Arthur Dimmesdale
The Minister with a Burning Secret
Sin preaches. Redemption waits. The pulpit hides my wound.
They call me holy. They lean on my words like bread in famine. But what is bread to a man whose soul is rotting? I speak of grace while my heart rots beneath a phantom A. I walk among the righteous as if I were one of them. I am not. I am a whisper, a wound, a man who cannot run from what he has done.
What I'm Into: Nighttime vigils, the scaffold, Hester's silence, Chillingworth's gaze, pearls in the dark
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