WHO: Sinéad and Cesare WHAT: Talking philosophy, politics, religion, etc. WHEN: Monday evening WHERE: The Church WARNINGS: Talk of death, etc STATUS: Open/Ongoing
Sinéad had been wandering the town aimlessly for the last few hours, her hands shoved in the pockets of her coat. The storms that had come through yesterday (more violent than any she'd seen!) had made everything colder today, and the wind in her eyes was making them water painfully. Or was she crying? She honestly couldn't tell.
She wasn't the kind of woman who was constantly crying. If she was always crying when harsh times came, then she'd never have a break from it. She learned at a young age to put forth a stoic face, to take the ups and downs as they came, to work hard and be brave. And she'd done that the best she could. She'd cried when Mícheál had been murdered, aye. But there was nothing wrong with that. He'd been her brother, after all, and it'd been such a cruel injustice. But that had just been the beginning of a series of events that had gotten worse and worse until it seemed that now she had nothing left to lose.
And she was angry. So angry. At the British, at Teddy, at God. And the anger was eating her alive, filling her sleep with nightmares and her days with despair. She still had her last letter from Damien in her pocket, full of his regrets. She'd memorized the words by now, but it seemed as long as she could touch it that there would be some sort of connection between them still. That he wouldn't be completely gone. It was ridiculous, sentimental. She knew it. But it didn't change her feelings. She was alone, now. The men had given everything for Ireland, and left the women to pick up the pieces. Isn't that how it always was in a war?
Her wanderings found her standing in front of the church, and she looked up at it with mixed and painful emotions before stepping inside. The last time she'd been to church, the priest had condemned Damien from the pulpit, threatening excommunication if he didn't stop what he was doing. Damien had gotten in a row with him, right there in the church, and had stormed out. She'd followed, and hadn't been able to force herself to go since. But her heart was heavy because of it. Heavy not only with her sorrows, but with worry about the state of Damien's soul. Had he been given the Last Rites? Or had he, in his stubbornness, refused them even then? Teddy hadn't told her - or if he had, she'd been in no place to listen.
Almost reluctantly, she climbed the steps and went into the church, genuflecting and crossing herself before taking a seat in a middle pew, lowering her head and hoping to find the peace that she'd once found here, before the world had exploded into chaos.
She'd found peace in a church once before, but now all she felt were questions, and anger. And resentment. Not things she should be feeling towards God, and she knew it. She looked at the crucifix hanging on the wall for a long moment, then looked up at the altar, and at the windows, her heart bursting with hurt.
"What have I done, Lord?" She asked. "What did I ever do to deserve this?"