The quiver of her lips and the unsteadiness of her hands crumpled those truths, the only evidence of vulnerability. Anger and uncertainty rose in her body as crossing the stage towards position; taught to leave these feelings, never showing her internal truths here at least.

She felt the stage's urge to collapse under her feet with every move, and as the cello hit across the old dusted brick walls she could feel herself sinking it was only the power of imagination. Hearing the sounds of life behind the old red faded curtains that were ripped where they should have touched the floor; and the sound of rain trickling down the sides of the Cathedral.

Vibrant blood and a familiar euphoria; the aroma of blood overtook the atmosphere. Droplets of rain accumulated on the windows around the church giving the glass stained angels a cloudy tint. Wondering why such ornaments were there.

The drops slide down the glass forming patterns similar to human veins. The veins that protruded through her flesh. The scars down that flesh, going from the more deep and dagger, to lighter more precise cuts upon her wrist .

Listening to the rain hit the gutter, growing pupils stared out into space, not really thinking, growing into subconsciousness. As the imaginative sound persist in her mind, her eyes became more feral as an animal about to ponce on its prey. She continued on the stage, as the wood cried louder from every step. Her dark glare stayed intense. But it was to late to seem calm. The voices came slowly from confusion of sound, so surely. Feeling of the spirit engulfing her body, her breathes became shallow, waiting. She groans, beneath her a shadow of a cemetery. The curtains are lost, becoming clear dark sky exposing her pale thin skin to the rain. Though she cannot feel the rain, it is only an illusion, the process. She becomes drunk in the smell of blood that grows stronger, her eyes close, falling into unconsciousness.

Her eyes flicker towards the cathedral skylights, damn those arches, damn those voices.

A deep breathe of pain releases from within a immortal part of herself. Tears stream from her eyes, the grip is released. Offended wondered why she dealt with such forces. Then the book appeared in her foggy view...and so was the reason.

Yet she had made a mistake.

Opening the leather bound book, so weathered...yet lighter then last held. So, as expected pages were removed from the binding, string hanging from where those pages were violently ripped away.

She bookmarked a clean page, tucked in the inches of paper she had kept for those long months; holding disappointment to her chest. Lesson have never been so cruel.




_


Every night we laid awakened by every involuntary movement to sensitive strokes on my pelvic. The pathetic excuse for a significant amount of circulating air, that the prestige guaranteed would settle down my reoccurring nightmares considering that the generator was replaced readjusted and us short a couple ounces of liquor reserved for the ceremony. Causing the lukewarm damp feeling between my thighs and sheets that covered the floor. Looking directly towards the cloudy, raining sky through the cracked angel's ruby thin lips absorbing pain as i unconsciously bite hard onto my own less ruby lips, taking in the taste of blood and feelings that slowly progressed. Stroking the arch of my ribs down to my doughy stomach. Playfully with a mocking grin that invited him to further exploration. Kissing the bare skin between my legs...lightly. Myself cornering a smile at a personally humerus sight. Violently readjusting himself to announce his sudden attempt to rest; omitting my impulsive shallow breaths and expected moans as due to my sensitivity my breathing was labored.. Sinking his head into my bare stomach, as his chest fit between my still slightly parted legs. Tightening his hug around my slender waist(an new and rare aspect of my body). Throughout his half awake state and conversation his hands wondered aimlessly. Up my blouse, along my lower back, up along my spine and rib cage...slowly...repeadly...tracing my back, until he hands slide under my bra....running his fingers along, caressing my breast from underneath.

"Stop", my voice seemed unnecessarily elevated as it cut through darkness and silence. .

"No", he quickly replied in a mumbling groan, "you're so beautiful...", I took his face into my hands, bending down into my chest. Starting in a sort of lingering kiss, causing his hands to fall immediately to my sides and gripping at my lower back. Automatic willingness his mouth opened slightly. There was always a excitement that rose throughout my body every time my tongue brushed against his. I slowly pulled back with a smile. "No", i whispered leaving only a centimeter between our lips. He gently bit at my lower lip. "Fine..", lying back down, tired, he failed to resume exploration. The hearth is burning, its light is reflecting off the window on my face. The fire is still strong even though the night is old from the time it was lite. The window is cracked, making the air around me hazed, as cold and heat embrace. I feel sweat dripping from down my face. I cannot sleep, but listen to the rain drip, drop slowly on the window pane and create a puddle on the wood floor. The contemporary sounds of the cathedral echoes harps, wind chimes, organ. Staring and thinking of how much damage could be caused, my body argues against my mind in moving to close it but my friend lays asleep in my lap. I stare at the destruction of the floor, somehow it was like watching a execution, that I let precise.

The fire reflects off my eyes now.

I could feel tears burning from it's heat, there are shadows that pass by and another.

There is muttering outside the door, and I start hearing faint voices.

As the sound progressed and the shadows danced back and forth; all hopes of sleep are far gone. The rain still drips, drops. The floor is cold and dusty as I wrap the quilt tight around my body. I stare at the red brick walls and realize how small of a space we live, no matter where I was always feel trapped. I would be leaving in the morning. Unlike the normal road trips, consumed around the comfort of family; reliance of them knowing where they were going. The songs and distraction to overcoming the anxiety.

Then I started thinking about him.

Him. Just Joe. The body that rested on me.

I was so absorbed in Joe from the first time I saw him, to the time my pelvic was closer then ever to his body, arms around my waist I could have went through him. Most people describe perfection as what a society as a whole consider perfect, but it he was not this superficial judge approved perfection. He was mine. Not saying that majority wouldn't have agreed he was perfect, just that's not what I cared about.

He became my happiness as my life thinned to less in hoping for, I had not "settled", he was just my something out of God being my everything. He had a quarter of my soul in him, whether aware of it or not and every other mortal beings were divided the rest.

Now I think of how my perfection was taken for granted, not that I mistreated him, I loved him with all my heart every ounce I could squeeze of blood; it's just taken for granted that those moments, his arms around me, absorption, hearing him say that he loved me, right now ...that could be taken. He was to good to be true, but it was all true. It was me that did not deserve him.

Most other days, awkwardly he would walk slowly towards me, with a mocking grin only used to keep some sense of composer; it was his perfect grin. His eyes we always squinted as he smiled, something that made me laugh inside as he somehow look like a innocent small animal. His complexion was like those cubes of caramels I used to eat at Halloween years ago. He was the only thing my universe revolved around.

I sat up against the bed post trying hard not to disturb my "sleeping beauty", exhaling at the feeling of the cold iron against my spine. Listening for breathes and gently playing with his fuzzy hair.

"I love you", I whispered knowing that he naturally never really slept. He quickly looked up and stared at me for a moment. "I love you, more".

Because of our "affair", my uncle has removed me from Ordinance and has decided to start home schooling me from his own books...unaware of when this sentence will end.

My letters were like dairies drenched in tears, I would send them off in the morning receiving a reply before night fall: it was one of our methods of communication.

My uncle was a priest, normally staying late nights at the cathedral in east Galileo, leaving me here to myself. My only studies were the drafts of sir men he would have me review and check for mistakes. Having never been a man of faith or much religious education, he mostly made up speeches based on realistic situations and best possible outcomes. My goal was to sacristy touch the religious text and search for truthful connections between his amateur words. For my uncle was a "warlock" of decent and the only knowledge he possessed was of the methods to obtain re-birth. In Galileo success is based on respect rather then education; Priest being the most highly rewarded position. Although not the most honest.