Mary had a little lamb
The chapel was gone.
In its place, a field of ash stretched into the gray horizon—windless, breathless, still.
Mary stood at the center, her palms glowing faintly, threads of golden light weaving from her fingers into the sky. Ash knelt beside her, quiet, reverent.
Sebastian… lay collapsed.
His body was no longer shifting. He was no longer transforming. The wool had peeled away entirely now. His hooves were hands. His face—delicate, human, eerily angelic—stared up at her with wide, black eyes filled not with hatred… but fear.
Not for her.
For himself.
Mary stepped toward him, her voice hoarse.
“Who were you… before?”
Sebastian shook his head.
Ash, watching silently, finally spoke: “He wasn’t always this. You deserve to know what they did.”
And then the world began to remember.
