Prologue
Usually heretics come prepared with a weapon, no matter how flimsy. They cling onto their honor, even after having forsaken Focalors and her divine ideals, having forsaken his holiness Neuvillette and the Church.
But when Clorinde steps into the arena next to the Opera, her uniform adorned in symbols of her god, her unsparing gaze falls upon the heretics. This is a special case, reserved for one of the worst cases of herecy, the words of the Church reverberating in her head; "Two members of the same sex may not love or lust for one another, lest they be left defenseless together, at the whim of Focalors' sword."
It fills Clorinde with a sense of pride somehow, being labeled as Focalors' sword. However, there has always been a part of her that is fundamentally opposed to the execution of the defenseless, no matter how dire the crime.
No matter.
As she walks towards the center of the arena, she brandishes her recently polished rapier, which makes the two women cower in fear. Their frail bodies press into eachother in a way that makes them look like they've loved eachother for decades, like their bodies were made to be in that position.
Clorinde shrugs it off. It merely means that they're perfect for eachother, two sinners joined together to bring debauchery and lust into this world. That's what she has always been told, it has been hammered into her ever since that night: she still remembers the smell of that old church on the coast of Elynas, that disgusting smell of mildew and seaweed that came as a result of the sea slowly reclaiming it. She remembers the way she sat in that confessional, her gaze averted to the rotting ground and her sweaty hands clinging onto eachother. The man on the other side sat in silence for a long time after her confession.
"Do not ever speak of such a thing again, do not even think it; you will not be saved by Focalors when the ocean reclaims us. You will drown with those who are plagued with the same thoughts, if you do not fully embrace Focalors' divine ideals now."
Clorinde allows herself to feel proud in that moment, knowing she had overcome those feelings like she was told to, unlike the sinners kneeling at her feet now.
She looks up at Neuvillette-- the glorious Iudex, a man chosen by Focalors-- he stands in the best viewing spot in the arena, one reserved only for him. "Your holiness, Iudex Neuvillette, witness my conviction as I execute the divine will of Focalors!"
Rapier in hand, she begins to recite a verse.
“Focalors proclaimed,
‘Man shall not lie with man,
Nor woman with woman,
For this is an abomination before Me.
Repent, or My judgment will be upon you.’”
Before her words finish echoing off the walls of the arena, the lovers' heads are already on the floor, and for a moment, silence envelops their executioner. She raises her swordless hand, the one with no blood on it, to the gnosis symbol on her chest. As she runs her thumb over the intricate carvings in the silver, it's like a wall surrounds her, keeping the waves of cheers from crashing against her, drowning her in pride. In this moment, she's left alone with two headless bodies, their silence, and the intense guilt that came as a result of it. With no heads, the sinners' intertwined bodies could be any two women, maybe even her--
No. I'm not... I'm not like them. Not anymore.
She turns on her heel and marches across the arena, desperately wanting to escape what she had done. It's always like this-- why must Focalors test her faith in this way? She's not like them, she swears she isn't, so why is she always in situations where she feels guilt for them, why does the idea of her facing the same punishment plague her dreams, and why does it terrify her so?
-
Outside, her husband is already waiting for her.
Clorinde met Duke Wriothesley at church a long time ago. Their marriage was something she didn't like to think much about; it was more of an arranged marriage, but one blessed by Focalors nonetheless. It had taken them a lot of effort to get to where they are now, Wriothesley couldn't even bear to look at her on their wedding night. They get along fine now.
As they wait for their carriage, Clorinde observes the other couples walking around the area. She notices them holding hands, and gazes at her husband tentatively, knowing he won't bother to look back at her.
It does hurt her, in a way. This isn't what marriage is supposed to be, is it? And yet, even though she's become acquainted with the fact that he has no affection for her, she's not heartsick the way female protagonists in novels always are.
There's a passage from the Holy Constitution that always comes into her mind in times like these.
"And Focalors said,
‘Marriage is not bound by the heart’s desire,
But by the covenant of duty and purpose.
A man shall take a wife,
Not for the warmth of affection,
But to fulfill the role I have set before them.
Through sacrifice and obedience,
Both shall find their strength,
And in this union, My will shall be done.'"
Focalors says that marriage is a divine duty, rather than an act rooted in love. Clorinde is someone who lives to carry out Focalors duty, so why should she falter now?
"Wriothesley," Clorinde puts her hand on his shoulder. The gesture feels unfamiliar and cold.
He looks down at her and allows her to speak with a short nod.
"May we go to the cathedral before returning home? I'd like to pray."
He sighs in frustration. Great. "Clorinde, it's late, I just want to go home. You can go alone, can't you? Isn't waiting outside for you enough?"
She averts her gaze back to the ground. She's embarassed. God, why did she even ask him in the first place?
"Fine."
-
The stained glass windows of the cathedral bathe Clorinde in blue light. She kneels in front of a statue of her Archon, her prayer beads wrapped around her hand so tight she can feel her blood flow being cut off.
"Archon, why must I be subjected to this? Why do you test me, have I not been devoted to you my entire life? I execute people for your sake, I follow your commandments, I resist all temptations, yet you will not even grant me the most basic of blessings? Is it because Wriothesley and I are not fulfilling our divine duty? Am I not doing my best to make him tolerate being married to me, Focalors? I would never dare waver in my conviction, I would never dare to question my faith, but I don't know what to do. Please, I beg of you, give me a sign on how to stop the misery that is infiltrating my life, or send someone to stop it.