#Madre Superiora

[entre-tinieblas]

Julieta Serrano & Marisa Paredes (Madre Superiora Julia/Sor Estiércol) in Entre tinieblas, 1983 (known as Dark Habits in English somehow.) Writer and director Pedro Almodóvar.

No matter why, but they're smiling at each other :D

Accidental greatness discovered while preparing a comment to one of upcoming #similarities posts.

[entre-tinieblas]

If you matter to someone, you'll know.

[jesusreidamisericordia]

#19 - Vai falar com a madre superiora!

[lanotteviene]

i am so disappointed in mainstream horror for over-utilizing Catholic imagery without ever actually tapping into the spiritual, literary and/or folk horror of the religion. who is the third who walks beside you and my name is legion: for we are many and the resurrection of the flesh and the sobbing your own blood and the bone-deep knowledge that the one who loves you the most has willingly led you to slaughter...a thousand times scarier than a ghostly nun will ever be

[blorboazula]

When I say I'm stupid I mean I started watching Warrior Nun and it took me too fucking long to realize that "Superion" in "Mother Superion" isn't a name as in a person's name. Granted, would have noticed first if I watched dubbed or with subtitles in Portuguese. Still, I'm dumb.

[abatelunare]

Di film che bisogna assolutamente sconsigliare (attenzione: spoiler)

Oggi vi devo assolutamente sconsigliare un film. Perché io robe balorde a quel modo le ho viste davvero poche volte. Vi dirò anche come va a finire, perché altrimenti non si può comprendere il mio disgusto. Quindi abbiate pazienza. Cecilia è una suorellina tanto piccina, tanto bellina e tanto ammodino. Si reca in Italia per prendere i voti e iniziare una nuova vita. Nel convento che la ospita c'è però qualcosa di bizzarro. Tanto è vero che la nostra rimane incinta. E senza aver conosciuto uomo, come si dice in gergo. Tutti gridano al miracolo. Ma la realtà è ben più raccapricciante. Nel convento vive un prete con un passato da genetista. Ha fatto venire lui Cecilia in Italia perché l'ha prescelta. Dovete sapere, infatti, che in una teca custodiscono uno dei chiodi con cui Gesù venne fissato alla croce. Il folle religioso ne ha ricavato il DNA e ha tentato di ingravidare diverse suore perché mettessero alla luce il Salvatore. Con Cecilia l'insano progetto ha avuto successo. Lei, però, non ci sta. Ammazza madre superiora, prete, vescovo e finanche neonato. Come si può constatare, trattasi di cagata siderale. La regia non è nemmen disprezzabile. Ma la storia è immangiabile. Tanto più che verso la fine la vicenda imbocca la Via della Truculenza. Sangue ne scorre decisamente tanto. E la suorellina, che sembrava così remissiva, si rivela una tigre di quelle che graffiano assai. Ultima notazione: chi decida di farsi del male e guardare Immaculate, sappia che dovrà servirsi dei sottotitoli. Perché la predestinata intuisce vagamente l'idioma nostro, ma non ne spiccica mezzo termine. Di consegenza, lei parla inglese e gli altri parlano inglese a lei. Non so come, ma dopo questa immondizia dovrò rifarmi la bocca. Per fortuna basterà poco. Per fortuna.

[sgiandubh]

Have you seen this?

"Alice has been replying to a fan in DM this I know 10000% saying Sam followed her and sent her DM and now she’s posted in London."

I'm not posting the entire message as there's some dare I say strong language in it which I wouldn't post. Whether it is true or not, I don't know, I haven't seen any proof, but as I said 'fwiw'!

Dear DM Anon,

Please stop sending that woman's babble to my page. I am not interested.

Thank you. She knows exactly what she is doing and we are not 12. If you post something, post everything. Don't play your madre superiora, just because there is 'strong language' in it. Can't be any stronger than the one I use when I accidentally hurt my pinky toe in some random (but sharp) furniture's edge.

And how does Anon know who he's DMed and if he DMed her? Is Marple's Anon from the KGB? Is Marple's Anon Mrs. Graham? Is Marple's Anon Marple herself? Is that how you call ' Sources', now?

At least * urv has The Voices and the Copy/Paste button. What does Marple have, except innuendo and more convoluted crap?

The only thing we can be sure of is that the woman is not Emily White, Anon.

[Later edit]: now that I think of... only diplomats and ex-pat executives are 'posted in London'. Tourists, like Alice, can only have 'posted from London'. Marple's Brazilian Anon busted by a preposition, heh.

[allamericanfinalgirl]

people disappear here.

(tw; heavy smut - 18+ DNI)

Word Count (6K)

—

Dioneo of Firenze arrived at Villa Santa on a Sunday morning in May with his patient, who had brought with him his never-ending maladies. 

Tindaro waxed pathetic the entire carriage ride through the countryside about the disease it must hold, or the people in the villa and the disease they must hold, or the villa itself and the disease it might hold. 

Dioneo had recently rescued the nobleman’s wife, Neifile, from a well. Panfilo had paid him off to pretend God had sent him to save her; Dioneo didn’t pretend to understand and happily accepted the bag of coins.

But Neifile was still in hysterics and starting to make herself a problem for the rest of the villa.

“Maybe a nun would ease your lovely wife’s worries,” Dioneo suggested to Panfilo. “I saw a convent on the path here. It’ll be a day's trip, but I can retrieve a woman of the cloth and return before sundown.” 

‘Sent from God.’ Panfilo’s dark eyes hungrily ran over Dioneo’s muscular frame and sneered. “I would feel so much more at ease with a nun." Neifile begged her husband with fear in her eyes, and Panfilo could not refuse her.

“Excellent,” Dioneo gave Panfilo a shit-eating grin as he gathered his belongings. “I will return.” He nodded to Neifile, who had not stopped batting her eyes at the doctor ever since God sent him to rescue her from a well. 

The bag of gold coins from Panfilo jingled at Dioneo’s hip, giving the nobles a show as he so gallantly went to seek out his nun.

-

“Diana!” 

The young woman’s head knocked against the low stone wall ceiling as she was startled by her attempt at sleep. “Madre Superiora.” She rubbed the top of her head and scowled, trying to surmise what time of day or night it could have been.

Diana yelled when she was dragged out of the dungeon by two bony arms and hauled into the low light of the basement of the convent. 

“My God, look at you.” The Mother Superior did not hide her apparent disgust over Diana’s appearance: puffy eyes, matted hair, skin pockmarked and covered in a layer of grime and dirt. “Clean her! A doctor has come calling for a nun.” 

Diana hated the way the other women looked at her in disgust and fear. “Why me?” 

“Because we cannot do without our important sisters, and let us face it, Diana. You are of no use to anyone here.” 

Diana winced as her face, nails, and underarms were roughly scrubbed clean. When one of the sisters brought out a shaving razor, Diana shrieked and tried to climb back into her dungeon cell. 

Dioneo patiently waited outside the convent, whistling and picking flowers while he pretended not to hear The Madre Superiora demand that someone “hold her down!” followed by a woman’s scream.

“Here she is.” The Madre Superiora held a young woman in place with her sharp fingernails digging into her narrow shoulders. “Sorella Diana. Our most…” 

The older woman paused and looked Diana over. Her brown skin was an unnatural pale shade from lack of sunlight, hollow cheekbones, and dark circles under her hooded brown eyes. “Well, she is a sister of the cloth.”

Diana rolled her eyes and felt The Mother Superior pinch her arms. “Ciao, Dottore.” She folded her hands and awkwardly genuflected. 

‘Why did I do that?’ Diana wondered as the doctor sank to one knee in the grass and took her hand in his, pressing his soft lips against the back of her hand. “I am Dottore Dioneo. What an honor to meet such a virtuous woman.” He gave her the bouquet of flowers he had picked around the convent.

The Madre Superiora snorted at that, covering it up with a cough. “Well, you should be on your way.” 

Dioneo nodded in agreement, holding an arm out for Diana to take. She was surprised by the toned muscle underneath the richly embroidered material of his tunic, his bicep flexing when Diana gripped him tighter. 

Diana pretended she didn’t hear whooping and cheering from the convent as she departed with Dioneo. ‘Whores.’ She thought bitterly, her eyes adjusting to sunlight after weeks, months? In a dirty little dungeon cell below the convent. 

Dioneo picked up quickly that the nun was not a woman of many words; he supposed most nuns were not, spending their time either on their knees in a chapel or doing various chores around the convents. 

“Wonderful day for a walk.” Dioneo tried conversation after a too-long lull of silence, glancing over at the young woman in an ill-fitting habet and black and white robes. 

“I forgot how green the grass gets during summertime.” Diana had been thrown in the dungeon sometime around the beginning of the New Year, and from the tally marks she had scratched into the wall with bloodied fingernails, she guessed they were somewhere at the end of May. 

“Do you not leave the convent much, Sorella?” 

The nun snorted and gave Dioneo a sidelong glance. “You have no idea.” Diana looked the doctor up and down: Gorgeous, dark brown skin, tall, broad shoulders, muscular, deep-set amber eyes, thick, black wavy hair that fell to his shoulders, and a beard that framed his sharp jawline. 

Diana had a vision of Dioneo stopping short, throwing her into the nearby bushes, and having his way with her. 

The grin that crossed Diana’s features was a devious one as Dioneo led her on his arm up a pathway as the gravel turned to stone. “I must warn you. The lady of the house is—" A woman’s scream made Diana freeze, looking into the courtyard to find a red-haired woman accosting an older man. 

“Pampinea and Sirisco,” Dioneo whispered to Diana. “The lady of the house and the steward.” He explained, his beard scratching her face as his lips brushed against the shell of Diana’s ear, sending chills down her spine.

“She’s here!” Neifile flung herself into Diana’s arms, nearly knocking her off her feet. “Oh you poor thing, not bathing is so virtuous to God. Not a drop of vanity inside of this woman!” She held Diana as if they were sisters, looking at her exasperated husband with wide eyes. 

‘That explains the musty smell on the way here.’ Dioneo thought, subtly washing his hands clean in a bucket of water. ‘Not too sure how virtuous that is.’ 

“Oh, I assure you there is not a drop.” Diana gently patted Neifile’s arms to release her. “What troubles you, child?” She could not have been but a year older than the lady but chose to ignore that or be sent back to the convent before night fell. 

“The pestilence!” Neifile became hysterical, and Panfilo pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers in exasperation. “I need you to tell me that God has not abandoned us!” She begged, falling to her knees and clutching Diana’s skirts like a child. 

Looking up, Diana felt embarrassed by this display—how the other noblemen and their servants stared at her as if she could magically fix their maladies. “I’m sure Sorella Diana would like to clean herself up,” Sirisco suggested. The smell coming from the nun was abhorrent and needed to be dealt with immediately. 

“Unclean people lead to unclean practices.” Diana suddenly said, echoing a sentiment the Madre Superiora had hammered into her head. “Yes. May I please have a moment to clean up and possibly eat?”

“I thought nuns were supposed to fast.” The red-haired woman, the Viscountessa, interjected. “It would not be so comely for a nun to stuff her face.” Pampinea pointed her arm in no general direction. “Go. Clean yourself.” 

“Grazie, Dottore.” Diana looked back at Dioneo, who straightened up and puffed his broad chest out when she thanked him. “I would not have made such safe travel without you.” 

Diana wasn’t too sure Pampinea could tell her what to do but allowed Sirisco to ferry her to the bathrooms. “Grazie, signore.” She upset her aches and pains with another awkward attempt at curtsying. “Do we...know each other?”

Sirisco laughed and clapped his hands. “Your father! Why he used to visit-“ He paused, remembering his past. “I remember how he would talk of his wife and daughters, made of the moon and stars, he would say.” 

It had been the pestilence that had taken Diana’s parents, much like everyone else.

Diana didn’t even get to say goodbye to their bodies; her mother and father hauled away in a cart along with her sisters bodies when Diana returned home from school one day. 

With only a basic education and no marriage prospects, Diana was sent to the convent. 

The nuns made it clear from the first day that they did not like Diana; forcing her to scrub the stone altar under her fingers turned red and raw. 

Forcing Diana to sleep outside in the rain or snow instead of with the other nuns who did not associate with ‘Diana’s kind.’

“Well, I hope you survive your stay here.” Sirisco did not seem to have caught what he said, giving Diana’s hands an encouraging squeeze before taking his leave and giving Diana a moment of respite. 

The hot water on Diana’s skin was unlike anything else, scrubbing her dusty arms clean with a floral-scented soap and washing bugs and rocks out of her scalp. 

Diana bit back a scream of pain as she shaved her intimate areas that had grown unruly, redoing the shabby job the nuns had done. 

When clumps of hair, dirt, and bugs began to clog the drain, Diana panicked and gathered it in her hands, unknowingly tossing it over the over the window’s ledge onto an unsuspecting Tindaro’s head. 

Diana ignored the sound of a man screaming in the gardens as she patted herself dry with warmed towels from Sirisco.

Standing in the mirror, Diana couldn’t believe how much she had changed; the convent did not have mirrors to ward off thoughts of vanity. 

Collar bones sticking out underneath her brown skin, once a rich, dark brown like her parents and sisters, now pale and dry. Her black hair that used to surround her small frame like a lion’s mane was now matted but clean and fragrant. 

Pimples pockmarked the sides of her face. Diana rubbed her skin with the pots of lotion and beaded scrubs in the bathrooms, tucking her hair back into a bun underneath her habit and redressing in her tunic and robes after Stratilia had kindly washed her clothing for her. 

Diana could have laughed at how ridiculous she looked in the tunic and robes that stopped short at her ankles and the too-tight habit. “Ciao, Dottore.” She tried another curtsy in the mirror.

Diana punched the air in silence, scream-whispering in frustration from the situation she had found herself in. 

-

“Since you are not a noblewoman, you will be expected to help with the villa chores. I hope you understand, Sorella.” Sirisco had explained to the nun, guiding her to the kitchen. “Licisca and Misia will show you what needs to be done.” 

“Of course, Signore.” Diana nodded meekly but groaning inwardly; she had banked on the fact she was a woman of the cloth, which meant sitting side by side with Neifile and easing her worries about the pestilence. 

As Diana looked at the company around her in the past few days, she felt a horrible sense of dread: Panfilo and Neifile Lungaro, a couple who had brought with them religious hysterics; Signora Filomena and Licisca, a distant cousin of the owners of Villa Santa who had brought her previously thought dead lady-in-waiting with her. 

And there was Signora Pampinea and her lady-in-waiting, Misia. No one dared get between Pampinea and Misia.

Pampinea had self-proclaimed herself Viscountessa, claiming to be betrothed to the owner of Villa Santa, Visconte Leonardo. 

It became apparent that Diana would simply be a symbol of relief to the other houseguests in the villa.

If a nun was in their presence, what could go wrong? 

Mirisa watched Diana grin deviously at the thought while chopping potatoes. 

“Sister Diana.” Dioneo was pleased to find Diana cleaner than they had met; her robes were washed and her face clean. “I meant to tell you what a pleasure it was to escort you to Villa Santa.” 

Diana looked Dioneo up and down; he wore a pair of very well-fitting velvet green pants with a billowy white shirt hanging open to expose his sweaty, hairy chest. “It was….a pleasure.” She felt sweat collecting on her brow, wiping her palms on the front of her skirt. 

“I go for walks in the maze in the morning, if you would like to join me.” Diana felt as if Dioneo were undressing her with his eyes.

“I would be…pleased to join you, Dottore,” Diana repeated, wincing as she curtsied and made her way to a Bible reading with Neifile before she acted on the voice in the back of her head. 

-

Panfilo watched Sorella Diana intently as she comforted Neifile; his wife had been hysterical since whispers of the pestilence turned into bodies being dumped in the river, and Sunday Mass ceased as the Cardinal had gone mad and ran off with a shopkeeper. 

Sister Diana seemed well-versed in the word of God, but it was how she held herself that made Panfilo suspicious.

Diana looked and acted as if she had not stepped a foot outside or had any type of human interaction in a very, very, very long time. 

“How many missions have you been on, if I may ask, Sorella?” Panfilo asked later when Neifile went to change for dinner. “Or have you been in the convent for most of your vows?”

Diana faltered for a second, and from the moment Panfilo caught it in her face, she knew he would not let it go. “I have dedicated my entire vocation to the convent.”

“As much as I would have loved to travel for missions,” Diana paused, in a way that struck Panfilo as odd, as if she were listening to someone for an answer. “…God told me my place was here.”

‘This must be the same God sending men to save wives from wells.’ Panfilo thought. 

Panfilo was not the type of man to let a religious fraud manipulate his wife and indulge in her hysterics. 

“I went back to the convent and asked about you.” Panfilo popped an orange slice in his mouth, watching Diana’s face become cold and hard. “You weren’t lying; you never left the convent, not even once. What you didn’t say is that the Madre Superiora found you as a child, raving mad in your house.”

Panfilo had made the hot and uncomfortable trip with Sirisco to Diana’s convent, charming The Madre Superiora into gossiping heavily about Diana and how she came to the convent in the first place.

The whole village claimed the girl was possessed, following the pestilence taking Diana’s family.

Diana shrugged non-committally while hanging laundry in the courtyard. “So?” She couldn’t let Panfilo know he was under her skin, or else she could kiss the villa, a hot meal, showers, and Dioneo goodbye. “Your wife is unraveling.“

“Do not speak of my wife.” Panfilo hissed, seizing Diana’s wrist and drawing her close. “I can easily go in there and announce to the whole villa that we have a demon-possessed nun in our midst.”

Panfilo swore he saw Diana’s eyes flash red, wondering if the Mother Superior was not being as dramatic as he had first thought.

“I am the only thing keeping your wife from completely losing her head; I doubt she would be happy to know her husband displeased God by throwing out a nun." 

Diana hoped Panfilo wouldn’t call her bluff, tilting her head to the side. “Or the villa would like to know you and the padrona do not have a pot to piss in back in Firenze.”

Diana never would have outed Panfilo and Neifile, but he was out to get her, and now the playing field was evened out. “I swear upon God himself I will never speak of it.” She held a hand up. “But you must swear to keep my secret as well.” 

Panfilo looked like his head was going to explode. “I swear.” He stormed off into the gardens without another word. 

Exhaling shakily, Diana fell against the stone wall, finding it hard to catch her breath as her heart began to palpitate. ‘What is happening to me?’ She panted, her fingers and toes going numb. 

Dioneo had watched Diana collapse, racing through the maze to her aid. “Sorella, what is wrong?” He knelt at her side, enveloping her in his arms as if he were her husband. 

“My heart—I cannot breathe.” Diana didn’t have time to think about being scandalized when Dioneo pulled down the neckline of her robes and pressed his calloused hand firmly against the space above her heart, practically cupping her breast in his hand. 

‘Oh.’ Diana had never felt a man’s touch; the way Dioneo gently rubbed his thumb across her nipple through the fabric of her shirt made her clench her thighs. “How does this feel?” Dioneo leaned in close; he smelled of the fruit he had eaten from breakfast. “Breathe with me.” 

Their chests rose and fell in time with one another. Diana closed her eyes when Dioneo rested his forehead against hers. “There you go.” He murmured against her skin, his other hand reaching up to cup her other breast, gently massaging them in his large, warm palms. “Push into my hands.”

Diana obeyed, arching her back and filling Dioneo’s palms as he caressed, pinched, and rubbed her sensitive skin. “May I try another technique? To… relieve you?”

Consenting to his touch with a nod and bated breath, Diana allowed Dioneo to unbutton the back of her robes and slid the heavy wool material of Diana’s tunic down her shoulders as Dioneo took her breast in his mouth, sucking harshly on her nipples, resting his face between her breasts. ‘Impressive for a nun.’ He thought with a cocky smile.

“Oh God!” Diana clutched Dione’s hair in her hands, pulling on his long black locks as he massaged her breast in his strong hand. “No, just me,” Dioneo responded cheekily, rolling Diana’s nipple through his teeth. “Just me, Sorella.”

With Dioneo’s knee resting between her thighs, Diana began to rub herself on it, moaning softly as her underwear began to dampen. “I feel-“ She felt like someone was dragging a hot needle up the inside of her abdomen. “What’s happening to me?”

“You’re wet.” Dioneo’s mouth was shiny with saliva as he pulled his face out from her cleavage. “You’re going to orgasm." She allowed his long, clever fingers to move her underwear to the side, rubbing her pussy to spread the wetness around her thighs. “I’m going to give you an orgasm.” 

Diana had briefly read up on this: self-pleasure and sex out of wedlock were mortal sins. So, Diana practiced it in the rare moment she found a place of privacy in the convent like the baths or some godforsaken spot in the woods behind the convent in the middle of the night.

Dioneo knew what he was doing as he slowly began to insert a fingertip.

Both the doctor and the nun stared at each other intensely as Tindaro’s enraged scream pierced the estate.

Diana winced as Dioneo carefully removed his fingers and helped her readjust her top. “Walk behind me. I don’t think it will fare well for either of us if we are caught like this.” 

The bulge in Dioneo’s trousers was alarmingly obvious as he tried to adjust himself to hide it. “Do you feel better?” He noticed Diana’s chest still rose and fell, but this time it was from his touch.

“Yes, I believe so.” Diana didn’t know what to do so she curtseyed. “I should go find Neifile; these things tend to upset her.” She turned around to call after Dioneo as he made himself scarce. “Thank you!” 

Dioneo simply raised a hand in response, not looking back, or else he’d run to Diana and finish her off in the garden, and no one’s screams would stop him.

-

The doctor would be lying if he said he wasn’t using Tindaro to climb the social ladder; Dioneo didn’t belong amongst the nobles, but as a nobleman’s physician, maybe one day he could. 

Dioneo’s heart had decided to fall for the nun, a sudden urge to show Diana he was more than a glorified babysitter for Tindaro; he truly cared for the man as a friend.

But Dioneo knew he was meant for more in life than wiping a manchild hypochondriac’s nose and constant reassurance.

And Dioneo intended to prove that to Diana as he picked a pomegranate from a tree as they walked through the maze early the next morning before the rest of the villa had risen.

The doctor and nun looked up at the milky blue sky as they admired the villa and its rolling fields and vineyard.

Grunting softly, Dioneo broke the pomegranate in half.

Red, wet pomegranate pearls and juice coated his hands, and Diana fantasized about licking each and every one of those long, clever fingers clean. 

“Tell me, Sorella.” Diana scowled at the title as Dioneo handed her a pomegranate half, locking eyes with her as he bit into his half, fruit juice squirting from the pomegranate and soaking his beard. “What of your life before the convent? Surely you must have family and friends?”

Running her index finger up and down the pomegranate to collect its juices, Diana thought of what to say while sucking on her index finger. “My mother and father, my sisters. They died of the pestilence.” 

Following this, Diana’s friends had avoided her, ironically, like the plague. 

Diana was told to look to God by the priests and the nuns.

But Diana felt hollow and dark inside now, leaving her vulnerable to menacing red eyes and the smell of brimstone from the corner of the cottage where Diana’s family had suffered the most. 

“And what of you? A doctor for a nobleman, your parents must be proud.” Diana changed the subject, sucking on a pomegranate pearl to hide her discomfort. 

“I don’t remember my father. My mother was proud when she was still with us.” Dioneo subtly adjusted his trousers when the sight of pomegranate pearls trickling down the sides of Diana’s mouth aroused him. 

Dioneo lost his resolve and seized Diana by her shoulders, shocking them both. “Wait for the signal, and meet me in the chapel after dark.” 

Diana only nodded wordlessly, breaking away when Tindaro’s wailing voice begged for Dioneo’s aid. “Thank you for this walk, Sorella.” Dioneo took Diana’s hand and pressed a firm kiss into the back of her hand. “I hope to see you tonight.”

Tindaro crashed through the bushes as if on cue, looking accusingly between the doctor and nun. “Were you speaking ill of me?” 

The nun held the hand Dioneo had kissed as he reassured Tindaro they were not.

‘Someone ought to do something about you.’ Diana looked upon Tindaro with disgust, fantasizing about bending his head back until it popped off his shoulders and rolled down the stone pathway. 

“What are you staring at?” Tindaro spat in Diana’s face, and Dioneo surprised himself by grabbing the nobleman’s shoulder and forcing him away from Diana. 

“Have you had your breakfast yet? You do not want to be ridden with hunger pangs while courting Padrona Filomena.” Dioneo reminded Tindaro, releasing his firm grip upon his shoulder when Tindaro looked taken aback by Dioneo’s sudden act of aggression. 

“No. I suppose I wouldn’t.” Tindaro sneered at the disturbed look on Diana’s features. “Why does she stare at me?” He snapped at Dioneo as if Diana were not standing right there with them.

“I apologize.” Diana replied, folding her hands and reflecting meekly. Visions of baptizing Tindaro with the remains of a chamber pot or blessing him with a scratch to the eyeballs calmed her. “Dio vi benedica.” (God Bless You)

Dioneo wanted to curse out Tindaro for speaking to Diana in such a manner but held his tongue for the sake of his residency in the villa or be cast out alone into a pestilence-ridden world.

Diana could have done a cartwheel down the garden path, skipping with glee from Dioneo’s request to meet him at midnight.

-

The clock struck twelve, and Diana pulled the hood of her cloak over her head as she flew down the villa steps to the chapel. 

Diana found Dioneo waiting with a head bowed in prayer, illuminated in the moonlight. “Why do we meet?” She joined Dioneo, folding her hands and bowing her head to whisper. 

Dioneo’s amber eyes were glossy, reaching down to take Diana’s hands and press them against his lips. “Sei una visione.” (You are a vision.) He murmured into their intertwined fingers. “Come il chiaro di luna.” (Like moonlight) 

Diana felt her heart soften; all of the anger she had held towards Firenze, the convent, the nobles, and their servants became background noise when she was with Dioneo. “I fantasize of you, Sorella.”

Something deep inside Diana wanted release. 

“Sex in a house of God is sacrilegious,” Diana whispered as Dioneo took her in his strong arms. “Dioneo-“ She gasped at the pressure of Dioneo’s front pressing against her. “Is that you?”

“Can you feel that?” Dioneo ground against Diana, her breasts pressed flush against his bare chest, he shuddered with Diana finally in his arms.

“Yes.” Diana took Dioneo’s face in her hands, her fingers tangled in his thick hair. “I felt you the day we met.” She whispered, running a finger down his cheek, close enough to count Dioneo’s eyelashes. 

Dioneo finally kissed Diana, a rough, sloppy kiss with their teeth clicking together as he took off her head covering and clutched her wavy, dark hair in his fist. “I am going to take you right here on the altar for God to see.” He whispered hotly against Diana’s swollen lips. “First…”

Diana whined when Dioneo broke their kiss. “Kneel.” The doctor’s voice was soft, but the demand in his request was there. 

Nodding, Diana sank to her knees as if she were about to pray. Dioneo hooked a finger underneath her jawline, tilting her chin up to lock eyes with him.

Reaching up, Diana gasped at the weight of Dioneo as she massaged his front, undoing his belt and tugging his velvet green trousers to his ankles as she freed his erection. 

Running her fingers up the soft hair of his thighs, Diana earned a breathy laugh from the handsome young doctor. “That feels good.” He smirked and flexed in her small hands, feeling her sharp nails dig into his flesh. 

Still cupping Diana’s face, Dioneo rubbed her swollen bottom lip, placing his thumb between her lips and letting her suck on his finger for a moment before replacing his thumb with the head of his cock. 

In the spirit of experimenting, Diana opened wide and took as much of Dioneo as she could into her mouth, gagging with tear-filled eyes  

A gasp of surprise came from Dioneo, bracing his hands against the sides of her head as if he were blessing her. 

Letting out a long, breathy moan, Dioneo panted with Diana gagging on his erection, he needed to slow down before their tryst ended far too soon. 

“Stand.” Dioneo ground out when  Diana withdrew, leaving him feeling lightheaded. “I want to taste myself on your lips.” 

Diana moaned in Dioneo’s mouth when gently seized her throat and guided Diana to her feet. 

Lifting Diana and hiking her thighs around his waist, Dioneo sat her down bare on the stone and spread her legs, his strong, calloused, hands massaging her calves and thighs. 

“Wait!” Diana looked around the chapel, expecting Christ himself to step out at any moment. “I bleed.” She whispered silently, shame making her face hot. “We cannot…”

Dioneo drew circular motions into Diana’s entrance, collecting blood on his fingers before slowly bringing them to his lips. 

Kissing his fingertips, Dioneo slowly pressed them against Diana’s lips, leaning in to taste the blood on her mouth as they kissed in the moonlight. 

“Lift your legs, Sorella.” Dioneo demanded, hiking up her skirt to her hips and tearing her undergarments from her body. 

Diana watched as blood pooled onto the stone altar from between her thighs. “This does not disgust you?” She had known men who would exile their wives and daughters from their homes during their monthly cycles.

Dioneo shook his head. ‘No.’ With an incredulous look. I’m going to mouth you properly now. Is that permissible, Sorella?” 

“Diana.” She breathed, taking his face in her hands and forcing him to look into her desperate eyes. “Do not call me that. My name is Diana.” She guided Dioneo’s head back between her thighs; blood and other fluids made wet noises as the doctor sloppily ate Diana. 

Trailing the tip of his tongue up through her folds, Dioneo tasted Diana the way he had the pomegranate they had shared earlier that morning, sucking and tonguing Diana like she was the best tasting exotic fruit.

Looking up at the chapel ceiling, Diana’s voice rose three octaves as Dioneo rubbed his pointed nose against her clit. “I’m coming-!” She tossed her head back and lifted her hips as she squirted fluid onto Dioneo’s face and neck.

“I need to be inside you.” Rising to his full height, Dioneo towered over a dazed and flushed Diana as he grabbed her shaking legs in each strong hand and spread her wide to admire the mess he had made of her. “May I please put myself inside you, Diana?”

Diana stared back at Dioneo in wide eyed disbelief, trembling from the aftershocks of her first orgasm.

Dioneo’s handsome features were covered in her cum and blood, Dioneo laid Diana back, crawling on top of her so their sweaty bodies pressed flush together as Dioneo took his throbbing erection in one hand and rubbed the head of himself against Diana’s pussy. “Do you want this inside you?”

“Fuck.” Diana cursed, looking down and watching Dioneo tease her weeping entrance with his cock, bobbing in and out of the blood coating her inner thighs. “Put it in, please.” She begged moving her hips up onto his cock, the head of him disappearing inside her cunt.

Dioneo’s first thrust made Diana throw her head back against the stone hard enough to see stars.

Way up on the altar, a statue of Jesus Christ on the crucifix stared down at Diana from the cross on the altar.

The statue shook as Dioneo took Diana’s long legs and tucked them into the crooks of his elbows, folding Diana in half as he pounded her into the stone altar.

If the other residents of the Villa could hear Diana and Dioneo in the chapel, they weren’t in a rush to walk in on the pure act of hedonism and put a stop to it. 

When Dioneo slowed his thrusts to a gentle roll of his hips, Diana hissed and scratched Dioneo’s bicep.

Growling in response and grabbing Diana’s wrist, Dioneo pinned it high above her head. “Are you sure you’re a sister of the cloth?” His raised a thick brow, pulling out in punishment though Diana clenched hard around Dioneo in an effort make him stay.

“No, Doctor.” Diana replied proudly and tilted her head up, Dioneo grinned and gripped her hips, spinning Diana around and bending her over the altar. “I assure you that I am more than a simple nun.”

“Hold onto something.” Dioneo demanded, sinking to his knees and spreading Diana open from behind as he kneaded her ass and thighs. 

Diana braced her shaking forearms against stones of the now slick altar, soaked in her blood and cum, sighing when she felt Dioneo’s hot breath against the apex of her trembling thighs. 

Dioneo’s mouth traveled up, up, up to where he had spread Diana open wide from behind and sank his teeth into the flesh of her curved cheek.

Diana buried her face in her arms and moaned long and low when Dioneo ate her out from behind, alternating between the tip of his tongue circling her and his long fingers stretching her open. 

Diana felt overwhelmed by the sensation of what Dioneo was doing to her, letting out an hysterical laugh as she felt the aftershocks of her first orgasm made her shake and grind on Dioneo’s face to make her clench around him.

Leaning over Diana, Dioneo tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and sweetly kissed her cheek, leaving a bloodstain mark on her face as Diana gazed back, entranced. “Are you faring well?” Dioneo gently gripped her throat again, checking her face to ensure he had not hurt Diana. 

Diana allowed herself to really, truly smile for the first time after grieving her family for so long. “I am, my love.” She kissed him, tasting blood and sex as Dioneo caressed her breasts and rubbed her dripping pussy.

“I’m going to take you from behind now.” Dioneo wiped his mouth, smearing blood across his face with a dark smile as he positioned himself behind Diana. 

“Kiss me.” Diana ordered, earning another toe curling kiss as Dioneo wound her dark curls around his hand, pulling back and adjusting his stance behind her. 

Diana felt cold air when Dioneo spread her open once more, stretching her with his fingers as he began to fill her with the head of his cock.

Dioneo’s bare and sweaty chest heaved as he inched himself further and further inside Diana, grunting and cursing as she clenched around him like an iron press. “Diana-“ He gasped as she adjusted to his size and the intrusion from behind that seemed to stretch her endlessly. 

Diana’s nails scratched and broke across the cobblestones of the altar, seeing white behind her eyelids as Dioneo placed his hands firmly atop her lower back, his rings cold against her bare skin as he began to experimentally thrust in and out of Diana. 

Sweat rolled backwards on Dioneo’s body, and Diana swore her heart was beating in reverse.

“Take it, take it, take it." Dioneo grunted, tossing his head back and raking a hand through his long hair.

Diana felt Dioneo’s large hand trail between her breasts to her throbbing pussy, smacking it before cupping her entirely with his long fingers that quickly become slick with her blood.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Diana’s lips parted in a silent ‘O’ shape as she turned her face into her sweaty shoulder, Dioneo smacked her ass when Diana began working her hips into tight circles as she orgasmed for the second time that night.

“I’m going to cum.” Dioneo hissed, lifting Diana so her feet dangled off the cobblestone. “I’m going to cum inside you.”

Diana caught her reflection in the bronze crucifix; Cheeks flushed red, black, wavy hair falling around her like a lion’s mane, swollen, wet lips and her collarbone and breasts littered with love bites.

Dioneo looked entranced from above her, he could have sworn he saw her eyes flash bright red as she gazed back with parted lips and bated breath. “Fuck, spread yourself open-!” He demanded of Diana, who quickly obeyed and reached behind herself to hold her thighs open for Dioneo to come inside.

The doctor was overcame, clenching his jaw and grunting through his teeth as he came inside Diana, quickly filling her as his cum began to dribble down their thighs, coating them both.

Sighing in relief, Dioneo carefully removed himself from Diana, cum mixed with the blood dripping from her pussy and from him taking her from behind. “Are you alright?” He gently eased Diana upright and into his strong arms, flexing around her as he kissed her sweaty and flushed face. 

Diana couldn’t form a thought or sentence to save her life, only dumbly nodding and pecking Dioneo’s wet lips. “I feel…” Her head lolled into Dioneo’s hairy and sweaty chest, feeling drowsy. “Full.”

Dioneo chuckled deeply and lifted the nun into his arms. “May I take you in the baths?” 

Diana grinned at the doctor’s choice of words and nodded eagerly, taking Dioneo’s gold chain necklace in her mouth and began sucking on it as she looked back at Jesus on the Crucifix with a smile as he stared after her.

Dioneo carried Diana to the Villa bathhouses, both naked as the day they were born, covered in his cum and her menstrual blood. “We could be caught.” 

Panfilo, who had intended to pray in silence at the chapel, heard and watched the events between the nun and doctor transpire while hiding the dark behind the pews while the sound of Diana and Dioneo’s skin frantically slapping together echoed as they fucked in a house of God.

Diana herself had told Dioneo it was sacrilegious, and yet there Dioneo was, performing cunnilingus upon the nun as if it were his last day on earth. 

It was clear to Panfilo that Dioneo was exactly who he thought he was and Diana was not the chaste, meek nun she had made herself out to be to the rest of the Villa.

The nobleman heard Dioneo give Diana a wet kiss, his bare feet echoed on the stone floors as he carried her out of the chapel. “Somehow, I no longer worry about such things.” 

[gregor-samsung]

" Si trattava ancora una volta di un libro, e l'autore si chiamava Kafka, Franz, e il libro era intitolato "Nella colonia penale". Più tardi ho chiesto a Boris se davvero non immaginava le conseguenze di quello che faceva quando, alla fine del '44 (!), raccomandava a Leni uno scrittore ebreo, e lui mi ha risposto: «Avevo tanta di quella roba in testa, tante cose a cui pensare che me lo sono dimenticato». Dunque, Leni andò un'altra volta col suo bravo biglietto alla biblioteca, ce n'era ancora una in funzione e la bibliotecaria, per fortuna, era una donna piuttosto anziana e abbastanza ragionevole che strappò il biglietto e prese subito Leni in disparte e le ripeté, alla lettera, quello che le aveva già detto la madre superiora quella volta che aveva chiesto con tanta insistenza di Rahel: «Ma figliuola, ha perso la testa? Chi l'ha mandata qui a chiedere questo libro?» Però Leni, sa, anche stavolta non ha mollato. La bibliotecaria dev'essersi accorta subito che non era un agente provocatore, perciò l'ha presa da parte e le ha spiegato esattamente che quel Kafka era ebreo, che tutti i suoi libri erano stati proibiti e bruciati eccetera, e certo Leni dev'essersene uscita col suo solito disarmante «E con questo?», e allora quella donna le spiegò ben bene, anche se tardi, come stavano le cose tra nazisti ed ebrei, e le mostrò - naturalmente ce l'aveva in biblioteca - lo "Stürmer"*  e le spiegò tutto, e Leni, quando venne da me, era inorridita. Finalmente aveva afferrato qualcosa.

Ma non mollò, s'era messa in testa di avere il suo Kafka e di leggerlo, e ci riuscì! Pensi che andò in treno a Bonn, da alcuni professori per i quali suo padre aveva lavorato e di cui sapeva che avevano delle grandi biblioteche, e infatti ne trovò uno che ormai era un nonnetto di settantacinque anni passati e se ne stava là in mezzo ai suoi libri, ormai pensionato, e sa che cosa le disse quello, alla lettera? «Ma figliuola, ha perso la testa? Kafka, nientemeno? Perché non addirittura Heine?» Però fu molto gentile con lei, si ricordò di lei e di suo padre, solo che non aveva quel libro e dovette andare da un collega e poi da un altro finché ne trovò uno con cui la fiducia era reciproca e che per di più possedeva il libro. Non fu tanto semplice, la cosa durò un giorno intero, sa, arrivò a casa nel cuore della notte e aveva il libro nella borsetta, non era una cosa tanto semplice perché non solo bisognava trovare uno che si fidasse del professore e di cui il professore potesse fidarsi, ma quello doveva fidarsi anche di Leni, e non solo doveva avere il libro ma anche cacciarlo fuori! Effettivamente ne trovarono due che lo avevano, ma il primo non volle darlo. Roba da matti, le preoccupazioni di Leni e di Boris, quando era in ballo la vita, la vita nuda e cruda. "

*Settimanale di propaganda nazista veementemente antisemita, edito sin dal 1923.

---------

Heinrich Böll, Foto di gruppo con signora, (traduzione di Italo Alighiero Chiusano), Einaudi (collana Tascabili), 1972.

[Edizione originale: Gruppenbild mit Dame, Verlag Kiepenheuer & Witsch, Köln, 1971]

[marshvlovestv]

Prompt number: 14 "Did you stick to the plan?"

Fandom: Psychonauts

Rating: Teen and up

Warnings/Tags: Past child death, religious trauma, canon-typical anti-psychic bigotry

“You guys, you’re never gonna believe this! Kratt is up to something is up to something way bigger and worse than we thought. I was in his office, and he was meeting with this CEO, and they were talking about enslaving psychics to work on assembly lines, and –”

“In his office?” Grand Head Zanotto tilted his head, softly interrupting. “That was nowhere near your assigned point. Agent Aquato…”

“Razputin,” said Sasha.

“Soldier!” said Morry, with the tone of someone who had been burned before.

There was a silence in the air, and Milla could tell they meant for her to be the one to fill it. She tamped down her rising fear and frowned at Razputin. “Darling…”

Finally, the circle of scoldings made its way back to the Grand Head. “Did you stick to the plan?”

Razputin looked at the adults one by one, half any of their heights but with twice the boldness. “I could tell there was something going on in that office, and I knew no one else would be there yet! Don’t worry, I floated up through the vents,” he said, miming brushing the issue off his shoulder. “No one saw me.”

Floated up? Milla was suddenly overcome by a great nausea. A hand on her stomach, she waited until Grand Head Zanotto’s gentle reprimand had everyone else distracted, then nudged Sasha with a whispered “Pardon.” She tried to hold it in, but tears were dotting her eyelashes by the time she got to her office.

Milla had taught Razputin how to levitate. The tools of his recklessness, a gift from her. And no, he wasn’t her responsibility anymore; she gifted this skill to every young psychic who passed through the organization, and it was theirs to do what they wished with as soon as they left the camp. And Razputin, he wielded it so much more deftly than any of the others…

But Razputin. Brash, stubborn, confident Razputin. Milla wondered as she had before if she had picked a poor student.

He reminded her so much of Jacó.

Jacó’s mother had still been alive, but she’d abandoned him. She didn’t give the orphanage her reason, because surely Madre Superiora would not have accepted her child if she’d told the truth. The sisters had taught the orphans to abhor the false prophet, the magician, the psychic, for they had no place in God’s kingdom. Milla had recited these same lines without conviction, because it was what she’d had to do to be allowed to care for the children. Still, she would hide Jacó’s bent spoons from the other sisters. She would put a finger to her lips, telling him to be more careful. And one day, she would offer to train him in secret.

She hadn’t had the words yet for many of their powers, so she’d taught Jacó “throwing,” “other-sight,” and her favorite, “flight.” She’d told him never to use these powers where the nuns or the other children could see him. He’d listened. Milla thought he’d listened. But maybe he hadn’t listened quite well enough.

She wanted to believe it was a coincidence that the orphanage had met its gruesome fate just weeks after she’d introduced him to “fire-starting.” But she couldn’t deny what she’d heard when she approached that burning building. What Jacó said to her in between his death screams was the first purely mental communication she’d ever had with another psychic: I’m sorry.

“Agent Vodello?” A small, quavering voice pulled Milla out of her wallowing. She realized that she’d been forcing her sobs in, but her body was still shaking.

Razputin was rubbing his arm, head tilted towards the ground. He’d received all the scolding he deserved and was pondering it now – and luckily, the things he pondered tended to stick with him.

Milla didn’t want to add to his guilt, but she couldn’t help but make a plea of her own to join Morry’s, Sasha’s, and Grand Head Zanotto’s. “Keep yourself safe, Razputin. That’s all I ask of you.”

Razputin frowned and nodded determinedly. “I will, I promise! Don’t worry, Milla, you won’t lose me like –” He bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from saying what he had been about to. “I’ll always be careful!”

Milla shook her head and smiled sadly. Razputin knew about the orphans, and he knew because he’d snooped through the depths of her mind and hadn’t left when she’d told him. This boy was always going to do what he thought was fun or interesting or right. He might save the world that way. He might meet the same fate as Jacó first.

It was out of Milla’s hands in all ways but one. She rarely found herself praying since she’d left the church. But someone had to watch over Razputin, and it couldn’t always be her.

[entre-tinieblas]

Señoras y señores, Julieta Serrano 👏👏👏

[entre-tinieblas]

you are the only one my heart wants

[jesusreidamisericordia]

Estás unida Comigo, nada temas. Diário 412.

[icecry]

Why does Mother Superior bring back horrible memories of my childhood in Boston? :') I've seen her many times in my life and she's an interesting foil to Alma!

📿| MADRE SUPERIORA / MADRE ERNESTINA You and I both! I was happy to see comments about her on here and on the other platforms I post this comic on.

I was really excited about this particular character because of my own background, growing up in a Catholic school for 12 years. In small towns like mine, the nuns or teachers that teach you most likely taught your parents. They probably know your grandparents because they see them at church.

The dynamic between Alma and Madre Ernestina was STATE vs. CHURCH (in an extremely broad and general sense of the meaning.) THE HEAD OF THE VILLAGE vs. THE HEAD OF THE CHURCH She has a lot of criticism about how Alma governs the village. My favorite panel is the flashback of their younger selves as two youthful women in their earlier days of responsibilities when Alma was a young single mother and Ernestina was 'Hermana Ernistina.'

Perhaps there was a time when they were friends in their childhood?

Please check out the latest Chapter! 【 THE DEVIL'S HANGED MAN 】

[virgulaleal]

O QUEIJORCISTA

Grátis no seu navegador

Um jogo de ação que coloca VOCÊ, o irmão Karras Mundongo, contra os dragões da Catedral Maldita.

Roube todos os queijos para a Madre Superiora! A tradição do dogma Ratólico está em jogo!

[multiverseofseries]

Immaculate - La prescelta: Sydney Sweeney mostro di bravura

Immaculate - La prescelta, film con Sydney Sweeney nel ruolo di una suora, Cecilia, tra fede e body horror. Una cosa è sicura: l'attrice è sempre più un mostro di bravura.

Incredibile come Sydney Sweeney fosse riuscita a evitare nella sua ormai lunga carriera (nonostante la giovane età recita al cinema da 15 anni) un ruolo da scream queen. Proprio lei, che ha la presenza scenica perfetta per una parte del genere. Finalmente quel momento è arrivato. Ma, come ci ha abituato, non è scontato: invece che dare corpo a una studentessa in vacanza in una località isolata, pronta a farsi inseguire in bikini da qualcuno con una motosega, l'attrice si fa suora. In Immaculate - La prescelta, è Cecilia, novizia americana che vola in Italia per prendere i voti e seguire la propria vocazione.

Sydney Sweeney in Immaculate - La prescelta

Il convento in cui viene spedita, un posto in mezzo al nulla, che sorge sopra a delle catacombe, non è però esattamente quello che si potrebbe definire un luogo accogliente: come dicono le suore guidate dalla Madre Superiora (Dora Romano, meraviglioso volto del cinema italiano, pieno di una durezza d'altri tempi, che vorremmo vedere sempre più sul grande schermo) la fede è sofferenza. Essere la sposa di Dio significa quindi offrire il proprio corpo. A qualunque prezzo: anche a costo di provare dolore.

Il film di Michael Mohan, che con Sweeney ha già lavorato in The Voyeurs, gioca bene con body horror e thriller e sopratutto con la fotografia (firmata da Elisha Christian): in alcune scene è la stessa protagonista a illuminarsi con candele e torce, creando contrasti di luce in grado di costruire un'atmosfera sempre più piena di tensione e angoscia. Ma è proprio l'attrice a lanciare allo spettatore una sfida metatestuale davvero interessante: famosa per le sue curve e per l'essere sexy, al punto che c'è chi ha cercato di strumentalizzare il suo corpo definendolo la "risposta all'ideologia woke" (qualsiasi cosa questo voglia dire), Sweeney se ne riappropria sapientemente, non mostrandolo praticamente mai. Se volessimo definire Immaculate - La prescelta con una sola frase potremmo infatti definirlo così: il miracolo è mio e me lo gestisco io.

La trama di Immaculate: a cosa credi?

Non solo suore inquietanti. La trama di Immaculate vede infatti la presenza, sempre più asfissiante, di padre Sal Tedeschi (Álvaro Morte, il Professore della serie La casa di carta): ex biologo, è lui a scavare nel passato di Cecilia, scoprendo che la ragazza è quasi morta da piccola, cadendo in un lago ghiacciato. Da allora ha sentito fortissima la sua vocazione: Dio deve averla salvata per un motivo. Un motivo importante. Possibile che la ragione sia tra quelle antiche mura? Non ne è così certa Gwen (Benedetta Porcaroli): anche lei novizia, non è così ingenua e pura come la ragazza americana. Fuma e sa quando qualcuno le sta dicendo una bugia. Non riesce a convincersi che, proprio lì, sia avvenuto un miracolo. Padre Sal però ne è sicuro, così come il Cardinale Franco Merola (Giorgio Colangeli, in un momento d'oro della sua carriera). Che sia tutto previsto da un disegno divino?

Sydney Sweeney è sempre più brava

Non si perde in momenti morti e chiacchiere inutili Michael Mohan: Immaculate - La prescelta è diviso in tre atti, per una durata di 90 minuti, tutti necessari a raccontare la storia di Cecilia e del suo miracolo. Il ritmo è dunque veloce, la tensione alta, il cast ottimo. Su tutti proprio la protagonista: Sydney Sweeney è in grado di passare dal candore più assoluto e innocente a una maschera di rabbia inarrestabile. Non temete infatti: se vi interessa il sangue ne avrete in abbondanza.

L'attrice si trasforma davanti ai nostri occhi in un angelo sterminatore, degno del miglior revenge movie. A impreziosire il tutto una confezione curata e un gusto evidente per il trucco prostetico. Si parla di fede e spirito santo in questo film, ma tutto è molto materico: la carne, ciocche di capelli tagliati, le piume strappate dei polli. E poi fiamme che lasciano segni, denti che cadono: in questo caso il corpo vince sullo spirito. Per arrivare a un climax intelligente e indimenticabile: il finale di Immaculate - La prescelta avrebbe infatti potuto prendere una strada più facile, consolatoria. Invece, anche qui, Sydney Sweeney accetta di rendersi protagonista di una scena ambigua e volutamente disturbante. È così che cresce un mostro di bravura: con scelte coraggiose e non scontate come questa.

Conclusioni

In conclusione Immaculate - La prescelta, il film di Michael Mohan unisce bene elementi del body horror al thriller, senza perdersi in scene e discorsi inutili, rimanendo compatto e dal ritmo serrato in tutti i suoi 90 minuti di durata. C'è grande gusto per il trucco prostetico e l'utilizzo della luce naturale, ma è Sydney Sweeney a brillare più di tutto: sempre più brava, passa con disinvoltura dall'essere un'ingenua a diventare un angelo sterminatore. Il finale di Immaculate - La prescelta resterà con voi a lungo.

👍🏻

Sydney Sweeney: sempre più brava.

Il ritmo serrato, senza scene e dialoghi inutili.

L'ottimo cast di contorno.

L'utilizzo della luce naturale.

Le props e il trucco prostetico.

Il finale che non si dimentica.

👎🏻

Chi è attento potrebbe anticipare presto molti dei colpi di scena.

Non vi aspettate il film definitivo su suore e horror.