Penance

[christman 2307]

 

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We are humble before God, stripped of our wordly titles and bare without wealth.  Equal are men and kings, the scholar and soldier, lords and peasants. For amongst the ranks of Heaven there is only the grace of salvation. 

 

The cardinal stepped into a small room, illuminated only by the oily light of a half burnt lamp. The fuel smelt foul—no doubt a testament to its cheapness, Mattia had promised himself to buy local but the opportunity never presented itself—and made the cramped space nearly unbearable. He fumbled with a lighter and struggled to set a candle ablaze. Even that stark white wax didn’t seem to stand out against an increasingly fuzzy backdrop. Icons of the Exalted four and various saints littered the raggedy wall, their golden inlays seemed to be the only thing worthwhile there.  His own personal wares, equally rich, were eventually set to rest on a gnarled wooden altar. There was no sign of that usual jewellery which decorated every finger, bar a lighter strip of skin where they might've usually sat.  

 

As Mattia prayed he didn't notice, with his head bowed low in reverence, that the smoke seemed to spiral down and coalesced around his feet. 

 

 

The auditor was missing for three weeks — not a soul could reach him, even the Tyrian acolytes. He subsisted alone on bread, water and silent devotion.