Chapter Text
It’s hard to explain how I ended up here.
Never, not even in my wildest dreams, had I imagined my life would reach this point. Everyone always talks about how beautiful life is when things are smiling at you… but no one warns you how painful the fall can be.
My day started like any other on this European tour. I woke up at six in the morning, my body still heavy with sleep. The first thing I did was check Papa IV’s schedule, compare every detail with the official itinerary, anticipate any problems, and solve them before they could reach his hands. Ever since the scandal with the previous assistant, I had taken over the position temporarily.
She hadn’t lasted long. People said she spent more time in Papa’s bed than actually doing her job. In the end, the Clergy decided to quietly remove her from the tour. Now that responsibility had fallen on me. I was no longer just his seamstress. I had become his personal assistant… and I was doing everything possible not to make the same mistake.
The morning in London was cold and damp. The typical English fog crept through the hotel windows, bringing with it that characteristic smell of rain and wet asphalt. I got out of bed with a silent complaint. Even though I love the cold, those first few minutes away from the warm sheets and soft pillows always feel like a small betrayal.
With my eyes still half-closed, I made my way to the bathroom. The steam from the shower soon filled the air while I brushed my long silver hair, which reached almost down to my hips. Every morning was the same ritual: patiently detangling it and drying it with care. A beautiful yet exhausting weight.
As the hot water fell over my skin, my mind returned, as always, to the same thought.
I am the Anointed Lamb.
The pure offering. Chosen and consecrated since the Ceremony of the Three Vocations, when I was barely seven years old. Raised with one single sacred purpose: to be the perfect lamb, the living sacrifice that the Ministry could offer in its moment of greatest need.
I poured some rose shampoo into my palm. The sweet, ancient aroma filled the steam in the bathroom the same one I had used since I was a child. I massaged it slowly between my hands before applying it to my long silver hair, letting the foam slide down my back. Then I took the hair mask, spreading it carefully strand by strand, exactly as I had been taught. Every movement was deliberate, almost reverent.
I took the sponge and began to wash my body slowly. My shoulders, my arms, the curve of my waist, my legs… Every inch of skin was treated with devotion. Because my body did not belong to me. It was a temple. A sacred vessel.
My purity was not just a virtue. It was my greatest value within the Ministry. My virtue and my soul were the currency of exchange. The day the moment arrived, when Papa or the Clergy decided it was necessary to offer me, I would have to present myself before Lucifer with my soul intact, having followed every protocol, every rule, and every renunciation the Church had imposed on me after my consecration.
I could not love.
I could not allow caresses.
I wasn’t even allowed to desire.
And yet…
Lately, that purity had begun to feel different. It no longer felt like an honor, but like a white silk cage. Especially when I felt Papa IV’s gaze on me. Those looks that lasted a second too long, lingering on my neck, on my lips, on the way the dress fell over my body.
Those looks that made something inside me stir. Something that had no name… or that I didn’t dare to name.
I finished rinsing off and stepped out of the shower. The cold air of the bathroom contrasted with the heat of my skin. I dried myself carefully, almost with devotion, and proceeded to get dressed.
The dress I wore looked like it had been taken from another era, one where elegance bordered on the ghostly. It was an aged ivory white, with a soft shimmer that caught the light as if the fabric held ancient memories in every thread.
The neckline fell in delicate folds over my chest, forming soft waves that moved with every breath. A tight corset firmly cinched my waist, embroidered with subtle details that seemed hand drawn, shaping my silhouette with almost ceremonial precision. From the shoulders came long, wide sleeves that opened like wings of liquid fabric, letting silky strips fall and brush the air with every movement.
The skirt descended in irregular layers, elegantly draped, forming cascades of fabric that overlapped one another. At the bottom, the ruffles opened into a gentle fall, and behind it trailed a light train of tulle and lace, barely touching the floor, like a trail of mist.
A translucent veil embroidered with a large grucifix on the back rested over my head, seeming to float in the air. The tulle drifted around my face and shoulders, enveloping me in an ethereal, almost spectral presence, like a bride walking between two worlds.
I looked at myself in the mirror for a second longer than necessary.
My violet eyes looked brighter that morning. Almost… luminous. As if they had a light of their own.
“It’s just the tiredness…” I murmured to myself.
But deep down, a part of me knew it wasn’t only tiredness.
It was something older.
Something I had carried inside me for as long as I could remember.
And that, little by little, was beginning to awaken.
Feeling overwhelmed, I checked my phone. It was already 7:30 in the morning. I had spent more time than I thought between reviewing the schedule and getting ready. I grabbed my bag, my personal agenda, and left almost running toward Sister Imperator’s suite. She was the one I had to report to before starting the day.
My shoes echoed hurriedly over the hallway carpet. When I reached her door, I took a deep breath and knocked twice.
“Good morning, Sister Imperator. It’s Lucille. I’ve already reviewed the complete itinerary,” I announced with a clear voice.
There was a long silence on the other side. After a few seconds, her voice answered:
“Come in, my child.”
She had always called me that, with a certain tenderness. For years she had somehow filled the void my mother left behind. But this time her tone sounded mechanical, almost protocol like. Nothing genuine.
I entered and closed the door carefully. Sister Imperator was sitting in the armchair by the balcony, a cup of coffee in her hand, reviewing her iPad.
“Everything is in order,” I began. “There are no major setbacks for today. The only thing out of the ordinary is that Papa asked me to replace his favorite perfume. I already ordered it by phone yesterday and sent Richie to pick it up from Sephora as soon as they open at nine. I also delivered the exact breakfast specifications to the kitchen; it will be ready at his door right after I wake him. And I sewed back the buttons that fell off the blue blazer during transport. Everything is going according to plan.”
I made a brief pause.
“I don’t know if you have any questions or additional instructions. In about thirty minutes, at eight, I’ll go wake him.”
Sister Imperator took a sip of her coffee without lifting her eyes from the iPad.
“Understood. Everything is fine, Lucille. You may continue with your tasks. If something comes up at the last minute, I’ll call you.”
I remained standing in front of her, nervous. I lowered my gaze to the floor for a second before daring to speak:
“Sister… I wanted to take advantage of the fact that we’re alone. I feel like you’ve been very distant with me lately. I’d like to know if I did something, whether work related or personal, that upset you. The dynamic between us hasn’t been the same since we left Italy.”
She visibly tightened her jaw. Her voice came out cold:
“There’s nothing to talk about. This is fine.”
“But you and I aren’t like this…” I insisted softly.
“Enough, Lucille. There’s nothing to discuss. You may leave and do your tasks.”
“Yes, Sister…” I answered with a heavy heart, on the verge of tears.
I lowered my gaze and walked toward the door with heavy steps. I didn’t understand how the woman who had raised me and treated me like a daughter now despised me in this way.
I closed the door behind me and let out a shaky breath. Overwhelmed, I returned to my room to try to regain my composure for a few minutes before going to wake Papa.
I was so lost trying to stabilize my emotions that the sound of my phone startled me. I picked it up quickly and checked the screen. It was a message from Perpetua.
“Still going out to dinner?”
The message left me blank for a few seconds. I had completely forgotten about that. In a hurry, I opened the chat and wrote:
“Hi, sorry. I still haven’t asked Papa for permission. Let me talk to him and I’ll confirm. Just give me a few minutes after I wake him, okay?”
He didn’t take even a minute to respond.
“Of course, don’t worry. If we can’t have dinner today, we’ll have breakfast tomorrow. There’s no rush. If it’s too much trouble, I can at least stop by the hotel to say hello. Okay?”
“Sure, thank you. I really appreciate it.”
I left the phone on the bed, took a deep breath, and stood up. It was time to face the day.
I took the access card to the presidential suite and walked down the hallway to his door. I slid it into the lock, entered carefully, and went first to the heavy curtains. I opened them slowly, letting the grayish London light enter the room.
“Good morning, Papa,” I greeted with a soft smile, even though I still felt my heart tight from the previous conversation.
Papa IV moved and complained under the sheets with a low groan, clearly not very willing to leave the bed. Even so, as always, he was polite. He had never spoken to me badly, not even on his worst mornings.
“Good morning, Lucille…” he responded with a hoarse, sleepy voice. He slowly sat up against the pillows and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands.
“I already ordered your perfume,” I informed him. “Richie should arrive with it in about an hour.”
I had barely finished speaking when someone knocked on the door.
“Good morning, room service.”
I approached quickly and opened it.
“Please come in. You can place everything on the table.”
The employee nodded with a professional smile and entered, pushing the cart. He placed each item with care and elegance before turning to me.
“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call room service. Have a nice day.”
“Thank you very much,” I replied kindly as I watched him leave and close the door behind him.
Papa IV got up from the bed, still in his pajamas, and walked barefoot toward the breakfast table.
“So what did you order for me today?” he asked with curiosity, although he already seemed resigned.
“What the doctor requested,” I answered softly. “I know perfectly well that you would prefer pancakes, eggs, and bacon… but your cholesterol levels are still a bit high. So today you have rye bread with smoked salmon and grilled zucchini. For dessert, some plain Greek yogurt with blueberries and black coffee. You can add a little Splenda if you want. I hope you’re not upset with me…”
“No, not at all. It’s not your fault, it’s my terrible eating habits,” he responded with an embarrassed smile. “It’s normal that you take care of me and follow everything to the letter. That’s your job… Thank you very much.”
He said it with some regret. I noticed how his cheeks turned a slight red, and that, instead of making me uncomfortable, gave me a tenderness that made me even more nervous.
“Papa… there’s something I’d like to request from you,” I said carefully. “Would it be possible for me to go out to dinner tonight?”
That question took him by surprise and I saw him quickly set down the coffee cup and frown.
“Today? Is it really urgent?”
“It’s not urgent, but… it’s something I’d like to do.”
He immediately shook his head.
“No, not today. I’m sorry. I need you to be free tonight. Actually, I was going to tell you; I want you to take the day off. I know you’ve been wanting very much to watch the full show from the audience. Until now you’ve only seen it through the monitors or from the side. Tonight you’ll be in front of the barricade, you’ll be able to enjoy it properly. Plus, tonight we have a special dinner with all the band members and you can’t miss it. But tomorrow you can go out. Okay?”
His answer didn’t bother me. After all, he was Papa and I was only his Lamb. My life moved under his mantle, and I owed him loyalty and obedience. Besides, the idea of being able to watch the concert from the front for the first time filled me with unexpected excitement.
“Thank you so much, Papa,” I replied sincerely, unable to hide my smile. “You have no idea how grateful I am. For the chance to see the show, the day off and for letting me go out tomorrow… I truly appreciate it.”
“It’s nothing. It’s the least I can do for you, Lucille.”
He smiled at me, and in his eyes there was a different sparkle, one I had never seen before. He seemed full of peace and light, as if something very good had happened to him or was about to happen, and he was already enjoying the fruits of his efforts in advance.
“Go on, go to your room and rest, okay?”
“Of course. Thank you so much…”
“Don’t worry about transportation, I’ll send someone to pick you up. Just be ready at six. Understood?”
“Yes, Papa.”
My heart was beating hard. I was so happy I felt like I was going to explode. There was something in the bottom of my chest whispering that something good was about to come. I nodded, gave him a radiant smile, and left the suite trying to maintain my composure. However, as soon as I closed the door behind me, I couldn’t help but walk almost skipping with excitement back to my room.
Still, I had something pending.
I took out my phone and wrote to Perpetua:
“Forgive me, I won’t be able to today. Papa told me there’s an important event, a dinner with the band and that I can’t miss it. But tomorrow I can see you for breakfast. Is that okay?”
His response came almost instantly:
“Yes, don’t worry, everything’s fine. Besides, something came up for me too. I have a last minute lunch with my Mother. See you tomorrow.”
A bit more relaxed but confused, I let myself fall onto the bed and stayed thinking about that drastic change of plans. Why was he acting like this? That was the first question I asked myself. I had noticed that he had stopped being so rigid with me and had begun to have more confidence in me. Although it was part of the protocol that I be his confidante and keep his most intimate secrets whenever he wanted to talk about things he couldn’t discuss with anyone else, there had always been a certain distance and limit with me.
Every time he went to the workshop to see the prototypes of his outfits, even when he was a Cardinal and needed adjustments to his cassocks, he had always been very serious and reserved. I would be lying if I said I feel nothing for him, but it’s true that I wasn’t aware of it until it was too late for me, and I understand that. I think there’s nothing wrong with it. But I must admit that what I feel for him is not only admiration and devotion, but genuine love and surrender, and I am willing to die by his hands when the moment comes. Still, it’s complicated not to accept that I would like to be with him in some way, but that is impossible; if he doesn’t choose me, I can’t do anything.
And yet, his actions in the last few weeks since Scarlett left the tour have made me overthink things. Lately he has been very physical in his approaches: he hugs me, takes my hand, plays with my hair, and that somehow confuses me, because in the beginning he wasn’t like that. Yes, he was always very nervous with his approaches, but once he ascended to the Papacy, that awkward Cardinal who laughed nervously became a man of character and distance. Although there were days when the man I knew returned, it was evident that he would put up that barrier again and resume that figure of authority.
I never questioned that and somehow understood it, and yet his current attitudes confuse me, because although I waited for it my whole life, I am at this point where I get my hopes up easily and long for the company and love that no one will be able to give me because of the title and the weight I carry as the Anointed Lamb of the Ministry.
Sometimes I wish I had that confidence and security I built over the years during Perpetua’s visits to the Ministry.
He was the only person in the whole world who treated me like a person and not like an offering, and he saw me as his friend, and that’s why it was very easy to deal with him and let my guard down, unlike with his brother, who made me nervous and made me lose my mind every time I felt him closer than usual.
With those thoughts in mind, I closed my eyes and fell deeply asleep.
I had been so busy managing Papa’s schedule, adjusting his outfits and those of the ghouls, that I hadn’t given myself a single moment. Although we had days off and had gone out to tour and get to know the cities we visited, that didn’t take away the fact that I was exhausted. That’s why being able to sleep for several hours straight felt like a luxury.
My head was spinning and my eyes felt enormously heavy. I doubted I would be able to dream in those conditions, but life is always unpredictable. When I least expected it, the only thing I saw was that pair of eyes.
I could feel them analyzing and studying me carefully. There was something different in them, something I couldn’t decipher. That white eye of Papa felt so close… and at the same time so strange. It was as if I were seeing Copia and, at the same time, it wasn’t him.
Was it really him? Or who was I actually seeing?
Overwhelmed, I opened my eyes abruptly and sat up quickly in bed. Several hours had already passed and I had missed lunch. Worried, I took my phone and checked the time: exactly 5:00 p.m.
I stood up and walked straight to the mirror in the room. I studied myself from head to toe carefully. Luckily, my dress wasn’t wrinkled and looked perfect. The only thing I needed was to fix my hair, which had gotten messy, and readjust my veil, which had shifted a little.
I took the brush and gave it a quick but careful pass, with the firmness necessary not to break the strands of my silver hair. After a few minutes, I put the veil back on with precision and checked that my bag had the essentials: wallet, passport, charger, power bank, and my room key card.
Nervously, I checked everything once more before sitting in the armchair. I had a message from Richie: he was already on his way and would arrive soon.
Time passed and just when I finished checking my bag for the third time, the phone vibrated in my hand. It was Richie.
I answered almost immediately.
“Richie?”
“Sister Lucille, good afternoon,” he greeted with his usual professional tone. “I’m already outside the hotel, at the main entrance. The car is ready. When you come down, we’ll head straight to the venue. Papa asked that you don’t take too long, traffic in London is complicated tonight.”
I stood up quickly, adjusting my veil one last time in front of the mirror.
“I’ll be down in a minute, Richie. Thank you.”
“Perfect. I’ll wait for you here.”
I hung up the call and took a deep breath. My heart was beating faster than usual. Even though I had slept for several hours, I still felt my body heavy and my mind somewhat foggy from that strange dream.
I grabbed my bag, made sure everything was in order, and left the room. As I walked down the hallway toward the elevator, I couldn’t stop thinking about those eyes from my dream. There was something deep in my soul screaming that something important was about to happen, even though I had no idea what it was.
Tonight would be different from all the others.
When I reached the lobby and stepped out through the main door, I saw the elegant black car parked right in front of the entrance. Richie was standing beside the rear door, holding it open for me.
“Good afternoon, miss,” he said with a kind smile. “You look lovely.”
“Thank you, Richie,” I replied softly as I got into the car.
He closed the door carefully and settled into the driver’s seat. As soon as we pulled away, the lights of London began to streak past the window. The concert venue awaited us.
The ride was shorter than I expected. Richie parked the black car in a reserved staff area inside the parking lot, far from the main crowd at the general entrance. The moment he turned off the engine, he quickly got out and walked around the vehicle to open my door for me.
“Sister Lucille,” he said, offering me his hand with courtesy.
“Thank you, Richie.”
I stepped out of the car and the noise hit me immediately: thousands of excited voices, laughter, and the distant echo of music already playing inside the venue. The air was thick with anticipation.
Instead of heading toward the main entrance, Richie guided me through an exclusive side access guarded by Ministry security personnel. We walked through a backstage hallway where I could hear the voices of technicians and the sound of instruments being tuned. After a short walk, we emerged directly into the barricade area, right in front of the stage.
The place was completely packed. Thousands of fans pressed together anxiously, dressed in robes, corpse paint, improvised habits, Papa masks, and all kinds of merchandise. Some wore such elaborate outfits that they left me impressed: there were people who had recreated the ghouls’ designs with incredible detail, even the tiny elements of the capes and vests that barely showed up in official photos.
It was fascinating to see how they captured even the smallest details, the ones the average audience almost never noticed. I felt strangely moved.
Several fans recognized us instantly. Some whispered my name and Richie’s. I felt curious and respectful glances. They knew who I was: the Anointed Lamb who always appeared near the Clergy. Although to them, I was simply Ghost’s fashion designer. My real title was confidential. Only members of the Ministry knew the truth.
Richie accompanied me to the press area, right in front of the central barricade.
“You’ll be better here, miss,” he murmured. “You’ll have a perfect view.”
He took his usual position: standing firm with his arms crossed right in front of the stage, beneath the platform, acting as one more of the Ministry’s security guards.
I ended up standing directly in front of the barricade, in the center. So close to the stage that I could see the footprints from rehearsals on the platform. The crowd around me vibrated with excitement, chanting songs from previous albums and screaming the names of the ghouls and Papa. The atmosphere was electric, filled with that unique energy you only feel right before Ghost takes the stage.
The main lights hadn’t been turned off yet. The concert was about to begin.
I pressed my hands tightly against my chest, avoiding leaning on the barricade, feeling my heart beating hard. For the first time, I wasn’t backstage or watching everything through a monitor. Tonight I would be here, exposed, under the lights and in front of him.
And for some reason, that idea both terrified and excited me at the same time.