Work Text:
The Covenant of the Fallen Petals of Santo Donquixote is one of the oldest institutions in Dressrosa. The well-maintained stone walls showcasing the best-preserved architectural elements and details in the country. Elaborately carved stone bases, supporting pillars and still standing aqueducts, a showcase of the old ways spitefully standing amongst the changing city surrounding it.
The Covenant of the Fallen Petals of Santo Donquixote blessedly survived the attacks of deposed King Riku by way of being far east near Carta and the eastern port.
Marie can vividly remember that evening.
Sisters and Cardinals alike all rushing to collect water and usher in survivors. Marie is drawn to the Grand Hall, the area everyone typically gathers in for murmuring prayer and receiving directives, ever searching for guidance. Unlit candles knocked over as the rackety sound of wood on stone greet her instead. Pews being pushed against the walls, making room to administer first aid. Marie’s unsettled marron eyes meet with a fellow sisters' seeking out the familiar warm reverence from her. Sister Uji’s frantic movements and tightly clasped hands betraying her stiff assurances that everything will be fine. Nodding along perplexed Marie observes her.
“We are in the Temple… of course we will be protected...” Marie says firmly but without hesitation. Sister Uji’s shoulders relax as she releases an incredulous chuckle drawing Marie into a tight hug before rushing off to her duties.
Too young herself to be of much help here, Marie heads upstairs to soothe the little ones in the nursery. Shaking away the energy of that confusing interaction and needling hecticness, Marie quietly slips into the room moving to light a candle, she is startled by seeing the Abbess watching over the children.
Tall and majestic the Abbess stands, posture perfect as she looks over the children. Marie quickly dips into a low curtsey, her knees kissing the ground.
“Mother Superior! May the thorns guard your path in all seasons” Marie greets eyes lowered.
“And may we bloom quietly, as foretold” the bemused Abbess responds and nods in greeting. Her attention is elsewhere her eyes looking to the distance through the open window.
Marie stands and smoothens her skirts carefully moving around the restless puppy piles of children, pressing cool cloths against furrowed sleeping eyebrows.
The Abbess quietly observes Marie. b
Taking her leave, she pauses at the door
“Little sister Marie, you spend most of your time in the library. Do you know the original version of our greeting?”
Running a gentle hand on the chests of a little one with stress addled uneasy breathing she takes a moment to respond.
“Hmm… traditionally it was "May the thorns guard your path, follow the heavens, not the crown" answered by, "And in silence we bloom, forever faithful” Marie sneakily glances at the head nuns face hoping she recited it to her liking.
The Abbess gives Marie a smile, her face typically serene but tonight unreadable. “Well said, it would do you well to keep that close to your heart Little Sister.” She pauses; looking at the horizon again “I’ll be assigning you to nursery duties from tonight. Come daylight many more changes will come to harvest I feel” Joy blooms across Marie’s face at receiving orders directly from the Abbess herself!
Twinkling eyes look out the window, young Sister Marie’s memories of the flames, bright enough to be seen on the horizon, burned like a sacred flame rather than the arson of a mad king she was informed it was the next day.
Her serene life was not safe from the cleansing flames though.
Raised by treasured religious texts in dim breezy halls.
The sounds of her bare feet echoing off warm glazed tiles and running water dripping from the fractured fountain were the only things that kept her company outside of prayer during her childhood.
But in the days after the attacks, the once serene halls filled with new parishioners eager to help rebuild and bright eyed nun candidates invigorated at the news of the return of the rightful monarch and savior of Dressrosa.
The increased community interest in The Covenant of the Fallen Petals of Santo Donquixote never quite waned over the years. The church a bastion of faith, providing food for those in need and taking in most of the areas orphans. Eventually partnering with a church in the north to send the overflow of nun candidates and exchange goods with.
Returning to relative normalcy nearly 8 years after the attack on Sebio the church, but with the addition of a lively congregation and steady donations coming in.
Little Sister Marie is little no longer, with time and the new recruits not only does she finally have Sisters her age, but she isn’t the youngest member anymore. With practiced gentle smiles and earnest work within the community Marie has garnered a bit of popularity around Dressrosa, word of a sweet but pious nun with dazzlingly scarlet eyes the topic of idle gossip.
Often found either in the markets, neighborhood and orphaned children alike, running around her feet as she distributes alms or in the church’s courtyard teaching hymns and herbology to anyone who will stop by.
Humming and walking through the halls on a rare evening without bedtime duties at the nursery, Marie passes by Father Moji unpacking a shipment of gold candelabras. His eyes quickly glance over her appraisingly and Marie muses that it was not dissimilar as when he looked over the candelabras.
“Sweet Sister Marie! May the thorns guard your path in all seasons” he offers glancing at the moonlight hairs that are free from her veil.
“And may we bloom quietly, as foretold” she replies smiling.
“These are going in the nave will you accompany me there? A woman’s eye is always best for these tasks.” Father Moji remarks as he picks up the velvet lined box.
“Oh! I wish I could be of service, but I am expected in the kitchens” Marie says with a small curtsey as she rushes away.
“Helping out in the kitchen” she finds herself roaming around the cellar, cool and spacious, the thick walls dampening most sounds in and out. Marie drags her fingertips across the mostly empty shelves as she passes. Alone she allows her face to relax, her sigh wistful as she recalls the whispers about her in the time between the church growing and before she learned to practice her expressions in a mirror.
“I can’t tell if she was looking at me or through me it’s so creepy"
Retrieving a basket of potatoes from their meager provisions. Patatas bravas is probably on the menu again. She thinks as she heads up into the kitchen the excited giggles of the sister greeting her.
“….hard-boiled man?”
“Yes! It’s not the first time he’s come by”
The sisters are excitedly chatting and greet Marie as she drops off the potatoes, filling her in on the conversation about their famous visitor as they cook.
In the following weeks meetings amongst the higher ups ramped up in frequency.
Marie is always chosen to attend when Father Moji is present.
Her talent with herbal blends is the reason she was given but the frequent lingering looks and increase in accidental touches as she pours the tea dimming the joy from being a part of something so important. Leaning against a far wall, her ankles crossed after serving tea her mind wanders, grateful at least that the clumsiest Father wasn’t in attendance tonight. Waiting for the meeting to end only catching bits of their conversations on how they can try to capitalize on the Kings sudden attention and garner his favor. She remembers the last incident with Father Moji, his foot accidentally catching the hem of her habit nearly pulling her into his lap before she could find her balance, her face red with embarrassment from the memory alone.
The Abbess, noticing the beginnings of dark circles under Marie’s eyes and flushed face from increased work from serving the droning on Cardinals, dismisses her early silencing the complaints with a look as Marie slips out. The conversation returning to something about how best to be granted the title of Basilica.
Lacing her fingers together and leaning back to stretch she can’t help but notice the massive bright full moon beautiful in the clear sky. Looking over her shoulder checking if the coast is clear she impulsively decides to sneak out for a night forage. Her stock of herbs depleted from all of the secret meetings and praying that the light of the moon will also provide clarity to her troubled mind.
Sliding out of her shoes and leaving them with her veil in her hiding spot at the edge of the stone wall separating the church from nature she sneaks out with practiced grace. The breeze through her hair relaxing as she picks various herbs and medicinal flowers. The soft sounds of her stepping through dry leaves comforting… but not enough.
The knot in her chest is only growing as she can’t steer her mind away from thoughts of Father Moji.
During dinner his clumsy hands brushed against her ankle as he bent down to retrieve something dropped.
Marie quickly sitting straighter in her seat and angling her body away. Last week while distributing alms his fingers lingering too long on her wrist as he handed her bread. Her smile had stayed even and polite but inside, she was spiraling.
Drowning out her thoughts with a well memorized psalm,
“I wish something could be done about him” the knot in her chest only growing as she speaks aloud,
pushing through determined to forage a bit more before going to her room. Following the aqueducts, something drawing her in this direction away from her familiar route, she rests for a moment leaning against the old stone, closing her eyes to listen to the calming sounds.
Crickets chirping
.
.
The breeze through the trees
.
.
.
A loud unnatural snap
Marie’s eyes shooting open as her head whips in the direction of the sound
her wide eyes take in an impossibly tall figure, golden hair shining, a halo in the moonlight, his back towards her. One hand raised, palm toward the sky, as if in offering.
Marie leans in squinting and she can just make out golden pink threads wrapped around the leg of a man dangling upside down in the air. The unbound leg bent in an unnatural angle. Marie covers her mouth to stifle her gasp and takes another small step towards them, her training to tend to the injured overriding her self preservation.
But as she hesitates, the scene before her comes into crystal clear clarity. The man’s mouth is open in a silent scream, and she finally recognizes him as… Father Moji, bound and hovering in the air like a marionette. The tall man doesn’t say anything as he closes his fist, another snap ringing through the air as Father Moji drops to the ground, the thud of the impact ringing in her ears. The man slightly turning his head in her direction, the edge of his smile coming into view finally knocks Marie out of her stupor. Misty ruby eyes wide, she turns and bolts, the basket forgotten as it tumbles from her grasp, making her way back to the temple as fast as she can.
She doesn’t stop running until she is in her room, back pressed against the door, her hands mechanically moving to shed her veil and lock the door.
She drags her tired body to the sink to wash her hands and get a drink, only to catch her reflection looking back at her,
eyes wide,
hair wild,
and a smile on her face.