Lustitia and The Rod of Asclepius / Part II – Salvation
Lustitia picked up the Rod of Asclepius and, with a wave of her hand, brought the two broken pieces into one. With her breath, she gave life to the serpent, allowing it to wrap itself around the rod once again. Lustitia, the embodiment of justice and balance, had seen countless souls stand before her. Each plea, each denial, weighed heavily on her eternal duty. Though blindfolded, she perceived the true nature of every soul, their hidden truths, and unspoken fears. The scales she held were not just tools of judgment but extensions of her very essence, reflecting the eternal struggle between guilt and redemption. This soul, kneeling before her-my soul, in some ways mirrored her own doubts—could true justice ever be devoid of compassion? She hesitated, recalling her own trials when she first took up the mantle of judgment.
She stretched out her arm, holding the scales of judgment, now heavily tipped toward guilt, and said, “I offer you a reprieve from your misery, yet you willingly and foolishly run, dragging your soul to hell. I offer you salvation, and you deny it as if the idea of being saved insults you. Above all, I present you with a second chance, and you reject it as though you are unworthy. You stand before me, witnessing with your own eyes your fate balanced within the scales of judgment I hold in my hand, and you dare me to judge you, knowing you’re already guilty. Do you think you’re not worthy of salvation?”
Still kneeling before her with my arms and hands stretched wide, I lowered my head, shielding myself from the anger in her voice. Yet I could also feel her pleading for me to reconsider. With my eyes closed, I spoke softly to avoid further angering her, “Not all souls can be saved, let alone mine. If I accept your offer and continue my life free of this sickness, living as I should, with love for myself and those close to me, I would still be haunted by the memories of the pain I have caused others, those I love. My crimes aren’t erased; they are not suddenly undone. They will forever linger in the minds of my victims and mine. I see no purpose in that. Salvation doesn’t wash away my sins; they still exist. If this ‘second chance’ you offer would allow me to begin again, before committing my crimes, with the knowledge I have now, I would willingly accept. But that’s not possible. The gift of life and the possibility of an afterlife speaks to the impossibility of that. So yes, I deny your offer because it would only serve to torment me further.”
She called for me to raise my head and then said, “What of forgiveness? Certainly, you could accept my offer if your victims were to forgive you. Perhaps then you would allow yourself to be free of your sickness.”
I had already considered this—forgiveness. But I am not worthy of their forgiveness. I acted against them in such a way that forgiveness was not possible. Again, I looked into her blinded gaze and said, “Forgiveness cannot happen in the absence of acceptance. They will never accept what I have done, and neither will I.”
The scales righted themselves to an equal balance as she extended the Rod of Asclepius toward me and said, “Then perhaps you should take this second chance to forgive yourself for what you have done, and I will judge those who thought you not worthy of forgiveness.”
I could feel my anger boiling within me, my hands aching with violent intent. I wanted to choke her, to pull off her blindfold and wrap it around her neck, denying her the ability to speak such words to me—forgiveness. I screamed, “I am not worthy! Why can’t you see that? Judge me before I commit another horrific act against someone I love. Judge me now, or I swear…”
