The Distinguished Mr. Rose Chapter 80: Chapter 79: Curiosity Killed the Priest

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Chapter 79: Curiosity Killed the Priest ——— Maugris Ever since I was but a small babe, priesthood appeared to be my inevitable calling. It was no wonder, for my own parents were senior members of the faith. But they were not like others. Not like the other common folk. No, they were of high prestige — children of a long, honored lineage of bishops just like their fathers and their forefathers before them. I was born into such a family, and so it was that I was taught from the very moment I emerged into this world the sanctity and weight of religion… of God. The young me did not quite understand yet how deeply important, and engrained, religion was for the people. That boy of yesteryear merely took joy in the company of his family. He wanted to impress them. He wanted to be like them. And so, when they sat by my bedside and recounted passages from the scripture, those complicated tales I had neither the knowledge nor maturity to fully grasp, I simply nodded along without a sound. I saw how enthralled my parents were by the word of God, and I witnessed how it influenced their everyday lives. The home we lived in was decorated in candles, flower wreaths, fabrics of white and black and gold. Symbols of the Chivalric Star and the Maternal Eagle rested upon our walls; and whenever came the holidays and the Dawn of Holy Birth, we would leave for the city square and conduct service for the masses. Such strange ceremonies, I wondered then, and I wondered even more as I was taken every Idlesday to church. My parents conducted the service, and I was to watch, and study, and take into my heart their practices so that I would one day stand on the altar just like them. But rather than delight in the songs, and the passage readings, and all the formality… I was simply annoyed. I was annoyed by how we had to rise, and kneel, and rise again every few minutes. Why couldn’t we just sit still for the entire mass? My feet would often start tingling and burning the longer we stood; but just when we were finally given reprieve to sit, a mere moment later we would have to kneel on the hard wooden bench. It hurt my knees. More than that, it was uncomfortable, especially for a young boy like me then so filled with energy. I wanted to run around, to move, to stretch my body in some way, but such was not proper behavior inside the church. And so I buried my complaints and watched with dull eyes as the service continued. At times, when I couldn’t bear the tedium any longer, my eyes found themselves drooping, lower, even lower, until they closed entirely and my parents were shown my slumbering, slovenly appearance in all my dishonor. They were very upset by this. While our household was not the type to use physical means of punishment—such was not proper for one of our higher standing—I would find himself punished through various means nonetheless. For every church service I fell asleep to, I would not receive food until late into the night, when my hunger pangs had reached their limit. If I could not recount the psalms used that day, my parents would lock me in the study with my books for however long they decided. However, the worst punishment of all, I suppose, was seeing how disappointed they were in me. I saw their gazes, so cold, and rigid, and I thought then that they would surely abandon me if I did not measure up to their standards. That fear of loss was more frightening than anything else. Thus, I buried myself in my learning, and I found new ways to keep myself awake during church. Fortunately, there was one thing that never failed to appeal to my childlike wonder, and that was the moment the Chevalieres would awaken and conduct the Rite of Consumption. The first time I witnessed the statue of our Lord, the Three-Headed God of Eagle and Blade and Star, it mesmerized me. How could stone act like a living being, and how exactly could it conjure such beautiful bouquets out of thin air? That mystery and sense of the divine was what finally drew me t