Red Riding Hood - Chapter 45
While waiting for her, Quiel felt as if his soul were trapped in a small jar.
Consumed by his burning longing for her, helpless regret, a vague unease that something had gone wrong, and the terrible despair that he might never have what he desired, he shed bitter tears.
The jar filled to the brim with his tears.
Just as the tears reached his chin, threatening to drown him, Quiel leapt to his feet with a scream.
“I can’t… I can’t wait any longer!”
He ran to the backyard. The lamb that followed him like a loyal puppy blinked its large, dark eyes and approached him. Gripping its leash, he headed toward the slaughterhouse.
The lamb bleated softly, looking up at him. It felt as if he were carving out a piece of his own flesh, but even this was for Cinq.
The beast mask to cover her sins had to be something pure, lovely, and imbued with his affection.
Concealing a sharp blade in his hand, he approached the lamb. Even in the slaughterhouse, thick with the scent of death, the lamb didn’t suspect him. His cherished lamb simply leaned its warm cheek against his outstretched hand.
He embraced the lamb’s head tightly against his forearm and stretched its neck long. Feeling for the throbbing pulse of its thick vein, he swiftly slashed.
Bright red blood spurted like flames.
He continued cutting until he held the lamb’s head in his hands. By then, his white priestly robes were stained red.
Clutching the lamb’s head to his chest, Quiel murmured,
“Drain the meat and send it to the butcher. I don’t need it.”
He carefully crafted the lamb mask for Cinq and baked fresh galettes every morning, awaiting the day she might return.
He never forgot to hide the angel-shaped fève he sculpted himself in the bread, imagining her delight when she found them.
Thankfully…
Cinq came back to him.
The moment the bell in the backyard rang, Quiel felt blood rush into his heart, which had shriveled and hardened like a walnut.
He placed the white goat mask beside the lamb mask and donned it. Carrying a plate with a galette and a bottle of wine laced—regretfully, but necessarily—with a generous dose of sleeping potion, he went out to meet her.
“Cinq, come here. I’ve been waiting for you.”
Her wary face betrayed her caution, as if ready to flee at any moment. She had placed her basket on the stone wall.
Her tawny eyebrows were slightly furrowed, and her round eyes sparkled more brightly than ever, like glass beads. Her lips, the pink hue he adored, were slightly pouted, the dip in the center deepened.
She wrinkled her lovely eyes and spoke in a honey-sweet voice, tinged with lemon,
“Priest, will you be angry again today?”
Cinq, Cinq.
If you look at me like that and speak to me with that voice, I could never stay angry at you.
Quiel smiled along with her, then placed what he was holding on the stone wall, mimicking her action. He adopted the most indulgent tone he could muster.
“No. I wouldn’t want to get angry with someone who’s already suffered so much.”
He wanted to ask:
Cinq, how much did it hurt?
Did you have nightmares because of your unforgiven sin?
Did guilt over lying to me bring you to tears?
Did your feet get hurt?
Do they still hurt now?
Suppressing the concern and burning affection threatening to burst from his chest, he smiled as he peeked into her overflowing basket.
“Cinq, why did you buy so much? Do you want to become a little piglet? The basket looks full—will this even fit?”
The residents of Mindie now knew Cinq had killed Vinya. They also knew the priest who cherished her had prepared a beast mask for her.
Thus, according to the grotesque rules governing this bizarre village, Cinq was no longer a harlot.
His long, devilish plan was finally complete!
Cinq, Cinq.
Your freedom is now within reach!
Instead of whispering that, he expressed his guilt with these words:
“Carrying all this might strain your slender arms… and your legs… and your feet.”
By the time he finished speaking, his voice trembled with guilt.
Cinq.
Your pain is my responsibility.
I won’t ask for forgiveness now—that will come later. First, I must free you from the shackles of being a harlot.
But—
Cinq spoke without concern,
“This much is fine. I’m strong.”
He gazed at her silently.
Strangely, she really did seem fine.
Despite her heinous crime, her eyes remained clear. Her innocent, childlike face showed no trace of shadows.
Quiel was overwhelmed by a peculiar sensation.
Something felt undeniably… wrong.
