Gemotions

The afternoon sun streamed through the stained-glass window of the cathedral, painting the floor in shifting patterns of color. Father Michael was in the confessional, listening to the drone of a confession from the other side. His mind felt… pliable.

A young woman, her face a mask of anger, strode towards him. She was carrying a folder, her shoulders rigid. "Father, I need to speak to you," she said, her voice sharp.

He nodded, gesturing for her to sit in the small chair. He felt no urge to defend himself, no need to explain.

She opened the folder, revealing architectural drawings. "This is the design for the new chapel," she said, her voice trembling. "And… it's the exact same design you proposed. Everything...the layout, the stained glass."

Michael looked at the plans, then back at her. His response was a gentle, "Is that so?" The information simply… settled within him, without stirring any protest.