Everything goes white.
Annelida stares out of the window of their house, looking over the barren fields that stretch from before their door out as far as her eyes can see. She sighs, lowering her head to rest it down on top of her arms, which are crossed over the windowsill.
There hasn’t been any rain for weeks. The harvest isn’t going to make it if something doesn’t happen soon. But at least her husband is coming back from the city this week. She didn’t ask him for anything, but secretly, she hopes that he brings back some of the candy that they always used to eat when they were younger.
Something tugs on her dress. The woman turns around, looking down at the toddler, her son, who has come to her with a light in his eyes and a toy in his hands. He wants to play.
She smiles at him, her tired eyes brightening a little, as she shuts the window.
Everything goes white.
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“Mam! Mam!” cries the boy, now having reached the age of eight, despite not having a father to help raise him. He looks up at his tired, worried mother, who is standing by the window again, like she always does. She looks down at him. He has come with a book in his hands, an old book on farming that had belonged to her husband. She’s flipped through it a few times since that week when he never came back, but the wheat has more or less been growing by itself. She wouldn’t even know where to begin, so instead, she stands here and watches out of the window for anything that could threaten their livelihood.
And also, she stares out there in the secret hope that maybe, one day, even after all of these years, he might show up after all, coming over the horizon and breaking through the swaying wheat.
Not in the mood for reading now, she shoos the boy away and sighs as she turns her gaze out of the window.
Everything goes white.
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He’s been growing, but he hasn’t been growing right.
Her son is now on the brink of manhood. But having grown on a diet of nothing but soft wheat, bread, and cake for his entire adolescence, his jaw is misshapen and sunken inward. His teeth are crooked. His bones have grown out, sure, but not as far or as long as they could have. His hair is thin and his eyes are weak. Having rarely had any other children to play with, his mind has become much the same.
Feeble, undeveloped.
She sighs, shaking her head as she looks back out of the window. If only her husband had come back. He could have helped her raise him right.
But she did what she could. She fed him. She clothed him. She housed him and now that he was soon to be a man, it was her job to send him out of the nest and out into the wide world, so that, hindered as he is, he might make a life of his own.
It’s time.
She stares out at the wheat.
Even after all of her worries, it had grown all by itself, even if sometimes there was a little less rain or a little more. Sure, it was all never as big or as sweet as when her husband had reaped it, but she attributes that to the sheer nature of those better days.
Everything goes white.
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It’s been over a year since her boy left. She hasn’t heard a thing. No messenger, no letters. She stands there by the window, staring out over the swaying wheat, wondering what became of her life, what became of her husband, and what became of her boy. Now, everyone is gone, and there’s only her left — just her and the wheat.
She sighs, leaning out of the window and waiting. The thought of going to the city to find out if anyone knew anything comes to her, as it has so often over this past decade. But what if she left and then one of them did come back home after all, only to find an empty house? Annelida leans her head against the side of the window, hoping that one day both her husband and her boy will return to her.
Everything goes white.
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She lays in her bed, her head turned to look toward the window that she can no longer manage to look out of. She’s old, infirm, and out here all by herself. She is soon to die inside the little house.
Even if she could get to the window, her bad eyes won’t let her see to the horizon anymore, so even if someone comes over it, she won’t know.
Annelida exhales, realizing that as the vapor leaves her mouth, this is her final breath. She doesn’t feel scared at that very sudden realization; rather, she feels at peace as she listens to the swaying of wheat outside of the window and closes her eyes. She just wishes that she could have seen her husband and son one last time.
– The door bursts open.
The old woman jumps upright as fast as she can, yelping in surprise as her hand clutches her old heart, which seems to beat again so strongly, despite having been just about to quit.
“Mam!” shouts her boy, who she recognizes immediately. He has become a man in many senses. He’s still small, and his features are still underdeveloped, as they always will be, but his eyes shine bright, and his face is well trimmed, and his muscles are well trained. The sword at his side is immaculately polished. Behind him hobbles a second form, which she recognizes immediately.
Her husband, who is as old and infirm as she is. He has signs of imprisonment and torture marring his body. The three of them are reunited, and to her greatest joy, life gives her another month on this mortal plane to spend with them.
They even brought a small bag of that old candy. It is the happiest month of any that she has ever experienced, in the many years before this.
Everything goes white, and this time, it stays that way.
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Canta looks around, deeply confused, as his eyes land on the glowing presence floating before himself. “The hell?” he asks, looking up towards the cosmos. “That was pretty nice. What’s the problem?” The universe gives no response. Although, he isn’t sure why he even bothers. He’s sure that ‘it’ can hear him and his grievances, but it's not like he even expects it to really respond at this point, let alone do anything about it, he just kind of wants some acknowledgment, really. “Seriously? This one was like a fairy-tale! She got a happy ending and everything!”
God doesn’t respond.
Canta rolls his eyes, turning back to the glowing orb — the entity that is Annelida. As he approaches her, the orb begins to unwind into loose strings that all come together to form the shape of an old woman.
“Are you God?” she asks.
Canta blinks, surprised at the familiar question. But then he shakes his head. “I fucking wish.”
She gasps. “Such foul language!” The string-entity raises its hands. “Get away from me, Devil!”
“I’m not the devil!” barks Canta at her. The bottom of her body sets alight, fire beginning to rise up her gestalt. Annelida panics, flailing around, as she sees the embers slowly start to consume herself. “Ah, f-” he stops himself, realizing that it isn’t helping. “Hey, did you ever do anything super suspicious?” he asks vaguely. He has the feeling that if he doesn’t make any concrete guesses, that the cosmic-system won’t count his question as a wrong guess.
The woman is still too busy trying to put herself out. Feeling a tinge of annoyance, he grabs her by the shoulders. His fingers sink into the gaps between the strings that make up her essence. Hey!” he yells at her. “Focus. Do you want to go to hell or something?”
“Get away from me!” she yells.
“I’m not the devil!” barks Canta again, getting annoyed with her now. The fire rises up past her ankles. “I’m trying to save you from being damned, so you need to let me know what you did wrong, you ding-bat!”
“I didn’t do anything!” replies Annelida, terrified.
Canta pushes her away, pacing as he thinks. The fire rises up past her knees. He doesn’t want to make a wrong guess this time, if only to make a point out of it, for whatever cosmic spectator is watching them.
If she had done something, it would have been shown in the flashbacks, right? Certainly. It seems unfair to make him judge her for sins that weren’t shown to him. That means there had to be something in the memories. But there was nothing there. She never killed anyone or herself. She never caused any real harm. Could she have done better with the kid or the wheat? Probably…?
But he was fine in the end too, despite her neglectful upbringing. He was literally a successful hero. What more could any mother want for their children? It sounds like that went well. Her husband? No, she never seemed to be unfaithful to him, even if he was gone for years and years. Canta can’t figure it out.
Annelida yelps, and he turns around, looking at her. The fire has risen to her ribs.
So far, the sins he has seen have been lust and wrath. That leaves, uh… greed, gluttony, pride, envy, and sloth.
– Sloth? He wonders. The universe is a real hard-ass about these things, right? He’s willing to bet that her ignoring her son for so many years counts as a sin. There’s nothing else there. It has to be that, and sloth is the only one that fits in his mind.
He nods, determined that this is the right answer.
“Sloth,” says Canta, lifting his head up to the void. “Her sin is sloth.”
[SIN OF SLOTH] : INCORRECT
“DIE IN A FIRE!” yells Canta as loud as he can. Annelida screams. The fire explodes into a frenzy and burns its way up her chest twice as fast. “It has to be sloth, you shit-head!” he snarls. “All she did was give her kid the cold shoulder for a bit; what else could it be?! How is neglecting something you’re supposed to take care of not S-?!”
[SIN OF ACEDIA] : CORRECT
This sin had no consequences
[PUNISHMENT] : DAMNATION
“OH, COME ON!” snaps Canta, having had enough. The universe, however, does not ‘come on’. He calms himself down again, realizing that this isn’t getting him anywhere. What the hell is ‘acedia’? Didn’t Valenti talk about that once? He wishes that he would have listened more to him.
Having come to a stop, her body crystallizing as the fire goes out, Annelida looks at him. “Wait. Are you an ang-”
“Get reborn and die!” snaps Canta, swiping his hand through her. Her body shatters, and the dust of her sin flows through the air towards him. Deciding to eat his frustrations away, he takes the remnants of her sin into himself, promising as he eats, that if he ever finds out how to knock loose the cosmic-system, that he will.
{YOU ARE WHAT YOU EAT}
[Sinner had no abilities to be gained]{Failure}