Sister Mara removed the red cloth of the statue. Sister Joan’s eyes went wide. The statue was dressed in a black cloth, holding a black quill with dried blood and a black, broken cross.
“Saint Matthew. Sister Mara, he’s the saint of what, may I ask?” Sister Joan asked, still looking at the statue.
“He’s the saint of tragedy. I don’t know why they approved this saint. They say he’ll balance the world. People can wish for a tragic event, I think. But why should they? That’s what I’m curious about. Their wrong intentions are only driven by their anger. This saint shouldn’t exist in the first place! The world is truly changing, don’t you think?” Sister Mara asked Sister Joan in rage.
“Yes.” Sister Joan mumbled. Saint Matthew, please give this controlling, angel of God a tragic event! Please, please, I’m begging you. I’m tired of her commands! Please! Sister Joan thought.