The priest kept his silence, nursed it as though it were a wounded bird, and licked the dry flesh of his lips. The girl did not look at him, and he was glad of that. To have those pale eyes, those she claimed to have seen an unclean death, flicked restlessly from wall to wall. If they should come to rest on him he would surely flinch before the fire of sin. And yet, they did not burn in her sockets, or swim in hollow tears. They were dry and bright with a wordless terror that hung in the air between them.
Then it dropped, severed by a splintered shard of speech.
"He sees... sees everything."
The girl covered her face with both hands so that the slim, fragile fingers became a mask. He saw her pupils, black and fathomless between them, and shuddered.
"That is the nature of God, my child," said the Priest.