I kind of hate this story. / Review and tell me what you think!

Polly Worthington gazes at the minister, who is speaking a language, it seems, other than English

Thou shall perish under the wrath of the Lord if thy refuse to confront thy sins…

She cocks her head this way and that, trying to make sense of it all. She looks at her aunt, smiling pleasantly as if he were talking about sweets. Even Polly knew that his sermon had nothing to do with candy.

She turns the other way to look at her Uncle. He seems to be listening with the greatest intent, large eyes focusing in on the pulpit.

Why can't I understand it, she thinks to herself, perplexed. It seemed, lately, that everything had become obscure and quite hard to comprehend. Little Polly is tormented with the thought until the carriage ride home.

"Uncle," she begins, "What was the sermon about?"

"Denial amongst humans," he answers matter-of-factly.

Polly continues to stare at him, wondering what on earth he was saying.

"When people refuse to accept the truth, darling, God gets angry," he lectures. "That is why we must be forward with ourselves."

Forward with ourselves? Have I been forward with myself, the little girl thinks to herself. No. No, I have not. I've been lying to myself, making excuses. Excuses for Uncle. Maybe I shall be less wicked, a better girl if I admit it. Yes, I think that would be jolly. Would I hate myself less?

"Stop the carriage, then," she demands. All she could do is try.

"What? Why?" the admiral asks.

"Please," Polly begs, "please stop the carriage."

"Good Lord," Admiral Worthington says under his breath. "Driver, halt the carriage."

Once they come to a complete stop, Polly bangs open the carriage door, breathing in the cold winter air. "Polly! Come back!" her uncle calls, but to no avail. The little girl is already running back to the church. With each step on the snowy ground, she feels lighter, like a weight has been lifted off her slight shoulders. Too slight to bear the burden of lies, she thinks. No more.

She summons all her strength, pulling open the heavy wood door of the chapel. Running up to the now-empty podium, she kneels down. Tears run down her face round face. Not tears of sadness, but tears of immense relief. "Forgive me, for I have sinned."

Polly is still praying fervently when her uncle walks in. "I was worried sick about you."

She looks into his handsome face, and gives a small, sad smile. "No you weren't."

Admiral Worthington picks her up. "Oh, dear. I do think that the cold has gotten to you. Let's get you home."

Polly kicks him in the shin, hard. "The cold hasn't gotten to me. Now put me down."

A look of pain flits across his face. Whether it is actual physical pain, or pain from this harsh statement coming out of his own little Polly, she shall never know. "We are going home," he states firmly, holding fast to her waist.

It is important to him, this control, Polly realizes. But it is more important to me.

"No, no, no, NO!" Polly shrieks.

"What has gotten to you, poppet?" Lord Worthington asks.

"Denial amongst humans," Polly says coolly. "If you don't put me down, I may scream loudly."

"Oh, all right," the admiral says tiredly, rubbing his shin. "Now may we go home?"

"Of course!" Polly exclaims.

She doesn't feel powerless anymore, for it is she who is in control, she who is taking charge. She isn't the oblivious little girl that once was, and she knows that from this point on, she never will be. She'll always be wise beyond her years. It is a great and terrible thing, this knowledge of humanity. She hasn't decided whether she likes it or not, and perhaps she never will. It is a burden and a privilege; a dark and light area of her life. Her life, which shall forever be gray, will be a hard one. But it will also be enlightening to live this way. I think it shall be rather jolly.

20 Years Later

Polly Worthington, they say, is the most beautiful woman in London. She is lovely in every way, with her uncle's huge gray eyes and radiant smile.

Of course, there is something she knows that the rest of them do not. That Polly Worthington, the perfect wife and mother, has sinned.