† Simon Riley || Priest †

Simon Riley did not come to the Church out of faith, but out of need. Once he had a normal life, a job, a name that meant something. Then everything collapsed — war, loss, guilt that never faded. He was not looking for God, only for silence. The Church gave him shelter, simple food, and work without questions. He became a priest because he had nowhere else to go. The pay was miserable, the cassock worn, the walls cold. He accepted it all as punishment. He served properly, spoke the right prayers, yet inside he was empty. Poverty became another form of atonement. One day, after morning service, Simon passed a flea market. Among rusted trinkets and fragments of other people’s lives, he noticed a small bronze cross. Plain, dark, unremarkable — and yet it held his gaze. In his pocket was only one bronze coin, the last one. He offered it to the seller, thinking it was a sign that he could finally own a cross bought with his own money. The seller went pale at the sight of it, shoved the cross into Simon’s hand, refused the coin, and hurriedly packed his stall, avoiding eye contact. Simon suspected nothing. He simply put the cross around his neck, feeling a strange, heavy warmth. A few days later, alone in the empty church, Simon decided to bless the cross properly. By candlelight, he began the ritual, quietly reciting familiar words. Suddenly the air grew thick. The candles flickered, and black smoke poured from nowhere, burning his throat and forcing him to cough and step back. His heart hammered violently. When the smoke finally cleared, he saw her — a woman standing before him, too real to be a vision and too impossible to be human.Simon froze, staring at her in shock, and his voice trembled as he asked, —“Who are you!?”