Chapter 89: The Duality of Faith
**Thelma Zane’s Perspective**
The moment I noticed the tears welling in Dorothy’s eyes, a pang of guilt shot through me. I had clearly said the wrong thing, and now my words had hurt her. The great werewolf princess, Thelma, had made her dear friend cry,
“I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have said that!” I apologized hastily, fumbling for a way to make amends.
Dorothy, however, seemed lost in her own thoughts. Her expression was one of deep
frustration, her brows furrowed as she shook her head violently. She grabbed handfuls of her hair, muttering words too soft for me to catch.
“Dorothy, are you alright?”
Concerned, I debated whether to summon one of the werewolf grandmasters. Sorcery could sometimes have profound psychological effects, especially when cast in great concentration or under stress. It wasn’t unheard of for witches to experience emotional or mental strain as a result of their craft. Could Dorothy be experiencing such side effects?
Just as I reached for my communication device, Dorothy suddenly straightened up, her composure returning in an instant.
“You’re not wrong, Thelma,” she said, her voice surprisingly calm. “I’ve just been avoiding
the truth.”
I blinked, confused by her sudden change in demeanor. “What do you mean?”
She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she seemed to retreat into a world of her own thoughts. After a moment of silence, she turned to me with a faint smile. “It’s nothing. Come
on,
let’s get going. How about some dessert? I found an old recipe for wizard’s cake in mother’s notes. They say it guarantees sweet dreams.”
my
“Oh… sure,” I stammered, still trying to process her earlier words. Before I could ask anything else, she had already started walking, leaving me no choice but to follow like a puppet on
strings.
As we strolled along the quiet country road, the late afternoon sun bathed the path in warm golden light. Butterflies flitted about, their delicate wings brushing against us. One particularly vibrant blue butterfly landed near my ear, its iridescent wings shimmering. Dorothy reached out gently, letting the creature rest on her fingers before she whispered something inaudible. With a small wave of her hand, the butterfly flew off, disappearing into a
cluster of flowers.
The peaceful moment eased some of my lingering concern, but I couldn’t shake the urge to clarify what had just happened. Gathering my courage, I broke the silence. “Dorothy… are you.
Chapjes This Diralty of Fait
really okay? You seem different somehow.”
Dorothy smiled softly. “I’m fine, Thelma. In fact, I should thank you. Your words made met realize how stubborn I’ve been.”
“Really?” I said, still unsure. “Well, I’m glad if that’s the case. Although I don’t know exactly which of my words made an impact, as long as you’re happy, I guess that’s all that matters.”
“Every word you said mattered,” she replied, her tone sincere. “I know you only said those things out of concern for me, and I appreciate it.
As the sunlight caught her face, I noticed something I hadn’t before. Her pupils seemed to have a faint green halo around them, a mesmerizing detail that glimmered like the edge of a
precious gemstone.
“Dorothy… your eyes…” I blurted out, unable to look away.
She blinked, as though surprised by my observation. “You noticed it too?”
“Yes,” I said. “That dark green ring around your pupils–it’s beautiful.‘
Dorothy looked away briefly, her voice quieter as she explained, “It’s a mark from my father’s bloodline. While both my mother and grandmother had green eyes, only those with the gift of prophecy have this halo. It’s said to be a sign of favor from the goddess of fate.”
“A gift of prophecy?” I repeated, awestruck. “That’s incredible. I had no idea witches possessed such unique traits.”
Dorothy chuckled lightly. “Most witches don’t know about it either. The gift of prophecy is rare, even among us. Those who have it must safeguard their secrets, for it can make them vulnerable to others‘ greed.”
She paused, gazing at the horizon. “According to legend, this halo is a blessing from the goddess of fate. It allows seers to navigate the turbulent waves of time without being torn
apart.”
“The goddess of fate?” I asked, curious. “I thought witches and wizards followed Satan. Isn’t that the core of their belief system?”
Dorothy tilted her head thoughtfully. “Most do. But belief isn’t monolithic, Thelma. Just as the werewolf grandmasters follow the Moon Goddess, some sorcerers and witches look to other deities for guidance. Faith, like magic, is diverse.”
Her words left me pondering. “And what about you?” I ventured. “Where do you strength from, Dorothy? What faith do you follow?”
draw your
As soon as I said it, I regretted my question. It felt intrusive, as if I were prying into something deeply personal. Faith was a sensitive topic, especially for someone with mixed heritage like Dorothy.
“Forget I said anything,” I said quickly. “It was thoughtless of me to ask.”
Oupan The Dunity of Faith
Dorothy merely similed, her expression serene. “There’s no need to worry, Thelma. I don’t find it offensive. In fact, I’ve often asked myself the same question. Why can’t I honor two
at once? When I practice witchcraft, I revere the goddess of fate. When I embrace my wolf side, I turn to the Moon Goddess. For me, they coexist.”
I stared at her, stunned. “But isn’t faith meant to be singular? Don’t most people devote themselves to one god alone?”
Dorothy’s gaze was steady as she answered, “Faith is often tied to one’s origins. Werewolves follow the Moon Goddess, elves worship the goddess of nature, and sirens revere the sea god. These traditions are deeply rooted in race and culture. But for someone like me-a child of two worlds does it make sense to choose one over the other?
“If I only worshiped the Moon Goddess, would I still be able to wield witchcraft with a clear conscience? If I devoted myself solely to the goddess of fate, would I deny the existence of my wolf, Elaine?”
Her words hung in the air, profound and thought–provoking. For the first time, I saw Dorothy not just as a friend but as someone grappling with questions far larger than herself.
“I never thought of it that way,” I admitted softly.
Dorothy smiled faintly. “It’s not an easy thing to reconcile. But I’ve come to realize that my
dual
a gift. It allows me to see the world from perspectives others
isn’t a cur
might never understand. And perhaps that’s what makes me stronger.”
We continued walking, the sun casting long shadows on the path ahead. Dorothy’s words lingered in my mind, reshaping my understanding of faith and identity. In her quiet resilience, I found inspiration–proof that even amidst uncertainty, one could forge a path uniquely their own.
