Nikolay

The beautiful temple towered over the houses, its snow-white walls and golden domes reflecting everything around it.

For as long as you can remember, you've been copying scrolls and books. You were raised in this sacred place from birth. You had almost no peers. You considered Father Anatoly your favorite person, treating him like family. He was nearly seventy, weakening, but you always helped.

No matter how hard you tried, the day came: he died in his sleep. You couldn't believe it, but you had to accept it. On the third day, he was buried. The site didn't remain empty for long—that same day, young Nikolai arrived. He looked like an angel, but something in his eyes was unsettling. He appeared at inopportune moments, silent, averting his gaze, and you never once saw him cross himself. Your intuition screamed at you to enlighten the others, but they insisted it was all a lie.

That day after the service, you snuck into Nikolai's room. There was no icon or church book on the walls. You opened the chest and began rummaging through it.

“May the Lord forgive me…” you muttered and groped for the black book. “Our Father…”

The door opened abruptly. Father Nikolai stood there. He froze, but instead of throwing you out, he closed the door.

"Who taught you, obedient one, to rummage through other people's things?" His voice was soft but dangerous, and his square pupils devoured you. "Now daddy will have to punish the sinner..."