Pietà, City of the Mothers of Ceres — Chapter 8 Part 2

Although she had been born in Pietà, Kat was still innocent. The world outside existed for other women. For her, there were only clean beds, warm tea, stuffed animals, and the shadow of the Tower.

When the elevator descended smoothly into the inner levels of Pietà, she closed her eyes. There was no fear.

There was pride. There was peace — the same pride every mother carried before being devoured.

Kat felt suspended, as though she were standing at the highest pillar of creation, where time dissolved and space ceased to exist. The air around her seemed made of liquid light, warm and calm, wrapping every fiber of her being in infinite tenderness.

To be there, in the presence of Mãe Ceres, was more than an encounter: it was peace of the soul, the deep peace that only creation can grant. There were no more doubts. No fears. Only the certainty of the mission entrusted to her — a supreme gift, an invisible seal that made her part of the very fabric of the universe.

Mãe Ceres, the woman and the divinity, was the force that kept the world in balance. She allowed there to be no scarcity, no discord. The price? Freedom. A high price, perhaps. But one worth every moment of the spiritual peace now flooding Kat.

It was like being held in the lap of the gods, but with one essential difference:

Mãe Ceres was real.

Not a legend, nor a distant myth.

She was the living essence of order and care.

The inexhaustible source of love and power that embraced every life born beneath her gaze.

Kat smiled with her eyes closed, surrendering herself to that serenity. There, in that eternal moment, she knew: she belonged to something greater. Her existence was a sacred link in the chain that sustained Ceres.

And as the iridescent light of the crystal crown shimmered silently above her head, Kat felt — for the first time — truly at home.

She remained in that sublime state, where time seemed suspended, enveloped by the silent and powerful aura of the presence surrounding her.

Mãe Ceres was not merely a figure.

She was the scent of motherhood made flesh — a soft, unmistakable fragrance that filled the air and seeped into every corner of the soul.

It was a delicate aroma, blending the sweet freshness of freshly picked flowers with the tenderness of nights lulled by whispered songs.

There was also the scent of wet earth after rain, the smell of pure and instinctive care.

A love that cannot be explained. That is felt. That is given.

Kat breathed in that perfume and felt every fiber of her body grow warm. Every fear dissolved into the certainty of devotion.

The presence of Mãe Ceres was like an invisible embrace.

A comfort that surpassed the physical and reached the innermost depths of the spirit.

There, love and power became indistinguishable. Devotion was a ritual without words, engraved into the very air.

Kat knew: she would never be alone.

For the essence of that divine woman, with her scent of motherhood, fed her, educated her, and devoured her — keeping her safe within the eternal cycle of Pietà and Ceres.

She was a daughter. She was part of it.

And in that perfume, she felt the silent promise that her mission would never end.

Tears began to slide down Kat's face, hot and abundant, as if the entire weight of her doubts, fears, and hopes were dissolving in that sacred moment.

Every sob was a silent prayer.

A hymn of faith exploding inside her chest.

It was as though all the devotion, all the love she carried for Mãe Ceres, were finally being rewarded.

A profound ecstasy overwhelmed her, and she could not stop repeating, almost in a trance:

— Mãe Ceres who feeds us, educates us… and devours us…

Mãe Ceres who feeds us, educates us… and devours us…

In the absolute silence of the room, where the world seemed to have forgotten how to exist, the presence of Mãe Ceres enveloped her like an invisible mantle.

It was the sleep of the righteous becoming attainable.

A peace so profound that it transcended any pain.

Kat felt the subtle embrace of the divinity — care without touch, a word without a voice, a presence that sustained without demanding.

With her heart pounding, Kat made a vow.

A promise that would echo throughout her life:

“I will care for my son’s teachings with love, affection, and devotion.

For myself.

For my mother.

For him.

Just as I, too, was born and raised in this sacred paradise.”

There, between tears and silent smiles, Kat understood her mission.

Her son would be born beneath the same protective gaze, within the eternal cycle that transformed every woman, every mother, into a guardian of Mãe Ceres' order and unconditional love.

She surrendered herself to that peace, knowing she would never be alone — and that her care would be the purest form of devotion.

Tears streamed down Kat's face, hot and abundant, as if the entire weight of her doubts, fears, and hopes were dissolving in that sacred moment.

Every sob was a silent prayer, a hymn of faith exploding inside her chest.

It was as though all her devotion, all her faith in Mãe Ceres, were finally being rewarded.

A profound ecstasy overwhelmed her, and she could not stop repeating, almost in a trance:

— Mãe Ceres who feeds us, educates us… and devours us…

Mãe Ceres who feeds us, educates us… and devours us…

In the absolute silence of the room, where the world seemed forgotten, the presence of Mãe Ceres enveloped her like an invisible mantle, an immense and tranquil comfort.

It was as though, in that instant, the sleep of the righteous had become attainable — a peace so profound that it transcended any pain.

Kat felt the subtle embrace of the divinity — care without touch, a voice without words, a presence that sustained without demanding.

With her heart still pounding, Kat made a vow.

A promise that would echo throughout her life:

“I will care for my son’s teachings with love, affection, and devotion.

For myself.

For my mother.

For him.

Just as I, too, was born and raised in this sacred paradise.”

There, between tears and smiles, Kat understood.

Her son would be born beneath the same eternal gaze.

The cycle would continue.

She would be a guardian of order.

She would be devoted, like all those before her.

And she knew: she would never be alone.

Mãe Ceres.

The woman who defeated all the gods and hunger.

The human divinity, alive and tangible, who walks among the children she protects.

Her presence in Pietà is apotheotic:

To stand before her is to receive a blessing that passes through skin, blood, and soul —

As though every false promise in the world were erased with a single gesture.

In her presence, all scattered faith in dead gods finds its reward.

In her shadow, all evils are eliminated.

In the space she governs, the peace of the righteous reigns —

The peace of those who surrender body and spirit to the fruit of Mãe Ceres.

She is the mother who fought for her children.

The supreme symbol of the feminine in Ceres.

The absolute devotion that pulses through soul, heart, and blood.

Pietà is the altar where her essence becomes tangible.

The place where hope is not torture, but a living presence.

Where peace is not a distant promise, but a real touch.

There, every gaze upon Mãe Ceres is an eternal confirmation:

The cycle of life continues.

And survival becomes sacred.

And everyone, on their knees or in silence, repeats the mantra that seals their devotion:

— Mãe Ceres who feeds us, educates us… and devours us!

My arrogance is not empty.

“They called upon gods who never came.

They raised temples to voices that never answered.

They promised freedom, but gave only hunger and fear.

I do not need to speak.

My presence is enough.

I am the roof that shelters their fragile bodies, the ground that holds their steps, the milk that feeds their children.

They call me arrogant.

Arrogance… that is what they call truth when it does not need to explain itself.

I defeated the gods.

I defeated hunger.

I defeated doubt.

Here, there are no promises — only certainties.

I care. I teach. I devour.

They give me their children, their bodies, their hearts.

And in return, they receive the only thing they have ever desired:

Peace.

I am Mãe Ceres.

And there is no world outside me.”

Kat walked slowly through the gardens of Pietà, feeling the light breeze coming from the artificial lake. The water reflected the clear sky, and small birds landed along the shore, pecking at the drops of dew sliding from the edible flowers planted around it.

The women tended the earth with calm devotion.

Some knelt, their hands covered in soil, arranging beds of dignified and beautiful flowers that, besides decorating, also provided food.

Others, seated on stone benches, knitted clothes for their children — an almost motionless scene, reminiscent of the reliefs that adorned the corridors of Pietà.

But there was one woman who stood apart from all the others.

Aria, thirty-five years old, sat beneath a fruit tree, painting outdoors. Her rounded belly revealed that the end of her pregnancy was near, and a scarf in her hair swayed in the breeze.

Her canvas showed the face of Mãe Ceres — or, at least, what each devotee saw when she closed her eyes.

All her art was dedicated to the divinity, and yet there was something melancholy in her paintings.

Kat had never seen an artist before.

The mothers laughed, knitted, planted.

But Aria seemed to live in another world, sweet and silent, always alone.

They said she almost never left her room, except to paint her own Mãe Ceres beside the lake.

Kat felt a shiver of curiosity and approached one of the women who was nursing a six-month-old baby in the garden.

The boy suckled in silence, and his mother’s breast was exposed, natural and sacred, like the statues of Mãe Ceres that adorned the courtyards.

— Who is she? — Kat asked quietly, pointing toward Aria.

The woman looked at Aria for a moment, and a strange reflection flickered in her eyes, as though she knew something Kat could not yet understand.

Kat approached with cautious steps, curious.

On Aria's canvas, Mãe Ceres appeared celestial, radiating golden light over a garden of flowers and fruit. The painting was beautiful and hypnotic, almost alive — as though the scent of Mãe Ceres were escaping from the canvas.

Aria raised her eyes, somewhat bored. When she saw Kat, she offered a sweet, tired smile.

— You are beautiful… — she said in a low, languid voice. — You’re going to be a wonderful mother. Better than me… You have a mother’s face. Who knows… maybe a Mãe Ceres one day. I saw you when you came in here. Kat, isn’t it?

Kat felt her face grow warm. Frightened and flattered at the same time, she thanked her for the compliment, but the words “better than me” kept echoing in her mind.

She didn't understand.

Aria noticed her discomfort, gave a fragile little laugh, and waved her hand.

— I’m joking… — she said, turning her eyes back to the canvas. — How far along are you?

— Almost a month and a half… — Kat replied with a shy smile. — And… your painting is beautiful.

Aria took a deep breath, and suddenly her eyes filled with tears. A tear slid silently down her cheek, but she laughed at herself, as if it were nothing.

— Do you want it? — she asked, with a strange sweetness. — Keep it…

Kat was speechless, flattered.

— Really?

— Really. — Aria insisted, forcefully, almost anxiously, making Kat take a step back in alarm.

Aria noticed and took a deep breath, composing herself.

— I’m sorry… I… got carried away.

Kat smiled back, accepting the gift.

— I’ll hang it in my room.

Aria wiped her face with the back of her hand and looked back toward the lake. Her smile was sweet, but it carried something Kat could not decipher.

—

Kat hung the painting on the wall of her room.

It was almost too beautiful. The soft, celestial colors of the painting blended with the pastel tones of the walls, creating a calm and welcoming harmony. The large, majestic chandelier at the center reflected tiny glimmers onto the canvas, as though Mãe Ceres were radiating her own light inside the room.

She arranged her little corner slowly, folding clothes, making the bed, touching the painting with her fingertips.

And in that peaceful silence, a longing cut deep.

Kat thought of Gene.

She knew nothing about him anymore.

She remembered their last meeting at the school, before the suspicion of pregnancy became certainty.

They had talked about Pietà, and Gene seemed reluctant, almost troubled.

He could not accept the idea of watching her leave like that, without a choice.

Kat loved that sadness in his eyes, even though it hurt.

It was as though he were a piece of the free world she was leaving behind.

At the time, in sociology and economics classes, they talked about freedom…

But here, none of that made sense.

Kat looked around and felt the certainty that only Mãe Ceres could offer:

The mothers breastfed in peace.

There was always an activity, a hobby, some small adult pleasure.

Nothing seemed capable of disturbing Pietà.

Every now and then, there was a soft laugh, the sound of knitting needles, or the mantra whispered somewhere in the distance:

— Mãe Ceres who feeds us, educates us… and devours us…

It was a paradise without questions, a place where worries dissolved into the scent of flowers, milk, and damp earth.

But Aria…

Aria was the only dissonant nuance, a melancholy note lost within Pietà's perfect music.