#and how is that any different from what you've done? how can you be sanctimonious now? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zeyris-daydreams · 25 days ago

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Sanctimony - yandere!sunday x reader

Note: in celebration of our glorious halovian, cult leader Sunday has been written! Be mindful of topics of implied cult grooming, abused becomes the abuser, implied dubcon. Kinda manipulation

» Sanctimony - Pretend or hypocritical religious devotion or righteousness. Someone who is sanctimonious will preach about the evils of drug use whilst drinking a beer, for example. Associated with a holier-than-thou attitude.«

All members of The Family were taught appropriate conduct and manners of speech. How to act and how to speak, what is good and what is bad for the mind. It was all thanks to benevolent Sunday that you knew the right way. Perhaps it was partially due to how long you've known him that you enjoyed perks that other family members didn't enjoy, such as getting off the hook for minor misdeeds.

Like any normal day, you had things to do. It was your duty to clean one of the rooms this time around, and you wiped the counters down and cleaned the inside of each cabinet with precision like always. To do so meant to be useful, and usefulness was highly sought after within The Family. Only when all members put in the work can The Family be a real family. Only then can everyone live peacefully. The kitchen was adorned in shades of brown, giving it an utterly homely feel. A perfect setting to get lost in thought.

As you wiped down the table you pondered over the rest of your tasks for the day. You couldn't be called a caretaker or even a higher ranking member, yet some of your responsibilities were akin to one. Sometimes it was requested of you to accompany the head of the family with executing his smallest tasks, be it destroying paperwork or arranging members into groups for some activities.

Today was no different, although for some time now you've doubted Sunday's need for you. You've known him for a while now, being taken into the family as an orphan, but it still came off as a surprise. It wasn’t clear as to why he'd choose to pay special attention to you. You tried not to ponder over it, even though you knew he had responsibilities. Instead you chalked it up to you being an orphan - something Sunday could relate to. He has known you for a good while before officially being called the head, and in those few weeks, he was very keen on showing you the ways of the family. He explained to you the principles, why such a life was great for you. It was almost.. serene, in that sense.

Sunday, despite his calm demeanor, had a way of speaking that penetrated your very being. He was convincing, and could truly win your mind with a few big words. Maybe it was your own willingness to believe it.

As such, the halovian was your primary source of knowledge since you've been taken in. And ever since you had not a single reason to doubt him. It was strange, how you both came such a long way since. You, still a normal, boring member. Him, the head of The Family.

In moments as such, where you mindlessly used cleaning products on surfaces like the fridge, you truly felt common. There was nothing making you stand out from the ordinary, and in these times of weakness, you doubted the necessity of your existence. You gave your head a light shake as though to cleanse it from such foolish thoughts, and then washed your hands from the substances you've used for cleaning. Repeating tasks daily gave you a sense of routine, and said routine easily caused the time to pass by faster. You assumed it was merely from doing things on an autopilot.

Still, once your duty was done you walked to your room, situated on the far north end of the mansion. It was time to assist Sunday with his tasks, and while you knew he could've had a better assistant, a part of you felt happy for such an arrangement. It would crush your spirits to have it otherwise.

Ever since you remembered, you wished to impress him.

Perhaps it was a recent development, but for the days that you were to be an assistant you tried to make yourself look better. You brushed your hair out right before the visit, washed your face to give it a fresh look. You changed your clothes into one's freshly washed and dried to enjoy their flowery scent. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you were the image of what family members should be. Long dress and free hair, properly covered shoulders and no vulgar cleavage.

You looked proper, appropriate. The dress was a creamy beige, with puffed out sleeves which ended with light, short, and skin tight lace. It was usual for women of the family to look like this, and for a moment you’d go as far as to think of yourself as a proper representative.

With a smile on your face you headed up, deciding to arrive early today. Maybe if luck was on your side, you could spend a few minutes chatting. There was hardly time for it now after all, with Sunday's large responsibilities, you felt like a speck.

You climbed your way up the stairs once out of your room, feeling the wooden handrail beneath your fingertips as you did. The stairs were a dusty yet a deep blue color, and you watched your feet as you walked, before finally getting to where Sunday usually worked.

Unsurprisingly so this floor was only available to higher members, but perhaps due to the favor, you were allowed in. As you approached the grand, engraved wooden doors, they opened, and out of it stepped a woman.

You remained still, blinking as you observed. She had gorgeous purple hair, spilling from beneath her hat onto her shoulders, and she was adorned in a suit similar to ones that male members wore. She had heels on her feet, a gorgeous shade of red that too stained her lips. With a smile she passed by you, and headed out.

From that alone you were aware she was not from The Family. The suit showed her cleavage, and generally such an outfit wasn't appropriate for women either. It wasn't correct to wear pants like this, and so you frowned to yourself - you initially ignored it, walking into the office. You knew this place already. Perhaps it was one of the collaborators that just walked out.

There he was, sat behind the desk with a folder in his hand, the curtains pulled half closed behind him. His office was muted in color - for focus he once said - even though there were plenty of other decorations. The desk in front was a rich brown color, the wood imported from somewhere far away. Belobog, you recalled. It was strengthened due to the biting cold it grew in.

Gripping sides of your dress you bowed as per usual, until he gave you a sign to straighten again. It was trained, routined. It always earned approval.

“You're earlier this time, aren't you?” And yet a smile pushed at his lips. Perhaps it was a recent development, but you've been growing more and more fond of such an expression. “That's good. I have some papers that I would like you to shred”

The work you did was never hard or important. You knew that, but you chose to remain oblivious. As long as you were useful, as long as Sunday was proud.. you'd do anything.

Gracefully so you took the mentioned papers, before heading to the other room. It was joined to the office, and as you walked by your eyes lingered on many pictures on the wall. They portrayed many precious heads of The Family, including Gopher, one you've known to be the head when you've initially joined. The shredder was placed in a corner of the darkened room, and mindlessly you've put the papers into it, clicking the button. And as per always the machine ate the paper, cruel teeth cutting through each singular sheet to create something akin to pasta. Pasta was something you've seen often, given your duties. Such comparison was to be expected.

and as always you glanced round when it was shredding; the room full of documents and alike, antiques or other items of importance. It was a mess, as always.

Once you were sure everything was shredded you returned to the main office.

To say the work was easy was an understatement, for the most part you sat on one chair and mindlessly gave Sunday the items he asked for. Whether it was some water or a pen that was right in front of him anyway, and yet this sort of work was much better than other duties you could've done.

It was with Sunday, after all. In your life you've learned already that the only space that's safe is space with Sunday.

He was all the good that you had.

That day you went to sleep thinking of the beautiful outsider you saw.

—

“It's like.. baking” Sunday said, his gloveless then hands opening the paper that held the flour within the package. “You can try to guess the right course of action, but it would take too long.”

The weather was warm that day, as the two of you spent time in the kitchen. It wasn't very long after you were initiated into The Family, and so Sunday took special care to help you adjust.

You observed carefully, intently, how he measured out the right amount with a cup.

“Father taught me that.”

His words made sense. Back then you were still an ordinary member. And Sunday? He was on his way to ascension - an achievement only a select few could brag about. He was chosen specifically, as you assumed for intelligence. Sunday had talent like no other.

After all, the logic in his words was consistent. Sunday never once said something to disprove that, and everything he said or did was upheld by his beliefs. In this sense, it was beautiful. It made you yearn to know more.

“To bake?” Perhaps the question was foolish. But Sunday didn't expect you to look further through it, after all. You were his last task; produce a devout believer, and only then could he take on a greater role.

The corners of his lips were pulled up, and he smirked, eyes closing for a moment. The sun hit him just right then, it was a spring afternoon. Warm, so full of life. So was Sunday. “By extension, yes. It is all thanks to him that I understand things. Once you understand the core rules of life, you can make your own conclusions.”

It made sense, you thought. Maybe it was your inability to read that decided you had a hard time catching onto his words. That's what he liked about you, too. You were good, perhaps too good to truly comprehend how deep certain things went. Such as the need to reign, to establish order.

Your hands touched the dark counter as you watched him crack two eggs into the bowl. “Generally there are rules to be followed. Be it the order of ingredients and what ingredients can go into a cake, right?” you nodded.

Sunday took it as a sign to continue. “the same goes for life. You can't do certain things sometimes, and some things call for a specific order of action. You can notice it within.. marriage, for example.”

The eggs slid off the flour in the bowl. You focused on them for a moment, and then looked at Sunday once more. His golden eyes met yours. “Marriage?”

“Yes, marriage for instance. Or other ceremonies, or celebrations. Two people don't have children before they marry, nor do they do other things before that. It's like baking a cake, you need a certain course of action.”

It made sense when he explained it like that. If people did things correctly, maybe you wouldn't have been an orphan. Not that you've ever known your parents. What you were sure of is that they must've done something to not deserve to live anymore. That's why they weren't here.

“After the cake is mixed together, you bake it. You don't bake the ingredients by themselves." It was this that made everything simple: what humans needed in life was a specific order. Rules to be followed.

You accepted that.

—

Perhaps it was for forementioned encounter that you wished to know more. And that's precisely why you asked Sunday for a book; which you were given with some reluctance. Being the favorite, he could.. avert his gaze when necessary.

It was a standard catalogue of animals, nothing out of the ordinary. In his assumption, you merely needed something to look through. He couldn't have known, then, that you didn't intend to do just that; perhaps it was the smart outsider that caught your interest. It wasn't the only time you've seen her since then, but it wasn't a mere fascination.

You lacked the understanding to know what truly intrigued you about her; but it stood for yearning. It seemed that she wasn't Sunday's favorite guest, given the nature of their discussions.

He'd be disappointed to learn you were eavesdropping.

The only words that you could recall from their discussions were words such as ‘centralisation’, ‘oligarchy’ or ‘logistics’. It was strange to admit that the woman was the one using such complicated words, ones that meanings you couldn't comprehend. It was strange to be exposed to such a level of knowledge from someone from the outside. Usually, you only took Sunday's words as a source of wisdom. Perhaps it was people that he knew that were simply so smart. Or maybe you were just less intelligent. There was one thing you were good at, though.

You could understand the tone of discussion well. One thing you always were brilliant at was to decipher someone's mood by their words or mannerism alone.

Maybe it was the heightened sense of anxiety, but Sunday never made it sound like a bad thing, and so you took it for a gift of sorts. Reading people like this allowed you to make your words pleasant, even if it meant bending backwards to appease them. Sunday always said it's the quality of a good person.

From that alone you could tell that perhaps the woman's propositions were perceived as a threat to the head of the family; Jade, as he called her, seemed to be unsavory. Why did he have to keep welcoming her in discussion, then?

You supposed you'd never understand. Maybe because you couldn't see into the future as well as Sunday did, and that's why you wished to learn. Maybe then you could offer him comfort on the same level as he himself was; it was a foolish thought.

Once you retreated to your room you made sure to lay the catalogue down on the carpet, before stepping towards your bed. Slowly you crouched, mindful of the creaky floor, before you stretched your arms out underneath the furniture, grabbing the papers you were working on.

For a few days now you have begun to try and decipher the alphabet. It would've been easier, were you guided in your study; but such things weren't exactly allowed. You looked at your hands, and then the yellowed paper sheets.

Sitting on the floor like that now, you felt hopeless. It was your heightened determination to learn that stopped you from handing yourself to Sunday and confessing what you've done. Internal turmoil one could call it. Rules were necessary, yet you broke them.

But it was for a good cause, surely. That's why you finally stood up, walking back to your carpet to then lay on your stomach, putting the papers near the book to lay them down. You began with the poetry days ago, one that you knew by heart now. It was something Sunday recited often, you recalled. And so it was ingrained in your mind, making it easier for you to analyze it. It would've taken you long to find the correct piece of poetry, was it not on a bookshelf you remembered. Sunday often reached for said book, and so you recalled where to find it. The page was bookmarked, his favorite writing. One written by a head of the family of the past. Created far before Gopher, far before Sunday. It was a source of pride for each person who held the control there.

The world, a beast with reckless stride,

A roaring tide, untamed, untried.

Chaos feeds on whim’s delight,

But darkened paths must meet the light.

A chain of laws, a sculptor’s chisel,

To shape the wild, to cool the sizzle.

Freedom's song, though sweet, distorts,

Breeding discord in courts and ports.

Let towers rise, austere, severe,

A voice of reason, sharp and clear.

The errant heart must yield, must bow,

For order's crown must reign, and now.

Beneath the yoke, the world may chafe,

But in its grip, we shall be safe.

No flickering spark, no fleeting dream—

The iron hand redeems supreme.

You began with reciting the words, each word separate. It was an easier task than if you had to go off with nothing, and soon enough the sheet for the alphabet was finalized.

The greater task was to actually use it, and so you tried, writing down small sentences. To honor Him, you started with Him too. “Sunday has golden eyes.”

Perhaps if you knew it when you were younger, it wouldn't give you such a headache, your vision beginning to swim after too long. It was time to take a break, and so you pushed the papers into the book, closing it. And soon it joined the other ones, right beneath your bed.

—

Punishment should fit the crime, and reward should be limited to cases of conditioning. Sunday was aware that's how it should go, as he was told before by ones who knew this before him. That's why unsavory questions or doubts were met with a singular glance only, one very displeased.

Maybe he wasn't in the mood for bantering over it. It was a good day after all, and despite the garden being enclosed, you still enjoyed your time in the shade of an apple tree. The grass felt soft beneath you, and the bark was large. You didn't need anything else.

“Shouldn't the bird still try to fly, then?” You asked. Sunday told you a story of a bird he and his sister encountered once. It was a tragic tale, but one full of lessons. One of which was to not doubt that what is weak should be guarded. “The bird can't know that it's in danger if it doesn't try, right?”

Initially he welcomed such curiosity. “Would you let a child touch hot coal so it may learn it burns?”

It was a food for thought. You frowned thoughtfully, nose scrunching up. “No..?” Certainly, you'd rather be stopped than to touch the coal and have a scar for the rest of your life.

“Exactly. A small being like a bird can't comprehend the dangers, all it can comprehend is the needs it has. It can't plan forward, and merely acts on instinct. We can't say then, that such creatures have true freedom of decision”

Sunday was dressed in a plain shirt with flowy sleeves. It fit him and it fit the weather.

“I understand.”

It was only a few months since you were here, three or so. And yet you started to grasp these concepts as it was expected of you, perhaps far quicker than he himself did back then.

“Good. You are smart, you're catching on quick.”

Reward should be only applied in cases of conditioning. He didn't know why he said it - but you smiled brightly. Was it his approval that earned such a reaction? He wished to see it more often, by means of which he could get his hands on. You should smile only for him. You should be happy about his approval only.

—

In some such cases though, punishment was necessary. But it was never called that, no. He was taught to call it the consequence. That way, if someone hears it, they know that the actions are merely a consequence of what they did. He himself was subjected to it often; before he finally learned.

He just wished he didn't have to bring it forth this early on, you were doing so well. Too well maybe, he'd be foolish to expect you to be perfect. Only he was perfect.

You arrived at the office after a caretaker called you in, but you weren't given a reason. Usually Sunday told you what he needed you for, but not this time. And like all other times this happened, you felt sick in anticipation.

You knocked, and before you could even knock another time the doors opened. It was quick, your fist still in the air before it lowered. “Come in.”

And walk in you did. The office always looked the same, same portraits on the wall. Same plant, same arrangement on the desk, same books on the shelves. Aside from one you stole to learn the alphabet.

The doors shut behind you with a click, and he stood aside. “Come sit, but before the desk now” before you could question you felt his gloved hands on your shoulders, guiding you forward. Only an exhale left you when you were sat on the spinning chair, his hands pressing you into it with some firmness.

You read his mood well. That was all you needed to know he was displeased about something, and your mind began to spiral. What could you do to cause such a reaction? Your thoughts wandered to your worst misdeed.

As soon as you were sat you saw him pull out a ruler from his pocket, and on instinct your hands slid underneath the desk, to your lap.

“Do you know why I've called you here?”

It was a simple enough question, but you could tell the undertone. If he wanted your mere company he wouldn't have asked.

You cleared your throat, eyes glancing at him before frantically focusing on the desk, and your head hanging low. “Uhm, not.. not exactly.”

Sunday sighed.

He shook his head, as though he couldn't believe your words. As though he expected more from you. Did you disappoint him? “And here I thought I taught you better than that. I'm not most pleased with you, (name).”

It felt.. strange in a sense. Whenever he approved of your work or your improvement in the family you felt like you were the happiest person alive. And just as when he was disappointed in you, you felt like you were the worst thing in existence.

The idea of not being seen as fit had your cheeks burn up already. You looked to that same old Belobogian desk to avoid his gaze. Yet you felt its intensity, and that was enough to have tears form in your eyes, pooling behind your trembling eyelids.

“Hands back on the desk” was all he said. But you couldn't stop the tears running down your cheeks, you couldn't stop to think.

He didn't even start yet, and you were a mess already. Perhaps being told that you displeased him earned such a reaction. Especially after being called into his office, not knowing what for. “I'll ask you something clearer, and you better say the truth. Why have you missed the confessional?”

Sunday was aware by now. But it wasn't the point; only by admitting your sin could you begin to repent. And if you stayed in rejection, a punishment wouldn't make you understand your fault. He was close to ascension, he couldn't let your misbehavior delay it.

You recognised the ruler in his hand, it was thin and see through. That didn't mean that it didn't hurt, you tasted it once or twice before.

Sat in his office chair, you couldn't help but shift. Your hands felt weak, and your heart was knocking against your ribcage furiously from anxiety. Surely the feeling of sickness in your stomach around Sunday was from how much you loved him and appreciated him?

He held the ruler in his single hand, snapping it against the palm of his other, gloved one. He walked in front of the desk slowly, back and forth. “I rescheduled my tasks specifically to be on confessional duty this week, so I could see you, but you didn't come. What were you so busy with?”

He merely wished to surprise you. His tasks were more and more with his future promotion. He thought that would make you happy. But you didn't show up.

Each time you heard the ruler hit Sunday's palm you felt your hair stand, goosebumps so profuse you felt cold. “I didn't finish my work-”

Smack, the ruler hit your knuckles, and it took all your might to stay upright. Sunday felt angry, at himself in a sense. Did he not teach you correctly? He wondered how many things you've missed during his absences. After all, some of his workload now began to be his public image. He couldn't be here as much as he would've liked, and the fact that his absence was all it took for you to disobey- Sunday didn't know true anger until that day.

“I know it's not true. In fact I've been informed you tend to your tasks with suspicious haste. Were you busy to be this quick on your feet?”

Each time he asked, you gained conviction. Conviction that he knew everything, that he was merely stalling. To you, it felt as though Sunday was giving you an opportunity to admit your wrongs. Maybe he would've been nicer if you did it, he always was. You bit your bottom lip. “I was- I wished to read.”

The words had a difficulty passing through your throat. Only then did you meet his gaze to gauge for a reaction, but you quickly looked down once more. To say he was displeased was an understatement. Surely he was so disappointed to a degree that it brought him surprise?

Silence followed for a few seconds. You only felt his hands go to your shoulders. “I see the guilt about it eating at you for a while. Are you sorry?”

He knew what you were doing. He knew, because he knew his book was missing. He knew, because someone told him, too. Sunday was just surprised you broke down that fast. In a sense, he was pleased. He wanted to be the only one you relied on so much. You should look at him.

“Y-yes-”

It was scary. But you knew it would be fine now. All you had to do after confessing was to repent.

—

Sunday quickly learned how to convince people of his ideas. He believed them, yes, but as the future guiding light, he knew more than that.

If he was to truly be there, then he had to uphold ideas aside from ones for others. And while they made sense, they weren't for him. In that, he was there only to make sure such rules and order were applied.

They didn't apply to him.

Sunday knew how to make people believe, a thing that he took from his caretaker, Gopher Wood. To produce a believer for his Ascension, he needed conviction.

But perhaps manipulation of feelings and situations wasn't above him either. That's why, shortly after meeting you, he had to root things into your mind.

Such as feeling shame for doing things wrong. Naturally, that's how all people should be. And yet, specifically with you, there was a pleasure in that.

You were too good for this world.

Vaguely he recalls how you asked him once about something. It wasn't important, as you both were discussing things that hopefully let you understand the ideas of the family better. You were new after all, fresh. Hardly a month in.

“I just don't see why we would need that, when we were given our intellect to make decisions.”

Such words were too smart, and you weren't supposed to question. Sunday never had the right to ask things like this, and it formed him into who he was today. You didn't have this right either.

It wasn't that Sunday needed you to be his successor, as he was successor to Gopher Wood. But that's precisely why he also taught you differently. Rules didn't apply to him, they applied to you.

He tipped his head, and you felt like you asked something wrong. “Does a worm know whether the rain is snow or water?” He began. “Does a mortal know what way is better for them, when they aren't omniscient?”

You shrank in your seat. It was supposed to be a casual conversation over tea, outside. Why did you expect to be on equal footing? “Do you believe you know better than me?”

The words struck you when he spoke them. Did you believe that? No, you could never. Sunday was the wisdom and he was the light and to him you owed nearly everything. You didn't believe that.

But you believed now that questioning the authority was wrong. The family gave you everything. You could never believe to be above them. To be above Sunday. He himself learned such a manner of speech all these years ago. To question someone is to believe them to be lesser. That's what he was told, and so he never questioned.

Immediately your eyes watered and you shook your head. You didn't want your only friend to be angry at you, or to have any dislike for you. “No, no, I didn't want it to look like that-” you started off immediately, apologetic beyond belief. He was stopping himself from smiling. You were pathetic, pliable.

You were too good.

—

Sunday scolded you for reading that time. But you knew this wasn't the full extent of your activity that he'd disprove of. After all, it was only a matter of practice before you read more. And so you did, writing and reading, only this time with more secrecy.

You were smart enough to take time on your duties so it wasn't apparent that you were looking forward to something, but not too long as to stay in a room where male members would be. For instance, there were places with an hourly schedule, during which women were allowed at specific times, and then men at specific times. Not all spaces were shared this way.

Still, with not much reading, you couldn't be aware yet of such absurdity. That's why as per usual you tried to show less vigor, trying to distract yourself from being overly joyous. It was only the thought of reading that got you through the day now. Sunday hardly ever discussed concepts larger than the family with you. And through your own study you found said concepts. Are there really so many planets?

You wondered if they followed Order too. If this path of life is perfect, surely other people should know it too? You knew you couldn't ask. If you did, then perhaps he would have known that you do something you shouldn't.

As much as the guilt from sinning was decreased, you still didn't want to cause him further disappointment. Maybe you didn't care about dooming yourself, as long as he wasn't displeased. As long as you still had his approval.

The clock gave you a way to free yourself of your duties, and you hurried off upstairs again. The mansion was large, but living there so long, you knew the pathways by now. And although it was still just evening, something felt amiss. Despite walking through the already similar corridors and up the same old stairs, you felt like something was out of place. Perhaps that thing made you too aware of your surroundings. A crow watched you through a window.

You didn't enjoy reading this time.

—

The curiosity finally got the better of you. Because as soon as you could, you hid behind one of the dark blue walls. And so you waited there, and you anticipated until the pink haired lady left the familiar office. Jade. From what you heard from eavesdropping, Sunday was becoming infuriated with her. That was enough to convince you this lady was a threat, no matter how many times she came here. More complicated words were uttered, ones you could recognise this time. Ones you remembered from reading.

‘quid pro quo’, for something akin to an exchange. ‘aberration’, something out of place. Out of ordinary.

‘anachronism’, something not right depending on the time. You couldn't make out what they discussed yet, as the walls weren't that easy to listen through. They were old and aged, and you assumed they'd be older than Sunday himself.

Still, once she left, you sneaked around. Perhaps to figure out more. Surely she troubled Sunday. And to help him, you needed to understand- you needed to learn. Yes, you needed the knowledge. You waited for her to take a step towards the stairs with a bated breath.

Initially you wished to follow her, but before you could even start, she turned her head to you. She smiled. And then she began to walk towards the stairs, descending with an unseen grace. She wore jewels again, and you swallowed. Without thinking, you rushed after her.

—

Sunday pulled the teacup towards his lips. It was another day of bliss in summer warmth. You were adjusted now, you understood. Which is why he could enjoy your presence more casually. A reprieve from his usual tasks of learning and duties, a moment for him to just be Sunday. Not a twin of order, not an heir.

With your hair tied you sat in front of him, your lemonade in both your hands as you watched the horizon outside, through the kitchen window. He was sitting in such a way that his back was turned to the glass. At least he was in the way of the sun that surely would burn your eyes otherwise.

“Well.. doesn't that imply everyone can twist things?”

You both discussed matters of knowledge being a tool and power. It was only natural to have such discussions, what else would you speak about?

“That's right. Which is why not everyone should have access to knowledge, and not everyone should listen to random words by strangers.” He started. “All it takes for people to listen to words is to speak with wisdom, falsified or true. You can recognise a liar by their words, if they aren't pleasant to human nature, they may be false.”

What Sunday said was right. His words were pleasant to your human mind, so they must've been true. But his words were always pleasant to you, even when he didn't speak of knowledge. Even when he only praised you.

“You're right. It's easy to get the wrong idea if we hear things and we don't have anyone to clarify it for us” that was correct too. It was easy to get caught up in doubt if you didn't have enough knowledge to defend yourself. You knew you'd never have such knowledge, you relied on Sunday.

—

Jade seemingly led you further and further, until you caught up to her on the first floor. Each time you took her eyes off her, she seemed to be further away. Still, finally she walked into a corridor. It felt silly, you thought. Wasn't she intending to leave? Despite your better judgment you followed, and soon had her standing near the end of a hallway, the window exposed the darkening horizon.

“You seem to need me for something?”

Her voice was silky, full of confidence. She smelled of jasmine and expensive alcohol. You only smelled said drink once, when it wasn't meant for you.

You stood in place as you watched her, blinking. “I want to know.” What did you want to know? You weren't sure. You simply wanted to know. The woman smirked. “What are you willing to give up for it?” Was all she asked.

You stepped forward, with more confidence. She didn't seem to be troubled by it, head tipped to the side. “Give up for it? I'm not.. sure.” It was hard to say what she meant, and given your confusion, she clicked her tongue. “Knowledge is a hefty gift, is it not?”

“I want to know about you. Who are you?”

Jade hummed. As she stepped close to you she leaned to your ear. “I am the truth, and a diplomat.” She hummed, her long nails tucking your hair behind your ear. Why were her nails so decorated?

“Free or charge this time; you are made for more, child. Seek and you shall find.” With that, she walked by you, and you couldn't get yourself to turn around.

The words echoed in your mind briefly. Seek and you shall find.

Look and you'll see. Look where?

The feeling of guilt was overrun with a feeling of determination. You read even more that night.

—

A thing you learned from books was that humans made choices. And such books were a product of them! It was precisely that the choice existed that you learned so much of the world. So many animal facts, so many words you couldn't comprehend. Biopsy for instance. It sounded interesting, whatever that was - all you knew it was related to the body, and to doctors.

And precisely because of the choice you wished to learn. And that's why you read. And you learned to read. With all that combined, you could think your own thoughts. With so many new words you didn't know, you could draw conclusions.

Within the books you weren't supposed to take and see, you found a strange sense of wisdom. Because no one paid you any mind, no one cared if you spent time in Sunday's office. And that's precisely where you found books you didn't understand; so many of them. Because she has told you to seek.

A girl who has nothing to do is a girl who has nothing to lose, and precisely through words you understood that. Because people within books were whoever they wished to be, such as a fairytale you found within the bookshelf of Sunday's office.

A fairytale of a girl locked in a tower by her mother, and a brave young man saving her. And then the books of more complicated themes, like tyranny, one you only understood recently. With Sunday delegated so often, it felt too easy.

It felt as though someone wanted you there, and you had assumed it's fate. Fate which allowed you to draw your own conclusion. By any means, the family wasn't evil.

You'd never assume that. But it wasn't for you. Your yearning for knowledge wasn't unnatural, and after gathering your courage so long, you finally decided. You'd leave, and you'd learn. But maybe without anyone knowing, so as to not break his heart.

You opened the doors to the office with a book in your hand, slowly walking in. It was a tale of society governed by a tyrant, you assumed. A strange date for the title, 1984. Still, you moved slowly and with grace to the bookshelf, gently pushing the book into its former spot. In doing so you looked at other books, wondering which one of these you haven't read yet.

For the head of the family, Sunday was surely gone more often than not. You reached for a book, before looking out a window. A crow sat there, and it watched. Maybe you assumed it yearned for knowledge too, so you grabbed one of the books, and left.

—

The breeze was getting colder now, and you closed your eyes to feel the setting sun on your skin. You and Sunday were sat atop a green hill, the grass ticklish against your body, the only barrier being the dress you wore.

Your head turned to Sunday, and you saw he was deep in contemplation. His eyes had a vacant look, the orange sun reflecting in his golden eyes. The conversation however continued.

“What about if someone doesn't want that?” Sunday faced you soon after.

“Who wouldn't want this? It's a peaceful life. With a preordained order of things, everyone will be happy.”

You weren't so sure. Nearing Sunday's ascension, he explained to you the course of life each member of the family has. They'll live and grow, and take care of their shared space. And they'll pray and sing odes, and then they'll marry, and have children.

People were paired by caretakers usually, in accordance to what they deemed fit. Such life was foreseen for every member with no exception, even though the idea confused you.

“Well- I understand.. but can we be sure that's what everyone wants?” You weren't trying to stir trouble. Perhaps you were hoping that by asking you’d understand. Sunday brushed a stray hair from your face as he smiled. He was like the sun on a warm day. Perhaps better than the sunrise then.

”Humans can be..” Halovian looked to the side, before his eyes met yours once more. They had the prettiest yet most conflicting colours. “To put it simply.. They do believe what they want is what’s actually good for them. That can't be further from the truth. Humans need some sort of guidance at the end of the day, sometimes the best solutions don't feel appropriate.”

You didn’t have the mind to deny it then. It made sense. Higher power decided things based on objective principle, not the subjective one. The breeze made your hair tickle your skin, and you wrapped your arms around your knees. “That’s true. Like the example of the bird you gave me. Just because it wants to fly doesn’t mean it can if it's unsafe.”

Sunday felt happy. You were getting it.

—

The memory of seeing Sunday for the first time was blurry. You vaguely recall your home destroyed, and wandering your old village aimlessly. It was due to an unspecified explosion, you never recalled the details, perhaps from how traumatic they were. A group of missionaries descended upon the land, bringing news of a new day. And as everyone was gathering and helping others, one man's eyes were specifically on you. His hair was dark and long as night, and he approached your curled up form.

An unknowing thing you were, he knew. And so he personally took care of you, wiping your tears. “This is a new chance,” he said. “This soil long lost its aeration. Only from fresh earth can life spring.”

You did not know what that meant. Regardless you were happy for the help, and went with the man to a new land. And that land was far grander than what you imagined, as on this land, you saw the sun for the first time in months.

And on that land you met Sunday,

The air was warm, and he was dressed in a white shirt, donned by a sleeveless suit of sorts. The outfit was comforting and pleasant to look at, not flashy, and not taking your attention away from his halo. From his wings. He looked like the saints you’ve seen on the walls of your old house. Saints you didn’t remember anymore. Your mouth was slightly agape, and you only regained your composure when you heard Gopher Wood speak.

”I have hefty responsibilities, child. I trust I can leave this lamb for your guidance?”

His hand was on your shoulder as he made you take a step towards Sunday. The other nodded, and smiled pleasantly. Gopher gave a nod as well, and was on his way soon after.

Like that you two were alone. “My name is Sunday.” He said.

You nodded slowly, and then looked around. Everything seemed fuller. Not like your old home, no, here nature had vibrant shades. You were pleased with the grass as you looked down, it was so rich. Your admiration of life was interrupted by the sound of Sunday clearing his throat. “And yours..?”

In the moment you looked back at him. “Mine..? What?”

”Name, your name.”

Despite the moment of embarrassment you answered, and he didn’t seem to be annoyed, or even bothered. He took your hand, and walked with you, tugging you along. “Well, then let's go somewhere we can sit, this is new to you, and I think we should talk about things.” Things like where you were from, and why. And what it meant to be in the family. He moved with you until you noticed a table near a comfy looking house. The details evaded you. It was merely a table with chairs, yet no significance. No. The true significance laid in the topics. In Sunday.

—

The plan was perfect. Well, not really, but you had no choice. You never dared to say that the family was wrong; you were grateful. But it wasn’t for you. To tell that to Him meant to break His heart, so you chose silence. iIt was better than direct confrontation at least.

Being there this long you had an idea of patrol routes and exits. So it wasn’t really difficult for you to navigate properly, avoiding watchful eyes. You picked nighttime, as it was easier to hide. Easier to ignore your guilt.

You didn’t blame yourself though, you just didn’t see the life of the family fit your needs anymore. Once upon the time maybe, but now? You yearned the outside and you yearned knowledge. You didn’t want to be married and have to fulfill the same tasks every time. Sunday did warn you that wisdom shouldn’t be taken from everyone, you just weren’t listening. You chose to believe there must’ve been more to this life.

Sneaking out of your room wasn’t hard when you knew the usual route the caretakers took while supervising. That, and perhaps the encouragement of the crow outside your window. Was it encouragement? Maybe you just chose to believe that.

You were one of the trustworthy members, and so you avoided being checked on by anyone. After that it was smooth sailing, heading into the north wing of the place to hopefully wait there. The plan was simple; get to the exit. And run.

Well, that's the simplified version. In reality it took nearly an hour to be halfway there, having to hide and wait for minutes sometimes until the hallway wasn’t patrolled anymore. But it was paying off, a strange fulfilment filled your senses. It was dark, which was to be expected. You navigated by holding your gloved hand to the wall, the texture of the wallpaper on it already similar. Despite not seeing it well, you remembered the muted shade of blue that the wall had. You memorised the outlay of the windows by then as well, watching the moonlight seep into the hallways and the corridors. It was saddening in a sense, this place was like home. Even now as you walked, your shoes clinking softly and almost inaudibly against the stone tiles, it felt familiar.

The thought made you stop. Were you truly to abandon this place? Did you not feel shame? Perhaps if your righteousness would’ve been greater, these second thoughts would’ve stopped you. Clearly you weren’t raised well. And so you moved on, vaguely aware of your breathing, before hearing footsteps. You were quite far already but that didn’t mean you weren’t at risk. More so with how little space you had to hide as of current, leaving you to slowly back away into the hallway. You didn’t watch where you went, only to get away from the sound. As such you ended up hiding around the corner, pressing closer to the barely visible wall. Your face was pressed against the wall, back flat to it. You slowly moved, until you felt something sharp at your hip. And then a shove, and the sound of shattering. You snapped your head to the noise.

You just knocked off a vase. A stupid vase, one whose corpse you saw thanks to the light from outside. The footsteps halted.

Realising that there was no time you took off in a run, your feet trying their best to carry you silently. It wasn’t enough, whoever went up to that vase wasn’t alone. You only heard the voice, not the actual conversation. And you went for it, the fear of being caught spiking you to abandon your former carefulness.

If someone knew that anyone was sneaking around, they’d go after them. And so running was your only choice. That didn’t help in the grand scheme of things. You’ve miscalculated. You didn’t pay attention.

Running and the panic earned you nothing, and you went with haste, doing your best to not be seen. Despite the initial threat gone, your own hysteria made sure you knew it was over. You ran to the end of the corridor, just to see a patroller turn into your direction.

”wh- get back here!”

You didn’t freeze thankfully, you turned around to break into the sprint - feeling weak regardless.

In reality you felt sickened. You didn’t plan to cut your plan short. And yet the persistent feeling of guilt clawed at your chest and stomach. How wrong was this to run like a coward? You didn’t stop.

One last turn and you could get out of a window safely. One last turn and-

Your head hit the floor before you knew what was happening, everything around you blurring and spinning from the impact you just withstood. You watched yourself on the floor, head tipping to see the person you just bumped into.

A guard. One not pleased at all, yet shocked nonetheless. It was unthinkable that you, of all people, would be causing ruckus. You shouldn’t be wandering the halls this late, and the guard knew. No defence left your tightened lips as you were grabbed roughly by the arm, and then yanked upwards.

It didn’t help that your head hurt from the impact with the tiled floor, and you were vaguely aware of your footing as you were dragged along. Whatever they were talking about to themselves fell on deaf ears as they approached the caretakers that found you moments ago. “What were you doing wandering the halls?”

“Wandering? Clearly this was an escape attempt.”

”It’s.. it’s not possible. There must be a reason”

Ashamed, you gave no answer. No answer would be appropriate for this crime. And you knew what happened to ones refusing Order. You knew that-

Everything silenced, spare for the sound of particular footsteps. Slow. Unrushed and measured. The two gathered caretakers and the guard seemed to stop their banter, and the air felt heavy. Your gaze followed theirs, and there you saw him.

Illuminated by moonlight like a saint was Sunday.

Wasn’t he supposed to be out for business? He shouldn’t be here. Why was he-

His hand was behind his back, and all he offered was a polite smile. “Thank you for your hard work today. I shall take it from here”

The guard looked at the other two, mouth opening to say something. Maybe protest, or maybe sing Sunday praises. You’ve seen both these cases already. “I said, I’ll take it from here” Yet he only loosened your grip on your arm, before pushing you to Sunday by your shoulder. All of the sudden your mouth felt dry and your throat tight, and then you saw the others bow and leave. They looked back on occasion before they were gone from the horizon.

Only then did you face the halovian again, the pleasant smile replaced by an utterly displeased and bone chilling expression of sternness. It fit the moonlight. It was cold.

Your wrist was grabbed within an instant, and he pulled you towards himself, leaning over to face you well. “You’re going with me.”

Sunday knew better than to make a fuss about this here. No, walls had ears. And certain birds knew how to speak. Before you could think to say anything you were pulled along by Sunday, further and further away from the exit. As the distance grew your feeling of sickness heightened, anxiety so big you felt you’d throw up.

You could tell he was pissed off. Well, that was certainly an understatement. Sunday was fuming, his hand tight on your wrist to the point you winced, and the walk through the darkness was silent, spare for the sound of footsteps. Occasionally you’d walk by patrolling caretakers, who looked to you and then away, sometimes lowering their heads. Was this from respect to Sunday, or the disappointment?

Maybe your mind needed to think about anything but the current situation. Maybe that’s why you chose to escape mentally even when the office doors were closer and closer. And each step you took heightened your sense of impending doom.

The doors opened with a click, and he pushed you by the small of your back inside, stepping after you. And then the doors shut. Time stopped for a moment. Nothing but the sound of the clock was audible, until he finally spoke up. You realised only then your wrist was released.

”Sit”

No words came out of you again as his hand found your shoulder. The desk held no significance, neither did the chair you were shoved onto. Through this short contact you felt his fingers shake. But only momentarily. Well, the only significance was within the situation.

Sunday didn’t sit. Whenever he had a lot on his mind he would pace about, and he opted for walking near the window. He inhaled deeply. How to even begin this conversation?

”A bird told me of your heinous acts.” He started. “But it would seem that even my rush to come here wasn’t enough”

Sunday planned to come in today to surprise you. Despite all he cared about you, really. If not, he wouldn’t have put in all this effort to keep you here, safe and sheltered. He would come in today and spend time with you. It was all to learn from the dreammaster that a certain person was doing things that shouldn’t be done.

Sunday ignored the warnings before. And look where it brought him, the situation worsened without his supervision.

You shifted in your seat, unable to face him. Your gloved hands curled in your lap as you gripped at your dress, knuckles turning white from the tension in your fingers. The halovian kept his gaze far. It didn’t escape him that you remained silent. Your anxiety usually would have you spilling out by now, tearing yourself apart for any positive look from him. For any reassurance.

Sunday closed his eyes with a sigh, hands behind his back. The curtains of his office were pulled open, allowing him to really see the outside.

“Nothing? You’ve got nothing to say to me?”

At being addressed directly you could do nothing but try to optically shrink yourself, curling in your seat. How would you even begin to explain yourself? Every single part of you, every single cell in your body emanated guilt. As though your own body was ashamed you’d think to leave.

One thing Sunday didn’t like was being ignored. His head turned to you, and he stepped over - directly in front of you - before snapping his fingers. “Zero? I would’ve expected admittance at least” it would seem to get you to talk, he’d need to bring out the heavy guns.

The halovian sighed heavily, a signification of how heavy his heart must’ve felt due to this situation. “You’ve disappointed me. I don’t know what I’ve done wrong for this to happen.” His gaze was everted to the wall, looking at the portraits on the wall.

“I’ve had grand plans for you.”

Perhaps the reaction was trained and habitual, but it didn’t feel any less natural. Your shoulders tensed, and your eyes began to burn. Sunday didn’t need any power of harmony on you, he needed to say the right things.

It never failed him, not this time either.

“I wasn’t- I wasn’t trying to-“ Sunday clicked his tongue. He wasn’t about to sit and listen to excuses. “But you were. Deliberately so.”

You refused his gaze once you felt it again, his hand under your chin. “Look at me when I am speaking to you.” Look at him. Always.

Your chest felt constricted when you met his golden eyes, his wings neatly folded, not spread out. “You planned it and then attempted to execute it. There’s no denying that.” Still, it was too much. You ended up moving your face away, looking to the exit longingly. You couldn’t face the guilt.

Halovian considered the situation at hand. Deliberately you were forgetting your place, but he needed to change his approach. So he crossed his arms, voice softer, temporarily losing its edge. “Let’s just.. talk about this, yes?”

Sunday leaned against the belobogian desk, head tipping. You looked pitiful and weak. Most importantly, naive. “I understand you must’ve had a reason to make this decision. One.. you deemed a good one. Tell me then, what was it?”

By then you should’ve known you were still in trouble. Regardless you were slightly comforted by his softened manner of speech. You still didn’t face him. But where to begin?

”I.. it was lingering on my mind for.. for a while- I believe that this is the decision that’s right for me.”

Sunday said nothing. He allowed you to continue, looking at the clock, and then pushing himself off the desk to approach a bookshelf.

Staring at your lap, you scratched at the skin underneath your glove. You were grateful, had Sunday not come, more people would know of your transgression. Or attempted transgression, a term more fitting. If they knew, they’d demand justice.

”I’ve.. I’ve noticed that the things I want don’t align with the.. uhm, ideas that the family strives for anymore.” You looked back to Sunday. His back was to you, and he was looking through the already familiar book. As you spoke you found a new confidence in your words. He was listening. He must’ve been. “I’m grateful. I am, but I can’t- live like this. It’s not for me, I can’t stay here.”

Sunday held the book open as he approached the desk once more, but he hummed, allowing you to continue. He wasn’t interrupting, that would be impolite. “I believe there are things I want in life that I won’t find here. I don’t hate you, I just..”

Of course there was no grand need to clarify. But you were anxious yourself. You didn’t wish to leave others in anxiety of unspoken things.

”You just?”

“I just don’t want to follow the codex of the family anymore. There’s more ahead for me.”

Sunday looked at your face. And so you looked away. You were sure he was hearing you out. He was listening, maybe he would understand. Maybe- “Is it a claim that order is unfit for individuals better than the rest of man?”

Your mouth went dry. Before you thought to defend your point he held his hand up, signifying his turn to speak. The open book was laid on the desk. Sunday took a step to you, unrushed. He had time, after all.

”What would give you such dystopian ideas? The books that you were reading when you thought no one was watching?” He asked. “Your selfishness asking you to stand out? Admirable. Do you believe yourself to know better? To be better than me?”

The verbal attack didn’t cut it. Your lips trembled as you tried to find a way to defend your point. You never thought yourself to be better, to know better. Yet that’s what Sunday seemed to think. If you explained your point enough he’d understand. He was your friend. He was-

His hand was at the arm of the chair, a tight and unrelenting grip. “You’re foolish. Absolutely and utterly naive. Order is for everyone, it’s not to appease you.” He wouldn’t let you speak. You couldn’t find any gap to think and word your ideas, no. “Rules are set by higher power. Do you not remember?”

Suddenly the chair let out a pleading screech as Sunday shoved it closer to the desk, forcing you to face the opened book. The poem. The ‘iron hand’. Your gloves felt tight on your hands.

”Read it out for me.” You knew how to read now. With your hands shaking you gripped the desk, leaning over. Your hair moved down when you stared at the page, and you looked at where he was pointing.

”A- a chain of law, a sculptor's chisel- to shape the wild, to cool the sizzle-“

”go on. Next lines.”

”Freedom’s song, though sweet, distorts-“ You were trying not to cry. Each letter read had your voice trembling from your throat tightening. “Breeding discord in courts and ports”

The book was shut in front of you right when you were done, and you were left staring down at the empty spot on the desk. “Did you learn anything from it?” The question was strange. Why would he ask that?

“It’s a poem, some- some poems just exist to let.. to let an author's voice out it’s not- it‘s not a rule of reality.”

Such big words for a lowly lamb. Sunday raised his brow, his voice carrying a tune of mockery. “Really? Why then believe all the other things you’ve read? You do not understand the true meaning behind the things you see. As a human you take things at face value, yet this poem is symbolic?” He scoffed.

He was expecting an apology. Or a statement of how wrong you were. Maybe then he’d let you off the hook. When he was young he too had moments of defiance, but thankfully there was always someone to get him back on track.

”That’s not- this is not what I meant.”

”Then, pray tell, whatever did you mean?”

Maybe this was your chance. He would understand, he would-

“I don’t want to live like this, Sunday!” Then again your infuriation reached its limit. You gripped the arms of the chair. Your tone did have Sunday vaguely surprised, an unreadable expression on his face as his mouth was agape. “I don’t want to have to marry, and then have kids. And then continue in monotony, and then do it all over again-“ you began. “This isn’t for me. There’s more to life than doing things on constant repeat like a music box whenever it’s opened.” your heart knocked against your chest in anticipation. Was this anxiety or excitement?

You should shut up. He frowned, only slightly, you did not relent yet. “There’s more to be seen and explored. There’s more to be learned and experienced. Like- like this desk. Humans need experiences to know life, they need to be shaped by their struggles, they need-“

You took a deep breath in. “They don’t need monotony. They need decisions.”

Maybe you should’ve silenced yourself before. His gaze was averted in mockery of contemplation, and then he looked at you directly. He was pissed. “No, humans don’t see things. We already talked about this, humans need someone to rule them and set their lives. They only see by the prism of their desire, they-“

The world was spinning. You weren’t sure if it was from anxiety or adrenaline. “Humans aren’t made to live like this! We- we aren’t cattle.”

Sunday regarded you for a moment. As though he took your words to be spoken lightly. As though he didn’t value your opinion as much as he should’ve.

Who would blame him though? You were just one person.

”Humans aren’t made.” Before anything else was said, his hand gripped your cheeks. Sheer strength of it had you wincing, and your lips puffed out due to the way he held your face. Sunday leaned in, eyes narrowed, and voice laced with poison.

“They are born. Born to be ruled, to be guided. They are born to obey.” The emphasis didn’t slip you.

Sunday didn’t like defiance. He didn’t like disobedience. Especially not when it was from you. “And like a human you are, that’s what you’ll be doing. You don’t know what’s good for you with me here. If my life relied on your freedom, I would never. let. you. go.”

He let go of your face, the harshness of the movement making your vision move sideways, face turned. ”Is one blind same as one that sees?” The question didn’t need answering. You were doomed.

“Is a dog aware of the poison that’s being hand fed to it?” He moved, stepping somewhere behind the chair. You didn’t dare to turn around, however, the tears pooling in your eyes were blurring whatever was in front of you. “Does a child know that a stranger may be a kidnapper, then?”

Your voice shook, and you felt his hand on your head, giving you the smallest strokes. “N-No-“

Halovian’s fingers tangled between the loose strands. “No. Is the sinner the same as the saint?” He asked again, hand running down before his fingers brushed out your hair again. “No, then why-“ his hand was tight in your hair, giving it a harsh tug back, forcing you to look at the ceiling. Not exactly. Sunday was leaned over you, his face unreadable. “-do you believe you have any clearance? You’re naive at best. To leave you to your own devices has been a foolish mistake” his voice carried an edge to it. A silent warning, a boundary that’s been crossed. “One I’m not gonna make again.”

Your cheeks burned. You really did it this time. You never saw Sunday this angered - his fingers left your hair, a dull feeling left over in your scalp. “Get up” he’d teach you your lesson, then figure out how to appease the masses.

Maybe he’d simply claim insanity. Maybe. Or perhaps he could work this into his plan, tell them your fear of marriage and greater tasks made you behave with no thinking. A fear of marriage to Sunday - which would be an actually believable reason.

Halovian was fine keeping his distance, even if you consumed his daily thoughts. He was willing to stay away if that meant you’d be safe, even if he couldn’t have you.

Well, that changes today.

He vaguely saw your struggle to keep calm, so he tugged you on your feet by your shoulder, pushing you in front of him. “You want a reason to leave this place? Let’s give you one.”

There was no time to speak, as he guided you out of the office, right into the hallway. It was still dark out there, and you stood cowardly as he fished his pockets for keys. Soon after you felt his hand wrap around your arm, and you were dragged along regardless of compliance or defiance. It seemed Sunday already knew where to go, and you too knew where he was going, judging by the direction. “Usually you’d try and gravel out of the situation” He commented, albeit unkindly. “It seems there are things that you’ve forgotten, such as your place in the hierarchy”

Through the darkened hallways you could still hear the jingling of his keys as he looked for the appropriate one, the sound of it sliding into the lock nothing but smooth. That’s right, you were going to his room. But why? The lock gave way with a click, and he made you walk in first.

As expected the room was darkened, Sunday stepping in shortly after you. He turned the light on absentmindedly, the room as dull as always. The halovian has told you once that vibrancy of colour takes clarity of the mind away.

You looked back to Sunday for a moment. He watched you too, his hand turning the lock beneath the doorknob with no issue. And so here you were with him, alone.

“And you.” He began, the keys left discarded on a cabinet near the wall. “How are you better than any other human?” The emphasis on your inferiority was not something you missed. Yet your throat felt too tight to form anything coherent. He always said it this way, whenever he asked you things you couldn’t hope to comprehend. Whenever he compared you in ways you did not fathom. It was always a sheet to cover the inferiority of yours he was conveying. You are just one human, after all.

Your eyes lingered as his form seemed to become bigger the closer he got, and the space around you felt as though it was tighter and tighter. It was only natural to mend for the lost personal space by taking steps back, your breathing got uneven, almost manual.

“If you don’t understand, do not be afraid” Sunday’s hand touched your cheek, the action far too tender as his not gloved fingers moved down across your skin. Your face, chin, then your neck. And his hand moved slowly, placing itself onto your chest soon enough, flat, near your covered cleavage. Maybe you didn’t want to admit it was there in the first place. A breath was stuck in your throat as you held it.

“I don’t expect anything from you anyway”

The push was light, yet you stumbled back nonetheless, the cushions and feathery covers not breaking your fall. It brought no relief.

The family’s heir stood great above you, looking at you with compassion, akin to seeing a wounded animal. Eyes half lidded, he looked at you with interest you did not understand before. Regardless, the puzzle piece was found, filling in the details you have once missed. You now understood everything.

“You- you can’t.”

His expression didn’t change, spare for the almost unnoticeable tipping of his head. “I can. You are my wife.” Sunday spoke as though this was a proven fact, an objective truth. He spoke with the conviction he always spoke with.

“There is- there’s no ceremony, h-how-“ your voice trembled. The anxiety never left you. “How can we marry?”

“I do not need to lower myself to these human concepts like your flock does” Sunday lowered himself to his knees, and from your sitting, you saw his hand take yours, it firmly secured in his grip.

He stroked the gloves of your hands, moving to the pinky, and then your thumb. The halovian pulled at the tips of the fingers until the glove slipped off, the material of his own against your now naked hand felt disgusting. Sacrilegious.

His gaze met yours, golden eyes making direct contact. It felt like his gaze became more intense, your naked hand pulled to his face. And then he kissed it, the softness of his lips akin to feeling an unknown before exotic soft food.

“I.. I cannot be your wife. It- it’s not right for me to be next to you.” Was this spoken from conviction, or from the discomfort of the situation? This didn’t make you forget your principles. This didn’t change your mind.

”Everything I do is right. Have you forgotten?” His lips felt like they reached far beneath your skin, right to the centre of your being. It was like an invasion, not that it was real. It was merely your perception.

”I don’t… mean to say you are wrong-“

”You cannot tell what is right or wrong, I will not hold it against you.” His voice felt that of reason, and it only served to make you feel idiotic for even daring to talk back. “Let me lead you back again to the path you had strived on.”

—

Jade smirked. The glass she held was almost untouched, her hair free under her hat. She sat like a proper lady, watching Sunday pace about. “I proved my point, didn’t I, mr. Oak?”

It was gripping at low hanging fruit, but snakes were known for lying in wait. She didn’t need to reach high to make sure she was heard. And the low hanging fruit was you. Because all it took for you to ‘rot’, as Sunday would say, was a single worm. And the worm was her vicious tongue giving you strange ideas. She was a devil incarnate.

Halovian spared her but a glance, his jaw tight. To think she messed in the affairs of his, right underneath his nose. It was unthinkable, what sort of a leader was he if he was oblivious to it? Did he deserve his royalties?

”Unjust game is your favourite, it would seem.”

”I did prove my point, no?” She chuckled. “You can’t have everything under control. Not her, not penacony. Precisely why I suggest going with the fore mentioned truce”

Sunday was aware that the IPC would not be able to keep its claws off penacony. And danger to penacony was danger to ’the family’, even if no one knew what happened behind said name. This was but a direct threat, if that wasn’t clear before.

He finally stopped walking, abruptly so. Jade continued on.

”If a catastrophe befalls, would you hope they choose safety, or their home?”

But she didn’t wait. She set the glass down, and headed for the doors. She gave Sunday a single glance back, and left.

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