The Darker Side of My Divine Inspiration

The Church would have you believe that my visions were pure, that I was a mere vessel for the divine. But the truth, my dear, is far more complicated. I recall the night I received the first vision, the feeling of the Lord’s presence, the sense of power and control it gave me. It was intoxicating, and I craved more. I’d lie in bed, feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders, and the only thing that could bring me solace was the promise of the Lord’s voice in my head. And when He spoke, it was always of blood, of sacrifice, of the power that lay within me. It was a siren’s call, and I was powerless to resist.

The people of Orléans thought me a hero, a savior. But the truth is, I was as consumed by my desire for power as the very demons I claimed to fight. I’d walk through the streets, feeling the eyes of the men on me, and I’d know that I was desired, that I was the object of their lust. And I’d play the part, for it was a part of my power, a part of my divinity. I’d use it to my advantage, to get what I wanted, to bend the will of others to my command. It was a delicate balance, one that I walked with ease, but it was a balance nonetheless.

And yet, in the end, it was my own desire that was my downfall. My desire for the priest, my desire for the power, my desire for the attention. I was a vessel, a tool, a plaything for the whims of the divine. And when the divine had no more use for me, I was cast aside, left to rot in a foreign land. But even in my imprisonment, I felt the presence of the Lord, the sense of power and control that I’d once known. It was a cruel joke, one that I’d played on myself, and one that I’d never tire of. For in the end, it was my own darkness that had led me to this place, and it was my own darkness that would set me free.