Chapter 9
She arrived at the gray church.
As usual, Cinq pulled the rope hanging by the back door to ring the bell, then stood still, waiting for the priest to appear.
That was when she realized she wasn’t alone.
A sheep was grazing in front of the back door.
Tilting her head curiously, Cinq observed it.
It was a plump lamb.
She had no idea whose sheep it was or why it was grazing alone near the church, but it was clearly well cared for.
Its neatly groomed wool was as white and fluffy as a cloud.
Cinq reached out and gently patted the sheep’s arched back as it grazed.
The lamb, accustomed to touch, didn’t react much.
As she stroked the soft wool, a voice called out.
“Cinq, come in. I’ve been expecting you.”
The White Goat, dressed in pure white priestly robes, approached her.
Looking up at him, Cinq asked,
“Priest, why is there a sheep here?”
The priest replied,
“…There’s a use for it.”
A strange smile spread across his pink muzzle as he spoke.
Lowering his head slightly toward her, he continued,
“Cinq. My sinful purity, my tainted lamb. Tell me, how is the light of your soul today? Did you, perhaps, commit a sin last night that cannot be spoken of to others?”
The White Goat whispered in a voice as soft as down, alluring and tender.
“My dear Cinq, do you not find yourself in need of someone’s forgiveness?”
Blinking up at him, Cinq replied,
“Priest, I don’t need forgiveness. I didn’t do anything wrong last night.”
It was true. She hadn’t done anything wrong last night.
Of course, she was here to lie to the White Goat now, but at least last night, she’d been faultless.
The White Goat gazed into her eyes, as if probing her soul.
Finally, he said,
“Then, Cinq, why have you come to see me today?”
Cinq got straight to the point.
“Vinya is dead.”
The White Goat fell silent for a moment.
Standing still, he clasped his hands lightly, fingertips touching, before slowly speaking.
“I see. My dear Cinq, how did the brothel keeper die?”
Cinq lied with confidence.
“It seems a wolf took her.”
Strangely, her words appeared to displease him.
The White Goat’s voice turned sharp as he called her name.
“Cinq, is that true?”
Cinq realized he was angry.
Had he sensed her lie? Could he truly see the color of her soul?
The White Goat reached out to touch her cheek.
His fingers were cold, carrying the scent of grave soil.
It sent a chill down her spine.
Cinq raised her voice and declared,
“Priest, now that Vinya is dead, I’m free.”
She felt the White Goat freeze at her words.
In a low voice, he asked,
“Free? Cinq, is that what you wanted?”
“Of course.”
Cinq nodded firmly.
“Now, no one can take off my red hood.”
She said this as she stepped back.
But before she could retreat, the White Goat reached out, gripping the handle of her basket.
He seized her wrist, pulling her hand away from the basket and holding it firmly.
“Cinq! Freedom, you say?!”
Raising her hand to his lips, he shouted,
“How dare you speak of that in my presence?”
His voice was like milk that had simmered quietly before suddenly boiling over, frothing violently.
Cinq, shocked by this sudden shift in the usually gentle priest, froze like a stone.
The White Goat extended his pink tongue, licking her fingers.
He lapped at her slender, pale fingers, slicking them with his saliva and drawing them into his mouth as if to devour them.
The wet, slippery sensation made Cinq flinch as if burned.
“Priest…!”
She screamed, yanking her hand back.
Her fingers slipped free, dripping with his saliva.
The White Goat wiped his lips and laughed.
“Cinq, you charming little liar. You’ll come back to me in the end.”
Terrified, Cinq looked up at him before turning to run.
Watching her retreating figure, the White Goat commanded,
“Chase her. Bring her back to me.”
At his words, two laborers who had been tending the church garden set down their tools.
Their heads bore the shape of dogs, with long, drooping tongues.
The two dog-headed figures darted after Cinq.
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