Heathcliff walked slowly up the aisle of the temporarily appropriated Catholic parish. The last time he had walked down one of these he had been excited, nervous, scared, but good scared, since the woman at the end had been Beth, and they were agreeing to spend their lives together. Til Death did us part...

Tonight, the woman at the end of that long march was Mother Superior. The Seneschal's skin crawled at the symmetry. It crawled away, in fact, from the direction his feet insisted on traveling, despite the Beast's better judgement. He wears a black robe Mommy Dearest provided him, so as not to stain his clothes. With what? he was about to ask, but then the answer was obvious, so he hadn't. He reaches the altar and turns his eyes towards the stained-glass Jesus in the window. His silent prayer:

"Dear Jesus. I haven't asked for much. I know I don't deserve much. But if you could just see your way clear to swallowing the Mother Superior in a fireball of divine justice before this whole shindig gets started, I would be most appreciative. Sincerely, Your Friend, Heathcliff."

"The supplicant must kneel," comes the cold voice of the ancient monster before Heathcliff. The Seneschal does as asked. "To what does the supplicant Testify?" she prompts him.

Heathcliff croaks out the response he's learned from his study of the Testament. "That I, like Longinus, have been Cursed by God, His Son, His Spirit. I am a creature of darkness, beyond God's Plan of Salvation. But not beyond his Plan. I am the wolf that hounds his flock so they may turn to the Shepherd for guidance."

The Mother Superior hisses quietly for a moment, then begins chanting. She brings forth a wooden bowl. She dips her finger into the bowl and draws a cross on Heathcliff's forehead in two neat, practiced motions. "Sealed with the blood of the thief who would not repent. Heathcliff Staley, rise. You are Sanctified."

The Seneschal stands and looks again to the stained glass window. Thanks for nothing.