"When it is dark enough, you can see the stars."

Word arrived from the bishop that we would soon be receiving a new and potentially permanent priest in our parish. I am so happy to write here that he has arrived! With Fr. Zelenski's mysterious absence (an absence Fr. Eamon explained to me, at least as much as he could, although I dare not write the details of it, even here), we have all been feeling the strain, and particularly after the week we have had, what with the strange green things roaming the city's streets, it was indeed a welcome relief to see another friendly face making an appearance within our walls. His name is Father Dark, which is a terribly unusual name for a priest, but God is nothing if not good-humored. There is a sort of amusing irony in the father's name, but during our short meeting, I felt he was a very good man. I am so very pleased that he has come to Midian, and although he will be here in a mostly unofficial capacity until Father Eamon feels he is ready, I do hope that he stays.

"Remember, Man, that thou art dust, and unto dust thou shalt return."

Last night I had the pleasure of speaking with Guin again, and it seems that--for the moment, at least--the strange case of the black-furred neko has been laid to rest. We shall see. She told me that the cat showed up after Mass again last Sunday, this time at the church before Fr. Eamon had departed the chapel. He had a folder of pictures and a recording of the conversation between Guin and Fr. Eamon after Mass from the previous Sunday--the same picture I saw, and the same recording he played for Guin at Fr. Eamon's quarters. As I noted in a previous entry, the conversation was an innocent one, so I'm not entirely sure what game the rogue cat thinks he's playing. But needless to say, it would seem that Fr. Eamon was less than impressed.

According to Guin, however, it seems the cat's intent was to blackmail Fr. Eamon into helping the rogue get his hands on Elise, a pretty white catwalker and friend of the parish who was helped out of a difficulty some time ago by Fr. Zelenski. She has been a faithful attendee at Mass ever since, and while I do not know her as well as the fathers, by all accounts, she's a dear girl with a truly extraordinary gift--a sort of precognition or clairvoyance, if you will. Of course, Fr. Eamon flatly refused, attempted blackmail or no--especially considering the father has done nothing wrong and the cat's insinuations were groundless. The cat then made the mistake of trying to shift the blackmail to Guin, only to beat a hasty retreat, as Fr. Eamon was apparently close to losing his decidedly Irish temper. Ohhh, diary! I am laughing even now as I write this, wishing I could have been there to see the cat's reaction! But here is hoping that the cat has learned his lesson about threatening our priests.

I saw my dear, sweet Gin the same evening, but our meeting was a troubling one. I have been thinking about him constantly ever since. We spoke of a relationship he has, with a woman outside his pride, and while my first thought was that Gin had fallen in love (and how wonderful if true!), the more he spoke, the more concerned I became. He does not speak like a man in love (or a cat in love, for that matter). So many of the "symptoms" are the same--an inability to think of anything else, a willingness to do anything and forswear all for the sake of the woman in question--but he spoke of feeling drugged in her presence, and cleaner somehow when he was away from her, as he was last night when we spoke together in the church. I'll confess, I'm not sure what to make of it. In another time or place, I might have chalked it up to nothing more than the

Today was Ash Wednesday, of course. I attended the quiet morning service with Fr. Eamon this morning, then wore my cross of ashes with mindfulness until sunset--which in Midian, is nothing more than a deepening of the ever-present gloom. But this afternoon, I was visited in the chapel by an officer of the MPD. No, not my other officer--this was Officer Jono, who wanted to ask me about the murder of the mysterious Mary Vilhemina. No one seems entirely sure who this woman was. Fr. Eamon was questioned as well, and he told me about it in brief, but it seems a woman was found murdered either in or near the church, a woman who may or may not have been a nun. If she was a nun, she was not a sister of our parish, which is strange in and of itself, as we have no record of a sister traveling alone in Midian City, as would be the usual protocol for such a case. But according to Officer Jono, the woman had attended Mass, as the remains of a communion wafer were found in her stomach during the autopsy.

"It is Lucifer,
The son of mystery;
And since God suffers him to be,
He, too, is God's minister,
And labors for some good
By us not understood."
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The last few days have been very busy in the parish. Fr. Eamon has given me permission to form the parish choir, although I think this has less to do with my powers of persuasion than his sincere desire to have someone else leading the liturgical music at Mass so he can stop singing chant every Sunday, not to mention his continued concern for my safety, bless the man. He's right, however. If there is someone dangerous lurking about the church, as he seems to believe, the chance of such a person doing me or my charges any harm is considerably lessened as long as we meet in groups. We have a soprano and an alto already, as well as one young lady (my rescuer from the incident with the--ahem--psychotic nun-things) who I've not yet placed by voice, but already we're well on our way. With God's grace, I hope to have them ready to sing at Mass this Sunday, and by next Sunday at the very latest. ((OOC: If you're interested, look up Groups: Midian Parish Choir))

In far happier news, however, Fr. Eamon has been appointed head priest of St. Michael's and Midian Parish! Fr. Donovan has returned to the mainland for another diocese, and we wish him all the best and God's continued blessings in His service. Fr. Eamon has stepped up to take his place on a permanent basis, with Fr. Zelenski being assigned new duties as well, both as Fr. Eamon's assistant and advisor and Grand Master of the Templar Swords--an organization within the parish that I confess I know little about, but I pray God will bless their good works.

"Therefore it behooveth hire a full long spoon
That shal ete with a feend."
~Geoffrey Chaucer, The Canterbury Tales

I had a lovely conversation with Guin again, in the chapel yesterday evening. We talked a little of Father Eamon--bless her, but I think the girl truly has no idea how much her continued presence means to him, something I tried to remedy a little during our talk. I meant every word when I told her that Father Eamon never smiled before Guin arrived in Midian, but now he does, although such good humors continue to be rare. I can only place the blame for his smiles with Guin. I have seen the two of them together, talking in low voices near the rear of the chapel--sharing memories of their home on the mainland, I've no doubt--and his face transforms when they are together. It is so good for him to have a friend in Guin, and if I'm being overly motherly in my concern for the good father, perhaps I may be forgiven for that.

Our talk soon turned to darker subjects, however, namely an unpleasant interaction I had in the church earlier that afternoon. The story is such: I had only just finished my prayers, when the church doors opened and Wolbert came in. A stranger entered as well, seemingly hot on Wolbert's heels, but at first neither of us paid the stranger any mind. I hurried down to greet Wolbert, delighted as always to see him, for despite his gruffness and world-hardened look, he has always been kind to me, and I must confess I've always enjoyed his company. We had only spoken for a few moments, though, when both of us suddenly realized the stranger was watching us, and what followed after was unpleasant in the extreme.

I'm not entirely sure who the stranger was, although something about him made me deeply uncomfortable. He seemed to take my presence there--or rather, the presence of a nun--as a personal insult, or perhaps a challenge he felt some twisted need to answer. There followed the inevitable challenge to my faith--an argument I am beginning to learn cannot be won, so much as forced into a stalemate, as those who refuse to believe, through blindness both deliberate and unconscious, will not and cannot understand the simplicity of my faith. They always want proof, concrete and easily grasped, and they refuse to entertain the possibility that a life can be lived in joy and hope through a belief and love in something larger than oneself, something that cannot be proved.

After all, if God could be proved, what need would we have of faith?

But it was not our argument that unsettled me so deeply. It was his tone, the fire in his eyes, the unholy seething hatred he seemed to hold for me and my 'kind,' the way he stared at me as if seeing right through me in the most physical, basest sense. The way he licked his lips as he talked, searching my face and the form beneath my habit as if undressing me with his eyes. It made me feel violated, although he never succeeded in touching me--I felt dirty, unclean, every second I was forced through propriety to endure his presence. And I am not ashamed to admit that I was so deeply grateful for Wolbert's presence, nor that I took refuge behind his broad back when the stranger's anger and continued force of personality began to frighten me in earnest.

Wolbert, God bless him, rose admirably to the occasion, making it clear by word and action that he had every intention of protecting me. And not long after that, the church mice scurried in with another young friend. They seemed to sense that something was amiss, and were quick to surround the situation--which touched me deeply. They may be small, but their hearts and courage are simply astonishing. It was a perfect distraction as well, and I took the opportunity to gather them close, all three of them, and draw them with me down the aisle and closer to the relative safety of the altar. The stranger took leave soon after, I can only hope because he realized himself outnumbered. And my mice... ohh, our dear little mice--assured me they would watch and ward against the stranger's return.

I met another man shortly thereafter, a gentleman named Aldous Dagger, and we briefly discussed the stranger as well. He is a regular parishioner, and I have seen him often at the church, so his watchfulness will be welcome. It is less for myself that I fear, in truth, but for the little ones who seek sanctuary here. As Father Eamon says, the church is to be a place of peace, a place where this city's lost and forgotten can find shelter and warmth and hope. Strangers such as that man are not welcome here.

Guin, of course, thought I should have told Father Eamon about the man, and all that had happened, but I'm not so sure. Father Eamon has so much to worry about already, and he did try to get me to return to the mainland. I don't want to worry him further, nor give him yet another reason to urge me into leaving. Especially since we both know I never will--not for that reason, at any rate. I am needed here, and if I might be permitted a moment's vanity, I think Father Eamon needs me as well. Goodness knows I need him, for a friendly ear, if nothing else.

God answers all prayers. He must. Everyone at the Mother House said I was insane for coming to Midian, and the priests worry about me constantly, but since coming here I have found far more kindness that hate. I can only believe that every one of my would-be protectors has been sent by the Lord, to watch over me and keep me safe, not for my own sake, but that I might continue to do God's work in this despairing city. Dear Lord, watch over my new friends, Gin and Guin, Father Eamon and Father Zelenski, Wolbert and Aldous and my dear little mice. Keep them safe, keep them whole, and let our church continued to grow as a refuge in your Holy Name.