"Have you gone mad?"
Patrick stared at Francis in shock. The man beside him suddenly seemed like a stranger. "That's an Angel."
An Angel—a messenger of the Lord, God's most special child, a spirit in God's service, the Lord's representative on earth.
To attack him was to attack the Lord.
It was a grave sin.
A sin greater than treason or eating human flesh and hearts.
"And judging by what's happening, the woman inside the Church may well be the Holy Mother."
The Holy Mother ranked above even the Angels, second only to the Holy Father, the Son of God, and the Holy Spirit.
Francis curled his right pinkie as he always did and said in a soft, effeminate voice, "First, let me remind you: Angels are spirits. They have form but no substance, and neither sex nor physical bodies. So the two people outside Saint-Ang Cathedral are only angels-in-waiting. They won't fully become Angels until they die."
"The same goes for the Holy Mother. She becomes the Holy Mother only when she gives birth to the Son of God. If she fails to do so, she'll lose that status and become an ordinary person."
"But that still makes them Angels and the Holy Mother!" Patrick couldn't understand what Francis was getting at.
Did being angels-in-waiting mean they weren't Angels?
Did not having given birth to the Son of God mean the Holy Mother wasn't the Holy Mother?
Would attacking them somehow be a lesser sin?
Would the consequence change from being cast into the Underworld and suffering eternal punishment in the Lake of Fire and Brimstone forever and ever to being cast into the Underworld and suffering eternal punishment in the Lake of Fire and Brimstone forever?
Patrick couldn't fathom what Francis was thinking, or how he could contemplate