I’m a Priest, Yet I’ve Been Put on Trial

At dusk, the fading light of evening filtered through the solemn church, illuminating every cobblestone in the square.

In the center of the square, a priest dressed in black vestments was bound to a huge black cross. Below the platform stood a crowd of believers. Their breath condensed into white mist in the cold air, mingling with the flickering torchlight.

“Confess! Have you ever danced with the devil?”

“I have not.” The priest gave a faint smile.

“Heretic, you will be judged!”

Grease dripped from the pyre below, and sparks were reflected in the golden cross on the priest's chest.

The believers watched the figure sway in the flames. They had a vague sense that the priest's faint smile was strange, like a wound cut through a sheaf of wheat by a sickle.