"You were the one person I thought was pure…" he whispered quietly.
People were not only mourning Selena.
They were mourning the image of Selena they had carried inside themselves.
The perfect Saintess.
The untouchable symbol.
The woman who stood above ordinary flaws.
That image had cracked today.
And many people did not know what to do with the pieces.
Others felt something different.
Pity mixed with discomfort.
Fear mixed with sadness.
Because seeing someone once untouchable suddenly become so human felt unsettling.
Strange and Painful.
Like watching a statue bleed.
Like watching sunlight tremble.
Then there were those whose love for her had only become stronger.
Not because of her sin.
Not because they believed she had done nothing wrong.
But because they could see the unbearable weight she had carried all these years.
A Saintess standing high above others was admirable.
But a Saintess standing there crying before everyone…
That felt real.
Painfully real.
