Blinding Faith

14 Days Until the New Moon

 I am awoken by the sparse rays of light that flood into my room from behind my closed curtains, signaling that we are now allowed to go outside again. My eyes are still heavy with sleep but I hear Mother shuffling around the kitchen and want to catch her before she leaves for the Holy House. I throw on the first dress I see and grab a pinafore, tossing it over my shoulder as I leave my room. Mother is already dressed and sitting at the kitchen table drinking her tea. She never sleeps in late because it would cut into her time with Lord.

"Would you like some breakfast mother," I ask as I throw my pinafore over my dress and fasten the buttons at my collarbones, "I can make us eggs and toast?"

She shook her head, "There is no time for that Meredith. Let me finish my tea and then I must be off".

"Well I will walk you there at least," I hurry back into my room to grab my belt and boots. I can't take the time to match them to my outfit or Mother might leave without me. I just finish securing my hair into something that could pass as a braid when there is a knock at the door.

I open it to find Blythe, looking much too cleanly but together for so early in the morning. Her dress, pinafore, and belt all match beautifully and are pressed to perfection, unlike the mix of contrasting colors and wrinkled fabrics that I am wearing. Her hair is braided so tightly that her features are almost contorted from the strain, and her face is fresh and clean. I raise a hand to cover the drool dried across my right cheek. Blythe and I have been friends for as long as I can remember, and I always envied how effortless she makes things look. From her appearance, to her grades, to her devotion to Lord. It all comes so naturally to her. I have never been bitter with my envy though, I consider Blythe one of my dearest friends. I step aside to invite her in. She breezes by me and sits herself down at the table beside my mother, greeting her warmly.

"Good morning Blythe my dear," Mother's hand slides across the table until it meets Blythe's, and pats it affectionately, "I'm sorry I can't chat, I was just on my way to the Holy House".

Blythe's expression lights up, "I will walk with you". She loves any excuse to walk by the Holy House and marvel at its beauty. I know how dearly she wishes that she will get to go inside one day. I can't say that it is a dream I can understand anyone having, but I know that Blythe would love nothing more.

The three of us walk to the Holy House arm in arm. It is a beautiful autumn day, the type of day that makes you want to breath extra deeply to take it all in. When we arrive Mother kisses Blythe's fingers, pats me on the cheek, and bids us goodbye as she ascends the steps towards the door.

Blythe remains fixated on the oversized doors as they shut behind Mother, longing evident on her face. The Holy House truly is a grand building and I can't say that I haven't stopped at times to admire it, or wonder about what's behind those heavy wooden doors, with their golden handles. The house itself was made of grey stone that was dirtied and chipped with age, but in a way that only added to its beauty and mystery. It stood much taller than any other building in the village, and seemed too large for one man to live in. But then I suppose Lord isn't a man, he's a god. As magnificent as the Holy House was, growing up it always struck me as odd, and I couldn't quite place why. It wasn't until I was older that I realized, it had no windows.

Blythe's fascination with the Holy House however, was much more than a passive admiration of architecture. She looked at it as if it was her home, which she had been kicked out of, and wanted nothing more than to be back inside where she belonged.

"Come on," I tug her sleeve pulling her back to reality, "I haven't had breakfast. Let's go down to the river and pick some apples". We raced down to the river, laughing like children, the Holy House long forgotten. We collapse at the foot of an apple tree, leaning against each other as we gasp for breath. Standing up I reach for the apples on the lowest branches, and hand one to Blythe, who still looks to be out of breath. Dropping down beside her again I take a bite from my own apple and lay my head on her shoulder.