Gemotions

He’d always believed his great-uncle, the one who lived to be a hundred and was always held up as a paragon of virtue, was a saint. Now, Thomas stared at the photographs, his stomach clenching. One picture, a group shot, revealed his great-uncle posing, younger, with a group of men. All of them had dark, hooded cloaks, and the symbols on their chests were disturbingly familiar, but completely wrong for a man of the cloth.

He blinked, trying to make sense of the image. It was surreal.

He felt the blood drain from his face as he flipped through the rest of the album. The dates, the locations... it just didn’t compute. How could this be true? He leaned against the wall for support, his legs suddenly feeling like water.