âEmerie, you may be younger than me, but have you ever questioned the notion that youâre over eighty? Do you truly have memories spanning eight decades?â Nicole remarked, her tone measured yet pointed.
Emerieâs expression faltered, her mind grappling with the absence of recollections from her early years.
From childhood, she had been indoctrinated to accept her purported age, reinforced by the chiefâs fabricated evidence.
In this secluded enclave, the chief held unquestioned authority, revered as a deity alongside the Holy Spirit To doubt her word was unthinkable.
âItâs evident you lack these memories,â Nicole continued, her voice unwavering.
âCanât you see the incongruity? While you remain eternally youthful, your chief ages before your eyes.
â
Emerie hesitated, her allegiance wavering momentarily before rallying to the defense of her revered chief.
âYou spew lies!â she countered, her voice trembling with conviction.
âThe chief is not subject to aging.
She is a celestial being, beyond reproach.
â
Nicoleâs brow furrowed at the assertion.
âA celestial being?â Her tone dripped with sarcasm as she said, âWhy not request your esteemed chief to unveil her true countenance beneath the mask of human skinâ
âHuman skin?â Emerieâs incredulity was palpable.
Yet, despite Nicoleâs pointed observation, none of the followers dared to entertain such blasphemous thoughts.
Nicole pressed on, highlighting the incongruity between the chiefâs smooth visage and the wrinkled texture of her neck.
âCheck her neck filled with wrinkles.
Isnât it glaringly obvious that something is amiss?â
The witchesâ gazes instinctively shifted towards the stage.
Among them, those with keen eyesight discerned a discrepancy in the appearance of the chiefâs neck.
However, Emerie, entrenched in her unwavering devotion, refused to entertain these doubts.
âCease your fear-mongering, demoness!â she exclaimed defiantly.
âThe Holy Spirit shall surely deliver punishment upon you.
â
Unwilling to engage in further debate, Nicole gestured toward the stage.
âJust let your esteemed chief descend and dispel these allegations to see whether my words hold no merit!â
In a surprising turn of events, a voice from the crowd echoed Nicoleâs sentiments.
âChief, this woman spreads falsehoods.
Please, come down and restore our faith.
â
The chiefâs countenance shifted at these words.
Naturally, the chief would not descend, afraid of her wrinkled neck and skin being spotted.
She castigated the witch who proposed the idea, calling the latter a fool.
Her anger palpable, the chief declared, âDo you expect me to step down just because some demoness is spouting bullshits? Have you all gone mad?â
The witch who had spoken earlier was immediately chastened, Lowering her head in fear, wishing she could vanish.
The other witches, cowed by the chiefâs formidable presence, agreed that the suggestion was indeed preposterous.
To ask the chief to come down for such a trivial matter would demean her stature and seem laughable.
Yet, Emerie harbored doubts, noting there might be some truth in Nicoleâs words.
Unlike the others, who had only glimpsed the chief from afar, Emerie had direct interactions with the chief.
On occasion, Emerie had glimpsed the chiefâs grotesque neck, resembling dried flesh clinging to the bone, the skin hanging Loosely in multiple folds.
It resembled the skin of a snake.
But only Emerie was privy to this sight, as the chief seldom met with other witches except on days of ritual, and she alone spent time with the chief.
It was just that Emerie struggled to accept what she saw.
Her years of devout belief had painted the chief as a saintly figure.
Challenging this perception could shatter her entire worldview.
âDemoness, you have drawn the ire of the heavens, do you understand that?â Abruptly, the chief turned on Nicole.