Mary had a little lamb

The chapel cracked apart.

Not with noise, but with absence. The air folded in on itself, and the stone walls peeled away like brittle paper, revealing darkness—not blackness, but a depthless void that watched. Gravity shifted. Time unraveled.

Mary should have run, she could if she wanted to.

She didn’t.

Instead, she followed Sebastian.

His form shimmered as he moved through the opening, hooves silent against the vanishing floor. He glanced back once, and she swore she saw her reflection in his eyes—not as she was, but as a child, barefoot and smiling, arms outstretched to embrace something just out of reach.

She stepped through the breach.

And the world around her changed.

The sky was a bruised shade of red, smeared with clouds that pulsed like veins. Trees lined the horizon, but they didn’t sway. They listened, as if they were statues. The ground was soft beneath her feet, spongy, like flesh.

Mary walked beside Sebastian in silence.

This place—it knew her. She could feel it, like her limbs. Her memories flickered in the trees: the death of her mother; the first time she held Sebastian; the sound of Sarah’s skull cracking against the stone. All looping. All wrong.

“Is this your world?” she asked softly.

Sebastian didn’t speak. He didn’t have to.

The landscape shifted with her thoughts. She remembered her cottage—and there it was. Whole again. Warm. Smoke curling from the chimney. Chickens pecking in the dirt. a warm breeze of air blew by her. It all felt real. To her it was real.

She stepped forward, heart thudding.

“Home,” she whispered.

But as she touched the doorknob, the wood peeled back—revealing a pulsing mass of mouths, whispering all the lies she’d ever told herself.

“He’s just a lamb.” “The girl tripped.” “It’s all in your head.”

She stumbled back, aghast.

Sebastian stood behind her now—taller than ever, like a big statue. His head reached the treetops. His wool was smoke. His eyes were portals.

“You built this place,” he said. “With your trust. With your love, with your warmth towards me.”

Mary shook her head. “You tricked me.”

“No,” Sebastian said. “You chose me. Again and again. Even when they warned you. Even when you saw. You chose to believe in the lie, because the truth was too ugly. You turned a blind eye.”

The ground split open beneath her—revealing a pit filled with images of all the people she’d lost. Thomas. Sarah. Father Eli. All reaching upward. All staring at her.

And in the center of the pit… was herself.

Vacant-eyed. Smiling.

“You are the lamb now, Mary,” Sebastian said. “You are the gate.”

She collapsed to her knees, sobbing.

But even then… even then… a part of her understood.

It had never been about Sebastian alone.

It had been about devotion. About surrender. About the quiet, exquisite ecstasy of never having to doubt, never having to decide. He had offered her peace in the shape of a lie. And she had clung to it like a lifeline. A warmth.

A soft hand touched her shoulder. shook by the familiarity, She looked up.

Mary stood before herself. The version from the pit. Calm. Hollow. Smiling.

“Let go,” it said. “Let him love you completely, be his.”

Behind her, Sebastian opened his mouth—not a bleat, but a song. Low and thunderous. The sound of galaxies folding in on themselves.

And Mary, broken and breathless, finally whispered:

“Yes.”

The sky in her world, her mind bled gold.

The gate opened.

And the real world, far above, began to forget her name. Because, this was her second name, Mary....

To be continued…