your mouth as you flush scarlet at the thought of what you've just said. Confessional or not, this is a man of the church you are talking to, after all. You don't know his real name. You're not sure if you ever knew and have forgotten or if it simply has never come up. All that you do know is what nickname the congregation has given him. 'Emet-Selch,' the man that is known for valuing truth above nearly everything. If your own sudden need for honesty is any indication, he might just have a knack for drawing it out of people. Or maybe you are indeed simply more desperate for absolution than you had thought.
"I'm so sorry, Father," you hurry to say, but through the screen, you can see him wave his hand dismissively.
"Don't be sorry for honesty, dear. You have other things to atone for." His voice sounds stern, but his low tone seeps underneath your skin and sends a shiver down your back. "I think you need to tell me exactly what those thoughts entail."
"What?" You get out with a surprised squeak. Does he want to hear even more?
"How am I supposed to help you if I don't know what you need help with, my dear?"
For a moment, he sounds like he is chiding you before something shifts, and all of a sudden, the air in the confessional feels even warmer than before as Emet-Selch leans further towards the screen.
"You know you can trust me," he murmurs invitingly. "No one outside can hear anything spoken in here; not a word of yours is ever going to leave this confessional."
Despite his assurance, the idea of telling him more horrifies you, but there is something about the way he speaks that lulls you in. You don't want to spill your secrets, but part of you wants to do as he says. As mortifying as the truth is, somehow telling him almost feels inevitable, like you are meant to, and he's meant to listen. And just like that, the words rush out of you, and you can't stop yourself anymore. Quietly and with a slightly shaking voice, you tell him about how your body sometimes burns with desire. How you have started to look at people and imagined how it would feel if they touched you. How even in the Sunday service, you've been consumed by desire, barely listening to a word said. When you've reached that point, he stops you.
"During the sermon?" He asks, and you're not sure if what you hear in his voice sounds like interest or if he is perhaps just trying to mask his disgust about your wantonness.
"Yes," you confess as you stare at your feet.
"And just who is on your mind when you ignore the word of God for your own frivolous desires?"
Don't tell him! Everything in you is tense as you try to say anything but the truth, but the moment you try to lie, your throat closes up, and your eyes widen. Your lips part, but no sound leaves them, no matter how hard you try.
"My dear," Emet-Selch says slowly, sounding somehow both chiding and a little amused. "Lying is a sin!"
You peer at him from the corner of your eye, and from what little you can see of his face through the screen, it seems like there is a telling smile on his lips.
He knows.
Somehow he has figured it out, probably at the exact moment, you had mentioned the Sunday service. He has been the only one preaching those past weeks, after all. Your first instinct is to jump up und and flee the confessional, leave the church behind as quickly as your feet can carry you, but you find yourself unable to move, frozen in embarrassment and fear alike.
"Tell me then," Emet-Selch says with a low rumble of his voice. "Did you ever bring yourself relief to these thoughts?"
You are deadly quiet, not trusting your voice at all, as a hot shiver runs down your spine. You can't answer this question. As he said earlier, lying is a sin, and you certainly already have enough to atone for, but there is no way you can simply answer this question honestly.
"Go on," Emet-Selch prompts you after a while of mutual silence. "Keep talking. The truth will set you free."
When you still hesitate, his voice turns sweeter somehow, like a lure drawing you in, inviting you to share all your darkest secrets. There is something almost eerie about all of this. The heavy air around you feels thick, filled to the brim with something otherworldly, something irresistible. When Emet-Selch speaks again, his words wash over you like a balm, and you instinctively know that you can neither lie to him nor deny him an answer anymore.
"Are you not here for forgiveness, redemption even?" he asks, and you nod like in a trance as your lips part, and the words spill out once again.
"Yes, I am, and I did," you admit, and if you had thought to be embarrassed before, it is nothing against the sheer mortification you are experiencing now.
It is enough for you to lower your eyes and clench your fingers into your seat as you try to keep your breathing steady. You had indeed done exactly that. In the depths of the night and hidden away under the covers in your room, you had let your hands wander. And now he knows. Whatever you had expected from coming here, telling the man taking your confession something as intimate as this had certainly not been it.
"Forgive me, Father," you find yourself pleading, and once again, his voice holds nothing but warmth.
"That is what I'm here for, to help you," Emet-Selch assures you. "But forgiveness is meaningless without your honest wish to be better." He pauses briefly, giving you time to absorb his words before he poses yet another question. "If I absolve you from your sins, will you go out and sin no more, or will you be right back here after a while?"
And isn't that just the question? You fear you know the answer to that, and it isn't the one you want to give. But despite all the discomfort and the need to hide away from this, even now, you can't entirely stop your mind from racing. You hear his voice and steal little glances at him, and a part of you wonders what that voice would sound like whispering into your ear. You wonder what the look in his eyes would be like if they regarded you not just as someone from his parish, but someone, he actually wants to look at. Even when being thoroughly embarrassed by answering his questions, you find yourself strangely aroused around him. And you know any promise to be better would be a blatant lie.
"I can't stop, Father. I've tried, but it's impossible," you confess one more thing. "I can't stop thinking…"
You trail off, sounding almost a little bit desperate now. For a moment, it is utterly quiet in the confessional before Emet-Selch clears his throat.
"We'll start small then, my dear," he says as calmly as ever as if your little outburst is of no consequence at all. "One's thoughts are hard to control, but your actions, on the other hand, are entirely up to you," he points out. "So for now, I want you to stop fighting those thoughts and focus on your actions. Resist temptation."
"Resist?" you murmur, trying to follow.
"If your mind wanders, let it wander, but if you want to earn your forgiveness, you will keep yourself from giving in," he explains further. "Prove that you are serious about your penance, and I promise the Lord will be merciful."
You swallow heavily before you nod once and whisper a quiet, "Alright!" It doesn't sound convincing at all, and you already doubt if any of this is as easily done as he makes it sound. Like earlier, the air around you feels heavy once more, and suddenly he feels much closer. You know he is still sitting on the other side of the confessional, you can see him, after all, and yet it's like he's right next to you.
"If it all becomes too much to bear, if this starts to seem a daunting task, seek me out again, and I shall offer you both my advice and my help." His voice is low and rumbling and somehow right by your ear as he adds, "Go on and sin no more, and know that in the house of the Lord, you are always welcome."
You blink twice, trying to find your bearings when the strange sensation dissipates, and everything seems back to normal. A deep breath leaves you, then another one, until you slowly feel calm enough to turn towards Emet-Selch - only to find the other side of the confessional empty. The door is slightly ajar, and you frown. It has scarcely been more than a few moments since he talked to you, and you haven't heard him leave at all, but there is no mistake to be made - you are alone.
When you leave the church a while later, he is nowhere to be seen. You walk away more confused than you had been when you arrived. Only now you have a task and a standing invitation to come back. You might not know yet which one is more intimidating, but you are quite certain you are about to find out.