Conversation · Stained Glass Window

"Glowing lungs... That's fucked up..."

"That's mega cool, man, you coming in here and questioning religious symbolism like that. Right on."

"Yeah, glowing lungs are fucked up." A voice from the back of the church. "We should board that window up. Bad sines, you know?"

"Yes. Glowing lungs are quite unusual. After that one time, they have not been reported to glow." He takes his glasses off to clean them.

"You know... this church. The coast... we shouldn't linger. Finish what you came here to do and let's move on. This isn't a good place to get lost in."

"She's not human."

"That's mega cool, man, you coming in and accusing her of not being human like that. Right on, man!"

"Right on." A voice from the back of the church. "She was inhuman. You've got a critical mind, cop-man. Yo, Andre, we should board that window up. No one wants that spooky shit when they're dancing."

"Okay..." He takes his glasses off to clean them. Then, after a while, he says:

"This church. The coast in general... we shouldn't linger here. This isn't a good place to get lost in. We should conclude our business and move on."

Yell: "War criminal!"

"Uhm..." Andre doesn't know what to say. "It's cold man, you've been looking at that window for like forever now, man. You should dance, get some warmth!"

"Right on." A voice from the back of the church. "She was inhuman. You've got a critical mind cop-man -- furthermore, Andre, we should board that window up. No one wants that spooky shit when they're dancing."

"I don't know about that..." He takes his glasses off to clean them. "It was a different time. A different war."

"Either way -- this church, the coast in general... we shouldn't linger here. This isn't a good place to get lost in. We should conclude our business and move on."

"She's beautiful..."

"Cool, man! Yeah, we should light her up with disco lights. People are gonna lose their shit when they see a club for anodic music with this kind of... sacred shit."

"I told you, Andre." A voice from the back of the church. "People don't want to see that woman when they're dancing. It's unhealthy. And we're not putting disco lights on it. That would only make it worse."

"That she is. A great sacral piece. I wonder what we're doing here, however..." He takes his glasses off to clean them.

"In this church I mean? The coast in general... we shouldn't linger. This isn't a good place to get lost in."

"Hey man, you've stood there for like... half an hour!" The hedgehog-haired man yells from across the coldness of the church.

"What are you thinking -- you okay?" He seems a tad worried.

Although she is often considered to be the greatest human being to ever live, there was something ominous about Dolores Dei -- constantly surrounded by her Therriers...

It's a mystery. A mystery sprinkled with self-pity and regret. For some reason, unknown to your mind, looking at her delicate eyes makes you feel like you're ready for drowning...

Your heart knows. But it does not want to say, not yet. Let these things be unknown for now.

All you know is, this is the young mother of humanity -- and that you should go. Do something else! Escape her sad, worryworn look.

Looks like I can't give this figurine to her.

Why?

Because she's a stained glass window.

That does seem to be a problem... maybe you meant something else?

Like what? Is the task still on?

I don't know. What are we thinking of? Part of your mind has gone on to other things already...

Only a strange little sadness remains.

Okay.

"Who is this, Kim?"

"It's Dolores Dei..." he says in a hushed voice. "The old woman was right. This is the Dolorian Church of Humanity in Martinaise. Or the Small Pinewood Church in some records."

"It's Dolores Dei..." he says in a hushed voice. "I believe we are in the Dolorian Church of Humanity in Martinaise. Or the Small Pinewood Church in some records."

There she still stands. In white, silver, and apricot, the young mother of humankind. A crack runs across her body. She is impossibly tall, oval-faced and sad -- a dark and radiant majesty.

Cradled in her arms are a pair of glowing lungs, clearly visible from underneath her flowing dress. You should kneel.

No.

Cold wind seeps in from the crack in the glass. Snowdrifts cover the floorboards at your feet. Above, you feel her multicoloured eyes on you. Inspecting you.

As if under a microscope.

No. I am not your bug.

As that bitter thought passes through your head, the lieutenant draws an x-shaped cross from shoulder to shoulder. With three fingers.

I'm not doing that cross either.

Good call. She left us all in the shits, don't give her a single thing. Just stand there in the apricot-coloured light of the window, secretly grinding your teeth. The woman smiles her distant smile, unmoved, struck in half by the crack in the glass.

Serves her right. She only cares about her sovereign's orb and her silk robes and getting to the aerodrome on time -- to leave.

Make the same gesture.

Your fingertips touch your chest four times. When it's done, you're still standing in the apricot-coloured light of the window. The woman smiles her distant smile, unmoved, struck in half by the crack in the glass.

That bitter thought passes through your mind as you stand in the apricot-coloured light of the window. The woman keeps smiling her distant smile above you, sundered by the crack in the glass.

No.

Look up.

The woman looks down at you kneeling. She towers among her followers: architects, laymen, courtiers. There is a sad smile on her lips and a glint in her green-blue eye -- of what? Compassion? Remorse?

She acknowledges the passing of someone who is still alive...

You.

No, she doesn't care about you. She only cares about her shiny sovereign's orb and her silk robes and getting to the aerodrome on time -- to leave!

It's compassion.

As that soft word passes through your mind, the lieutenant draws an x-shaped cross from shoulder to shoulder.

Do the same as you get up.

Your fingertips touch your chest four times. Then you rise from your knees, into the apricot-coloured light of the window. Above you, the woman still smiles her distant smile, sundered by the crack in the glass.