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Chapter One, Lynette: I
I was born just the same as any of God’s children, innocent and excited to take their place in the world, I know my place very well. I am a saint to revered, believe me, I convincing I promise.
I was taught my duties well; my father tried the best to fill the gaps of my mother whilst sustaining his own roles. I was never sure what to think about it when I was little and even now, I think he soon noticed for he replaced the void with many nannies and governesses.
I would stare endlessly at the dust-coated wardrobe that stored my late mother’s many garments, frocks, and dresses, just trying to imagine her. But I never could, she would take the face of woman I’d perhaps seen in passing, even when I’d try dejectedly to imagine myself performing the duties she was meant to for my future husband and children, I could only see a servant.
Though I suppose in a way to be a woman is to be a servant, no?
As I said I was taught my duties well, I can sit as dainty as a deer, sign my name in the most beautiful handwriting, I’m able to hold my tongue in front of even the most petulant of men. Aren’t I impressive?
But as I said, I am not like your average person, I’m a saint. I help people, people who need it. They used to scare me when it was the first few times I’d made an appearance at just twelve years of age, with their woe filled eyes, so torn and dirty from the world’s demons. But we help them, Father helps them find God, they need him. They need me. I help them, they pray to me, lament their lives and confess their sins to me. As I am their Mary, I know my role, we all know our roles.
But still our partakers make me feel weird despite the once prevalent feeling of fear had long since washed away, they were always so unfortunate. So grimy and desperate, as if they were rats. And so senseless, many had never stepped foot in a church and yet the wondered why the forces of evil preyed on them so much.
But now after another seven long years of aiding the needy as I’ve been fated to, it feels oddly boring.. I think I’ve heard the same story a million times, and I’m sorry, but I don’t know how much more I can feign sympathy for these sinners. Father says it is the Lord’s way of testing my resolve and loyalty, but why would he do so to I? I am his servant, his patron, why must he test me as if I am some common sinner?