Cover by lovely, talented pensive-; thank you, my darling!

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I was a man of astounding perception, yet the past week was nothing more than a blur – a smog circling around like a swarm of bees. I was not supposed to add the word "feeling" into the dictionary of my life, yet that moment in the office was a clear change of rules.

I was ashamed of putting Miss Adair on some sort of podium, like she resembled a highly-respected goddess. I was even more ashamed of my lack of indifference regarding the courses. She was plastered in my thoughts like a shroud to a corpse – sticking vehemently to the palace of my mind, a dodgy misdemeanour I had to conquer.

Unfortunately for my sanity, her storming in the office while I was speaking to Mycroft one day made my reasoning crumble to the floor.

"How dare you, bugger? How dare you deprive her of the mourning process?"

If I held a glass in that specific time line of events, I would most certainly have dropped it. Mycroft froze, for he did not expect Miss Adair to octavate so furiously. Mind my confusion, I had no idea what she was referring to.

"Oh, blimey, what have I done now?" I inquired, my voice as monotonous as a cytoplasm.

Mycroft approached Miss Adair and placed a fatherly hand on her shoulder. She slightly flinched, turning around to shoot a glare to brother dear. If normality was functional, she would face some unexpected consequences for defying me. But Mycroft might have already lost the plot, because he was definitely on her side.

As if sets of rules did not apply anymore, he left the office with a playful smirk, whistling carelessly. Miss Adair crossed her arms, revealing a sweet trace of defined cleavage. I would have considered her gesture as an invitation if it wasn't for the thin line of her lips and the narrowing eyes full of contempt.

"Explain yourself, Miss."

I pointed towards the chair, but she refused – again – to sit down. I sighed, feeling rather knackered, and accepted her choice. She brought herself inches away from my body, her countenance as rigid as before.

"I understand that you find death rather amusing, but people with common sense value grief and respect every state of spirit. You, however, refused to close your eyes when Sophie was unable to provide you with her assignment. Her best friend died, Mr. Holmes, and grieving is yet another process of closure."

She was about to add more scolding, or maybe a few unorthodox sequences of words, but I stopped her, raising a finger in the tension-thick air. If I were to gratify her status of intellectual plaything, I had to push her over the edge. As a result, I asked her what every diplomatic individual would have avoided.

"How about your God, Miss Adair? Sophie's friend was a youngster, he should not have died so soon. How is that myth you call God merciful and kind? Why did He steal the boy away from this world?"

Miss Adair's emerald orbs widened, and her lips finely parted in a state of utter awe. I was to demolish her guard, and I might have just done that.

What I failed to acknowledge was that I found myself demolished as well. She slapped me with a force that almost made me lose balance. A burning mark was then staining my right cheek, and would have met its twin if it wasn't for my reflex. At her second attempt – an unsuccessful one, fortunately – I grasped her wrist in a brutal manner, almost twisting it. She let out a moan of pain and squeezed her eyes shut, but her reaction left me unimpressed.

"You do not touch me without my approval. You do not defy me without receiving a punishment. Allow me to inform you that mental torture is far more pleasurable and efficient than a physical one."

I proved to master my self-control, containing my anger as I slowly took a few steps back. It was my turn to leave a clear path for flies in my mouth as I realized that she intended to continue her speech.

She massaged the bluish bruise on her wrist and intentionally coughed a few times. She spoke fluently and academically, her voice an iron tube containing water streams of resentment.

"God is merciful, Mr. Holmes. We receive tests and obstacles because we need to learn valuable lessons. He watches over us, He never fails to protect us, but like a parent, He is aware that personal growth is directly linked to dusting ourselves off as we conquer dramas.

Everyone has a purpose, and Sophie's friend had a major role: he made every single one of us aware of how important life is. His death stressed out the insignificance of our complaints and the waste of time we all succumb to whenever we gossip, mock, and misjudge other people.

God is merciful because He does not let us lose hope. God is merciful for every lesson we assimilate is proof of His love for us. God is merciful because He forgives us regardless of the amount of sins we all perform every day.

I pity you for such a narrow vision upon the One that is the way and the truth and the life. I pity you for throwing such questions, for boiling in the juice of your so-called rationalism."

I do not think that my heart was made of atriums and ventricles anymore, but of a funny mixture of doubt, turmoil, and admiration. Veins have liquefied into crumbled judgments, and arteries have melted into a nagging feeling at the bottom of my stomach. Was that possible? Was He, the Almighty entity, real? I strongly advertised in favour of rational reasoning, but her speech made me doubt my beliefs. I would probably return to my old self at some point in the near future, but right now, my entire education was pointless.

I always thought that God was a placebo effect, a fictional character created to soothe people with no palpable aid. But Miss Adair's faith was so mountain-moving that it must have had a seed of truth. She would even die as a martyr for how strongly implemented her faith was.

Was she indoctrinated? I think not. She was too chiseled to be manipulated, therefore she must have been genuine. Right?

I furrowed my eyebrows, breaking down into a pit of confusion. I pinched the bridge of my nose as frustration overwhelmed by senses. I felt like an enormous string of a guitar restlessly played by an inexperienced person. I was torn apart, I faced a battle with myself. I never fought with myself, but with others. Why such a sudden change?

Bloody hell, am I now supposed to believe in the whole concept of if-you're-good-you-go-to-heaven-if-not-you-go-to-hell? Hell to the bloody no!

I cleared my throat – a rather involuntary gesture when finding myself in Miss Adair's proximity – and dismissed her with two simple, yet heavy words.

"Leave now!"

She conformed to my desire, although her fists were clenched and her knuckles as white as linen. Having the office all to myself, I rubbed my temples and poured myself a cup of tea from Mycroft's not-so-hidden stack. As cliché as it sounded, tea was among the most veridic pleasures anyone could ever have.

I tasted the burning liquid of Rooibos tea and buried myself in the leather couch. I heaved deeply, debating on whether or not I should spare Miss Johnson – Sophie. Finishing my cup in a not so tactful gulp, I left the office and increased my pace until I reached the gym. Every student, regardless of their courses, must practice a sport within Oxford University. I found Miss Johnson outside the changing room, sniffing and cleaning her nose with a napkin. She was gutted and I felt like the ultimate low-life wanker.

"Miss Johnson... I apologize for accusing you of skiving. I am terribly sorry for your loss. You can hand over the assignment next week."

The fair-haired student blinked a couple of times, a gobsmacked mien plastered all over her puffy face. She gathered her hands up to her chest, as if preparing for a prayer.

While she thanked me, I noticed that Miss Adair was thoroughly watching – and hearing – our conversation. The fact that her upper torso was only covered in lacy lingerie was not very helpful. I should have focused on receiving Miss Johnson's gratitude, instead of eyeing... Rhea as she slowly, but alluringly pulled on her T-shirt.

I smiled what must have been the brightest smile I have ever displayed. Rhea's friend departed for the gym exercises, along with the remaining students in the changing room. The rose in a glass recipient was, however, still present. She fearlessly approached me, her plump lips partially curving.

I said nothing. She said nothing. Nonetheless, during that compact silence, she raised her hand and placed it in on my own. I wanted to remove myself from her grasp, but it felt like steel, so I remained unmoved. She opened her mouth to utter something...

It was her moment of glory, when she shot me with the most stirring Latin excerpt I have ever heard – one of which I was unaware until that very moment:

"Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis."

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"Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, have mercy on us."