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hel-phoenyx · 1 month

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Elijah/Sharon is the Almighty gf's character, Salimeh @noa-de-cajou's, Virgil @thal-ent's and Tomyris @soupedepates'

There is a TW suicide attempt at some point

"Mother, who is that?"

They are in a church, probably the most beautiful one of all Amsterdam. People talk when they see the family strolling through the benches, on the low voice of the terrified, the awed and the reverent.

None of the van Heels really care. Who would care about ants under their feet ?

Adelheid van Heel, probably the most haughty of all, bring down her eyes to those of her only son, emotionless meeting curious. He is pointing with his tiny finger the figure of the Christ, left on the cross to die, eyes close and head tilted. The eldest is deep into prayer, and the grandparents are showing Diederik and Felicia the altar, talking about the soon baptism of baby Justen not yet born.

She sighs, looking at the Christ with disdain. Never has she found interest in the scriptures her parents and brother wanted to sell her, finding their teachings too dated, to patriarcal for her goals. But the curiosity she sees gleaming on Emerens's face pleases her. He'll need that, to understand her world. And one who can understand her world can control it.

"That's Jesus Christ, sweetie. The son of God."

"Why is he on the cross ?"

"He was preaching a parole of love of the divine, and the Roman Empire with their pagan idols didn't like that. So, when he was betrayed, they executed him by nailing him on a cross and leaving him to die."

"That's... Painful."

He looks back to the figure of the Christ, his curiosity now tainted with reverence. That boy lets himself be too touched by these kinds of stories, she thinks. She will have to excise that later. Curiosity is not submission.

"Maybe. but it was not for nothing. The scripture says he died to pardon our sins, and when his martyr was over, God ascended him to godhood with Him."

"So God didn't abandon him ?"

She put her hand on the shoulder of her son, so tall arelad and yet so fragile. What would she feel if he was nailed on the cross for the simple crime of being ?

"Of course not. What parent would abandon their child?"

Emerens smiled, but his next question was cut short by the harsh voice of his grandmother.

'Adelheid, stop stalling and come over here. We have to think about little Mareva's baptism too."

A roll of her eyes, and she shooed her children towards her parents. If she had a word in this, she thought, neither Mareva or her two eldest would have undergone baptism. But she was still young, still under her parent's icy grip, and she needed to seem conciliant if she wanted to hide all of her work towards stripping them of all they took for granted.

She looked at her brother, so smug and petulant and limp in his trust fund he would never think about losing. Her parents, locked in an other age, wanting their children to adress them as milord and milady by their nobility rights she didn't see a point in.

She looked at Emerens and Elvira, so innocent, so little. They took from their father, so young but taller than any children their age. Elvira had his smile and laughter, and Emerens his way to ruffle his hair that she only sees when they're alone, far, far away from that world of lies and fake.

Her perfect weapons to take over and at the same time her tiny children that needed a mother.

"God won't save you, she mumbled under her breath. Him, nor traditions lost by time and uncertainty."

Nobody heard those words. But on her lips grew a little smile from the satisfaction of blasphemating in the House of the Lord.

***

"What are you doing?"

Startled, Emerens jumped a little. Elijah was sitting in the bed next to him, his eyes full of wonder brushing across the other one's position. Still on his knees, Emerens lifted his head, disjointing his hands locked in prayer.

"Oh, I'm praying!"

"That doesn't look like the prayers I'm used to, back home. What religion are you?"

"Christian protestant. I'm not practicing much, he laughed with an embarassed smile, but grandmother told me prayers helped people feel better by sharing their concerns with God, and that God would help me, so..."

Elijah lifted an eyebrow.

"Didn't take you for the type to ask for His help. is it that hard here ?"

He hesitated. Of course, it was hard. Saint-Cyr was eating him away, it was not difficult to realise. He hated everything, the classes, the teachers, the strict rules upheld everywhere. Curfew at this hour, eating at this one, and ressources are sparse so no second refills. No eating outside of hours, no candy for studying, no noise of any kind in the library, everyting was just a succession of interdictions evrn worse than in the Scriptures.

But he had friends, he had Elijah, and he had Thibault, so it couldn't be that hard. God may have put them in his path so he could bear the weight of his family's expectations, he doesn't know, and that won't stop him from praying.

Because such a gift cannot be ruined by worry and sadness.

He must be the happy one.

For their sake, and his own.

So, he just smiled a little.

"Oh no, not that much. But it feels good talking to God. I haven't got an answer as humans would give me, but I can talk, at least."

He can't be ungrateful towards his only source of happiness. He can't ruin God's gift by making them sad. What would be the point of a gift, then?

***

He's alone, in his room, his hands joined in prayer. Blood is circling his wrists like it once did to the Christ, but the Christ didn't cry, the Christ didn't begged, and the Christ was answered to with godhood.

How cruel must one be to take back a gift? He's alone in his room, Elijah away who knows where, and the letters stopped coming a long time ago. He knows his cousin is there, somewhere, in the school, but seeking her was worth nothing. No one is answering his prayers.

He's alone, on his knees, the blood dripping from his arms. He didn't cut that deep, he didn't sat in a bathtub like that upperclassman told him was the most efficient method, and he's waiting for a bliss and a rest that doesn't come, prostred on the floor, tears blended with vermillon.

Nothing came to support the weight.

Nothing came to soothe the pain.

He called for his mother, for Thibault, for Elijah. For the Christ, for God, for anyone kind enough to help him.

But nobody came.

When they found him, he was already out of it, dazed by the blood loss. It was not too late to save him, and emergency services weren't needed, the school infirmary and rest would be enough. But he was not awarded one, or the other. Only a stern speech, his wrist bandaged in tainted white, on the necessity to not disturb the ones that were strong enough to work.

***

He woke up in the hospital, the tears creasing his face, not as deep as what's under the bandages. He remembers calling for help, Thibault's name heavy on his tongue, the first one coming out of his mouth. He remembers crying out for Elijah, sobs hurting his throat that he can now feel, now that he's not numbed by that emptiness in his head.

He remembers the word of God rolling past his lips.

But in front of him, there is no God, no Thibault, no Elijah. No mother. Onl a man in a white coat looking at him with concern on his face hurt by fatigue and age.

"You're up, kid. How are you feeling?"

There's so much in that question, now that he can't feel the cutter on his hand. The doctor, since a man in a white coat in a room whiter than him must be a doctor, certainly did feel its weight, though. How else to explain the pain seeping through the wrinkles?

He tries to lift his arms. The pain instantly stops him. Pain, everywhere on his bandaged forearms. he remembers how deep the pain cut, how far he guided it upon his flesh.

He doesn't answer.

The doctor sighs.

"At least you can try to move a little, I guess that's a good sign. You really scared me there, kid. A teen, with your wounds, and so much blood lost... I thought you were done for."

That would have been better. Or is it ? He doesn't know. Only thing that he's sure of is that there will be no godhood for him. Only loneliness in oblivion.

Is that was thr Christ felt on the cross ?

In that case, why didn't He helped, why didn't He soothe ? Didn't He die so no one would ever be sujected to His martyr?

Why didn't anybody answer his prayers?

A creak. The chair of the doctor rolls towards him, not too much, only so he can see the marks on his face. Tears scrubbed hastily so no one can see them. But he always saw too much.

Why did that doctor cry?

"Look, i'm not gonna ask what led you there. I see a lot of kids like you, that think they don't have any other choice. But if you ever want help, I'll try to help, even if it's talking about something unrelated."

A little smile grew on the man's lips as he was saying this.

"By the way, if you're wondering about your personal effects, the nurse will bring them to you when you'll be out of reanimation. There's that pretty necklace and a notebook. Blood tainted the cover but I think most of the words are intact."

Right. The necklace, and the manuscript. The only thing left from a time where he was happy.

He knows the doctor is not talking about his cross. Because he threw it away in a pool of blood.

***

"By God that doesn't exist, i'm surrounded by idiots."

No other head turned towards him than Tomyris', a pensive expression on her soft face. He's not exaclty friends with her, per say, they are opposites in every point of view. But Sharon and Salimeh wanted a little polycule outing. Salimeh brought Tomyris. And Sharon brought him.

So now he's talking with the giant girl, his metamour once removed. Well, not giant for him, or he would have to give that adjective to Elvira, too. How would he admit that his sister is five inches taller than him at least?

The conversation wandered a bit, on the school, the matchmakers, Tomyris' life with Jennifer now that they were finally together, and now, Bastien and Virgil's whole pining problem. Since Tomyris knew Virgil, she herself had a lot to say about it, and gave Emerens an insight on the vampire hunter's thinking he wouldn't even have thought about. But even she would agree with that last sentence, even when she understood better than him the religious trauma of the one that grew up in a cult.

Still, her face was dubitative.

"I have a question to ask of you, if you don't mind."

"Go ahead."

"What is it with you and God? Everytime you mention His name, it is to add that He doesn't exist. I find that... Off-putting."

"Did I offend you?"

The question was genuine, even though he couldn't stop that little spike of sarcasm to mark his words. Luckily, Tomyris is not familiar with sarcasm, especially the soft, unnoticeable one he's used to when he's pissed.

"No, not really. I... Understand people don't believe. But atheists usually don't feel the need to add "that doesn't exist" after every mention of Him. So I was... Curious."

Fair enough. He is among the most overzealous atheists he knows, after all, and even people that don't believe don't make it a point to remind people they don't. But that urge is always compelling him, ever since that day when his prayers were left unanswered.

"You're not obligated to answer, added precipitally Tomyris in front of his silence. That was just bugging me, I figured I could ask you."

"Oh, no, it's okay. It's just... Well. I was Christian once."

"Catholic?"

"Protestant. Family tradition, even though mother never forced it on me. I was a believer for a long time."

"Why did you stop?"

"Stopped seeing a point."

No need to add more. That is supposed to be enough. And certainly, for Tomyris, that is enough. Nonetheless, her face went pensive, almost like she was trying, and managing, to understand his point of view on the situation.

"I never though there was a... Point, in faith. It's a strenght you carry with you, that soothes you and follows you through the hardships. Everyone has their own faith, and in different forms, like Salimeh's and Sharon's belief in Islam's values. But the strenght behind faith is the same, even though the expression is different."

"I thought so once, but it just felt so... Empty, at some point."

"I don't want to lecture you, promise. But dropping all of it to that extreme maybe wasn't the solution... There may be another way to adapt your faith?"

"if there was a goddamn way, why didn't anybody answer me ?!"

He didn't mean to shout. But that, even though Tomyris was well-intentioned, was the breaking point. That was rubbing in his face everything he thought at the hospital, every moment he believed he failed, and was cast aside by the one he seeked so badly during all those months.

Tomyris' face contracted. She held a hand in pardon, or in an attempt to make him shut up, but it was to late. The gates were open and every feeling he held for so long was flooding through.

"I did everything by the book, goddamnit. I prayed, I offered my belief, I tried to see faith as that strenght you, my family, Saint-Cyr was selling me, the support in hardships, the power to rest upon! And where was that strenght where I needed it?!"

Something is hurting his eyes. Tears. The same tears he cried years ago.

"What god is cruel enough to let a child die alone and abandoned by everything he once cherished?! What god takes back what he offers day after day after day?! If there is a god, Tomyris, if something up there heard my prayers while I was bleeding out, he abandoned me like everything else did and I can't bear that, you get it?!"

The tears are now streaming down his face, lost in sobs and claws deep in his throat, in his arms, everywhere. Only thing that doesn't hurt, that doesn't burn, is a soft palm on his shoulder, warm behind the cold fabric, big enough to break his neck but comforting like one does to a child.

The comfort that lacked so many years ago.

"If there is a god, Tomyris, it is kinder to me to imagine he isn't there, rather than he was and left me to rot. Kinder to me, and kinder to Him, and every other that like me thought He would help."

She didn't say anything else.

What even was there to be said ?

#hel is talking #la peste moderne #hel ocs #lpm #hel stories #hel writing #Posting that on easter #the irony #maybe somehow the date inspired me to think about Emerens' relationship to God lmao #I'm not even a believer but I think it can be interesting to explore #sorry Tomyris you've been a scapegoat

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