"If that is truly your wish," he says, "the Church does not refuse a soul that seeks to return."
A collective breath releases from the crowd.
"I will baptize you," he says to Neaga, "and your child. If you stand before God in sincerity."
Neaga bows her head deeper. Her voice comes humble now. Lowered.
"It is what I want. I wish to be cleansed," she says. "My child as well."
Ilinca presses her face into her mother’s skirts, peering out with wide, wet eyes.
Popa Vasile studies them for a moment longer than necessary. Then he nods once.
"So it shall be."
The air loosens. The violence drains from the crowd, replaced by something almost triumphant, as though a victory has been won without blood. For a moment, I almost sag with gratitude. It worked. It is done. But when Popa vasile turns toward me, the relief curdles. His expression is calm. Gracious, even.
"Your zeal does you credit, Raveena," he says, loud enough for all to hear. "It is a beautiful thing to see such devotion in the young."
A few approving glances land on me, making me lower my eyes.
"Thank you, Father," I murmur.
His gaze does not leave me.
"There is," he continues gently, "great power in speaking for another soul."
My pulse stutters.
"But," he continues gently, "guidance of the flock rests with the shepherd."
The words are soft. So soft that anyone listening might mistake them for kindness.
"It is not for lambs to instruct the pasture," he adds, almost lightly.
A faint ripple of laughter—uneasy—moves through those nearest him.
"Yes, Father," I say, my face burning suddenly.
His eyes linger a heartbeat longer—long enough that I feel the warning beneath the blessing.
Does he know? The lie I spoke still trembles inside me like a trapped bird.
He cannot know. He cannot possibly He cannot possibly—
"And yet," he finishes, his tone smoothing again, "may your devotion be a lesson to us all."
I lower my gaze and step back into the crowd, letting the murmur swallow me, grateful only that the fire has been banked before it could consume them.
A voice rises from the back.
"The sun is setting."
Heads turn instinctively toward the horizon. The light has shifted without my noticing—warmer now, brushing the tops of the huts in gold.
"We won’t have time to reach the church," someone says.
A murmur of unease follows.
