"I'm going to Hell." The illuminated manuscript was nestled safely in the young man's shaking arms, while his panicked, rushed footsteps echoed in the silent church. His hair was matted, his body caked with mud. He was garbed in the typical dress of a low class peasant- the scum of feudal society. The bottom of the food chain. His tattered clothes and dirty fingernails seemed out of place in the immaculate, pristine church.
Stained glass windows filtered the moonlight in prismatic colors, like divine eyes. The Virgin Mary stared into his soul accusingly, while the infant Jesus lay in her arms. The cathedral was enormous, and it felt like an eternity to escape from it's wretched doors. God was always watching, the monks had told him since he was young. The night outside was dark and clear, free from the crushing presence of God. The man breathed a sigh of relief, his breath condensing into ghost-like clouds, like smoke escaping from the nostrils of a