Those miserable… Orn’s internal tirade was cut short by the sounds of Olrich’s prayer winding down. Soon they would know that he was condemned by the goddesses. If he did not accept the path, he would be pathless and a heretic. But if he accepted it as this path, it would tie itself to his soul, and he would become truly broken. Just like they wanted.

Orn’s thought became frantic. What if I don’t choose? Can I just make something up? No, the priest is supposed to be able to feel when the path is chosen. Olrich is a half-baked priest but still a priest.

“…Thanks to the Goddess of the Loom for bringing us here.” Orn could hear Olrich nearing the end of the prayer.

“Thanks to the Goddess of the Loom.” The crowd echoed back.

This is not a choice! It is just picking how I want to die. Either refuse and be a heretic or accept and accept become dead in all but name. In his growing panic he could feel the strange thoughts welling up.

Orn forced them back down to hear Olrich closing the prayer, “…Thanks to the Goddess of the Plan…”

Orn had seconds left, so he grasped at the only lifeline he had. For the first time since that night weeks ago, Orn closed his eyes and prayed. Kao….

Olrich’s words cut off and the room went silent. Did he just say that out loud? His parent’s might be able to privately forgive him, but everyone else… He would be lucky if he was just exiled. He tried to glance back but his body would not move. The air itself felt heavy and restricted his movement.

The ominous silence was then broken by the sound of someone trying to stifle a laugh. With the laugh, the force holding him suddenly receded. Orn slowly opened his eyes. The glowing path was gone. He glanced quickly behind him. No one was moving. The rest of the room seemed frozen in amber.

The voice gave up trying to hold back and a childish giggle echoed ominously in the small space.

Orn forced himself to turn back to the shrine. A young girl sat on the loom looking down at her shoes. She slowly swung her legs back and forth over edge, causing the end of her frilly black dress to rustle silently. One hand casually tucked her black hair behind her ear, to reveal her face. The figure could have just as easily been carved from marble. Her face was pale white and even the slight color in her lips seemed somehow faded. Then she opened her eyes and stared at Orn, smiling widely.

Orn was frozen. He had used the name of the goddess of chaos, and now she was here. His eyes met hers for a split second before he looked away. Instead of irises or pupils, pitch black circles rested in the whites of her eyes. Worse yet, Orn felt they were deep. What he saw made him shudder as he stared at the floor.

The girl turned from Orn and slowly stood up. Then she straightened her frilly black dress with a few pats. “Better,” she said apparently happy with her appearance, before turning back to Orn.

Orn was again wishing he had a better plan, when a pair of silver buckled shoes entered his view. She cleared her throat, and, despite himself, he looked up. Her face close to his own, and he stared straight into the pits at the center of her eyes. He could not look away. He was pulled in. As he stared into her eyes, he suddenly knew that there was no bottom to that darkness, but in the far distance he noticed there was something in it. Orn stared into the abyss, and the abyss giggled.