Snakeskin (2024)

Like a ghost, the business woman glided down the stonebrick nave in a slow, mournful stride. The heels of her oxford dress shoes made only a faint click that disappeared in the vastness of the empty church. It was nighttime in this Arowarian church. The dark was only amplified by the milky white moonlight pouring through the apse stained-glass. Once the woman had crossed the nave, she carefully knelt along the altar railing that guarded an ancient statue. Her elbows propped against the marble, and with her head down in reverence, she prayed to the god before her.

Bathed in the glowing light, a statue of an Elfen woman was shadowed by its own figure. Arowar was a tall, mighty god with reason and conflict in each hand; each concept symbolized by a scale and a sword. She radiated attention and sought the command of everyone who stood in the room. Even a passing spectator would stop to drink in her marvelous figure, the cascading ripples in her dress, and her harsh, dominating expression. 

Despite this, the god was nothing but a distant stranger to Yor. She had no attachment to a rock, a concept. She didn’t believe in gods and was wholeheartedly convinced that religion was a delusional ritual for fools in need of structure. This wasn’t even the god her own kind worshiped. But here she was, praying before Arowar. 

It was routine at first, reciting a simple prayer that even children would know of. Then, when the formalities were established and Arowar was supposedly tuned in, was when Yor decided to lay down her demands.

Riolu. I want Riolu Dhar. I pray to thee in the hopes you grant me this wish. No, I demand it. I want her beside me when this world meets its maker. I want her when I crush that prince and bring my father’s reign to fruition, nothing else. I never wanted anything in my life. I never asked for luxuries, for prosperity, for wealth, for fame, for my father’s attention. I am deserving to get what I ask for. And I will do whatever it takes if I am denied this.

Yor had closed her eyes, as if this extra step of vulnerability would make her case better. She continued to list her demands, letting her desire crumble into desperation.

I have never felt a feeling as strong as this. I am conflicted. This is what you want Arowar. Conflict. My head and body is spinning with turmoil, I am dizzy and suffocating without the Yho’na woman in my sights. I have never loved before and now I am reaching for it like water in a desert. Tell me Arowar. I am deserving of this. I deserve to love. I deserve to have her. 

“How dare you step foot into my sanctuary?” A booming voice echoes through the church, and Yor turns towards the source. In a transept nearby, an Elven man stood by the door, one hand clutched onto the door handle, the other one stretched out. A faint purple glow emits from his palm, and Yor understood that he would attack if she made a foul move. 

Yor calls out, her voice sounding foreign in these halls. It would be the first time she had ever uttered a sound from the multiple times she has visited. “I believe church is supposed to be for the people, those who want to nurture their relationship with their god.”  

“During service hours. You don’t believe in Arowar. A disgrace. How dare you mock the sanctity of this ground and of Arowism.” The priest spewed, light violet hair falling down his aged, bitter face. “You have five seconds to get out of my church before I blast you to kayong.”

Faster than the Elven priest could blink, Yor faded into the shadows of the apse, only to reappear behind the man. She politely dusted soot off his shoulder before he whipped around and attempted to blast her in the face. She disappeared again, dodging the attack completely. “A shame. You could’ve had a free follower to convert right here if you showed more benevolence.”

Saint grit his teeth, biting back multiple slanderous words he could think of calling the angel. “A stalker can not become a child of Arowar.”

“Stalker? How heartless of you.” Yor stares, her face contemptuous and cold. 

“I am done with you. You are not stepping another foot into this church, my will allows it.” The priest brings his hands close to his body, and begins to chant in a language the angel could barely pick out. Yor, who was unimpressed at first, had realized a second too late that the man was casting a spell of banishment. Before she could intervene, she was outside the church standing in the pitch darkness of night. It was towering and dark in its wretched, decrepit glory. 

She had a feeling the effort was useless, but the angel attempted to climb the steps of the church and back into the entrance of the vestibule. Just as her fingers touched the doors, she was back at the bottom of the staircase, staring up at the Elven building. Without wasting her breath, she turned around and left. Saint could only hold a banishment spell up for so long anyways.