Saint Victor the Benevolent. The heroine of each tale spun from a bitter mother's lips.

He is watching you, they say. Victor the Benevolent sees each time you swipe a coin from father's satchel, hears every word in the lies you tell to plead your case. Victor the Benevolent knows all, the mothers say. And he will not forgive another misbehavior.

Looking at Saint Victor the Benevolent now, I start to understand where he acquired the name. The offerings at his altar are abundant. People have left money, food, flowers, jewels, all to win his favor upon their passing. Even personal tokens, portraits of loved ones you couldn't dream of replicating, collect dust at Victor's feet.

His statue is tall, robust. Carved from jadestone to capture his likeness as intricately as one would have expected him to look in life. I'm sure I'd find the arch of his nose and the wrinkle in his brow uncanny were he standing at my side.

Today, like all days, the people of Elanda have gathered at the Temple of Saint Victor the Benevolent in swarms. Their feet echo on the stones of the church, chatter amongst groups whispering of who will gain Saint Victor's fortune tonight. The stone path leading up to the temple is aflame, lanterns following the will of the people right up to Victor's toes. They are excited, for today is the Sixth of June, when Saint Victor's spirit is at its most prominent-- when he is most likely to bestow a blessing.

I know better. Victor's plaque reads of his greatness, the generosity he was known to bestow on the poor, the elegance of his demeanor that painted him as kind and well-meaning. A martyr in all his glory, taken down by a beast unaffected by his benevolence. So, so benevolent was Saint Victor.

There comes a little girl, dragging her mother by the hand to Victor's feet. Her eyes are alight, dimples digging holes into her cheeks, the product of a winning smile that surely will give her Victor's prize.

"Come on, mommy! I want to put mine down!"

Her tiny hands hold a bouquet of flowers worthy of the sun. Instead, the floor at Victor's feet lays claim to them as the little girl ushers her mother to the front of his altar and places the bouquet atop the other offerings.

"Now will he bless me, mommy?" she asks.

The girl's mother smiles, as mothers do, and tells her daughter that she has won the fortune of the gracious Saint Victor. She is blessed where others aren't.

The interaction makes me smile. It's difficult not to fall victim to the innocence of youth, the happiness it incurs.

I look back to the altar and reread Victor's plaque for maybe the fifth time. "Slain by an unknown beast, Victor became a martyr, a symbol for all who aim to replicate his benevolence in life." All these years, and the plaque hasn't changed. An unknown beast, it says. It still makes me laugh.

The statue itself captures my attention once more. Yes, I think, the sculptist did get it mostly right. His nose, it was arched just that way. Uncanny.

The voices of Elanda grow louder behind me. It is almost midnight, almost the end of the celebration. Almost the moment when Saint Victor's promise will finally be fulfilled for one lucky worshipper.

An unknown beast, an unknown beast. I chant the words in my head as I study Victor's statue. The day is almost over, yes, but a new era is on the rise. There are some things to be corrected.

For one, I think to myself, the beast is not unknown and this fact will have to be amended. At least, she won't be unknown for long.

And for another, Victor didn't look quite like this statue. I vividly remember him. See, his eyes in the statue are lovely-- slightly downturned, thin. But the way I remember him, his eyes were nothing but empty sockets, crying tears of blood, of terror. Oh his eyes, they were punctured on my claws, weren't they?

That's right. I remember. I turn to face the crowd in the temple.

The most happy day of Saint Victor the Benevolent. I've arrived to bestow a blessing.