#all my years unwillingly going to church led to this moment

[i-tripped-on-a-rock]

I listened to good time by owl city on repeat while drawing this

[flowerandblood]

Death and Resurrection

The Gate of Salvation Universe Oneshot

[ young pope • Aemond x catholic • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, sexual tension, anxiety, doubts related to faith, religious guilt, breaking celibacy ]

[ description: When the Pope decides, after drawing inspiration from TV series, that they will go on a date, she knows that she cannot refuse. However, it turns out that their adventure ends differently than they both expected and a boundary is crossed from which there is no return. Main theme: sexual tension & holy touch. ]

This oneshot is the events that take place a few months after The Gate of Salvation and The Songs of Songs. It can be read as a oneshot, but at the same time it is a complement to the entire series.

Aemond as a Pope Edit Series Characters Moodboard Aemond NSFW Alphabet

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

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"Where are we going?" She asked apprehensively − they had never gone underground together before, the cramped, dark corridor beneath the Papal Residence through which he led her while holding her hand smelled of centuries-old dampness.

His attire also made her uneasy − he was dressed all in a white tracksuit, a hood over his head and sunglasses with white frames on his nose.

He wore this outfit whenever he wanted to get away somewhere.

"We're going on a date." He communicated softly, as if he was just explaining to her what they were going to have for breakfast. She shook her head, looking back in horror, feeling her heart pounding like mad.

"Please, Holy Father. We can't." She mumbled helplessly, knowing that usually when he came up with an idea it was difficult to dissuade him from it.

She thought with horror that it was because of a TV series they had recently watched. He insisted that she show him the blockbusters she loved as a child on her laptop, so she decided to show him The Office for fun. She turned on a random episode and the main characters in it went on a date, leaving him bewildered.

She thought he would be disgusted by the jokes and humor in this series, but he was intrigued by something completely different.

"What's so great about dating? What's the point of it? Why can't they just meet up and talk about what's important to them?" He asked with a frustration that surprised her.

She realised that his years in the church and convent had completely disconnected him from the life he could have lived as a teenager.

She wasn't sure how she should explain this.

"It's true, however, you can't be serious all your life. Sometimes, as we are doing now, a couple feels like watching a film and just being together. It's pleasant then, for example, to go to eat ice cream, to take a walk in the park, to have shared memories, shared moments." She muttered, feeling embarrassed that her explanation was childish and that he certainly thought she was silly.

He, however, only pressed his lips together at her words, as if something in her words troubled him, his fingers beginning to play with the fabric of her dress covering her knees, trailing over her bare skin after a moment.

"Would you like to experience something like this?" He asked as if unwillingly, tense.

She knew she couldn't ask that of him.

What they were doing was too much anyway, and they both knew it.

She smiled at that thought, squeezing his fingers in hers.

"No, Holy Father. You give me more than I would dare to ask. I am happy and fulfilled." She said softly. His gaze lifted to her as if to see if she was telling the truth − his arm finally embraced her and drew her close, her cheek pressed lightly against his chest.

She was sure he'd forgotten about it, but he'd clearly taken her words so personally that he couldn't get over it.

"I had it all planned out. We’ll blend in with the crowd, have an ice creams, walk around the Vatican and come back. After this we can kiss if you want." He added after a moment, as if he thought that might be part of her ideal image of the event.

She swallowed loudly at the thought, feeling at once terror, discomfort and warmth in her heart, love for him, gratitude at how much he cared, how much he wanted to give her everything she could possibly need in his mind.

She pressed her lips together at the thought that when they stepped outside he hadn't let go of her hand − he intertwined their fingers together as they headed quickly down the main street between the cramped tenements, looking around.

"It should be somewhere in there. I checked on the map." He said excitedly, like a little boy pulling her behind him towards a café that held a huge fridge outside, where you could actually order ice cream.

She looked around as they got closer, afraid that by some miracle even though no one knew what he looked like, someone would connect the dots, someone would recognise him.

As if he always had to wear that bloody white tracksuit.

"Good evening." The girl standing at the counter greeted them, waiting for their order.

"Good evening. We'd like five scoops of ice cream in two different cones, please. What flavours do you want?"

"Five? That's too many, we won't eat it all." She muttered surprised, looking at him in disbelief. He turned towards her, his eyes hidden behind his glasses, all she saw was that he furrowed his brow.

"No? Are you sure?" He asked with disappointment, from which she scratched her cheek.

"I mean…if you are sure you can eat that much then, take it. I'll stick with two."

Holy Father seemed displeased, however, he cheered up when he saw the size of his cone with scoops in cream, vanilla, strawberry, toffee and blueberry. She watched with amusement as he struggled to eat with a plastic spoon what had started to run down the waffle into the bottom of his cone, herself taking her ice cream from the seller.

"How is it? Do you like it?" She asked with a laugh, seeing him lick his fingers, all sticky from the berry cream.

"Very much. It's delicious. What should we do now?" He asked, looking around, eating and at the same time trying not to stain his snowy white tracksuit.

"Let's just stroll."

They moved ahead arm in arm, looking around the evening skyline of the Vatican, focusing only on the food and this surprisingly pleasant moment.

"Have you done this before? Dating and all?" He asked reluctantly, as if the thought that she might have done it with another man before him made him uncomfortable. She looked at him indulgently, trying to hide a smile of amusement.

"Not really. I haven't had the opportunity. I have never been as close to anyone as I have been to you, Holy Father."

"Aemond."

"Pardon?"

He shrugged his shoulders, taking a bit of strawberry ice cream into his mouth.

"That's my name. I won't mind if you use it when we're alone." He muttered, visibly tense, as if what he'd said, the fact that he'd exposed himself to her terrified him.

She smiled involuntarily at his words, embarrassed.

"Very well."

After a few minutes, she could clearly see that the portion he'd ordered for himself had outgrown him − he was eating slower and slower, and it occurred to her that he'd gone pale when she'd long since finished eating her ice cream. He wanted to share his portion with her, but she shook her head.

"I can't fit any more. But if you don't have the strength to eat it, don't force yourself." She muttered, seeing him sigh heavily.

"Wasting food is a sin." He mumbled and continued eating, apparently trying not to think about the discomfort in his stomach.

It wasn't even a few seconds after he had squeezed the last bit of cone into himself when he vomited the entire contents of his stomach into one of the bins.

She ran up to him quickly, horrified, stroking his back, taking from his face the glasses that had rolled down his nose so they wouldn't fall right into his puke.

"Oh dear. Are you okay?" She asked tenderly, at the same time unable to hold back a smile of pity thinking that she had warned him after all.

He was like a little child.

When they returned back to his residence by the same route they had fled he wanted to go back to his room, although he usually insisted that she let him sleep in her bed.

"Let's go to my place. I don't want you to spend the night alone when you're feeling unwell." She said softly, grasping his fingers. He pulled down the hood from his head, all pale, fatigue in his eye.

"I ruined everything."

Though reluctantly, he followed her as she began to pull him towards her room. After he had brushed his teeth and brought himself to order, he lay on the bed without strength − he watched indifferently as she changed into her pyjamas, closing his eyes, as he always did when she revealed her naked flesh.

She was touched by how much respect he had for her, how important it was for him to treat her body with proper reverence.

She lay down beside him, turning off the lamp beforehand, his face immediately snuggled against her soft breasts.

"Do you love me?"

She froze and swallowed loudly, feeling her heart begin to pound like mad under his cheek, her hand that had been stroking his hair stopped in mid-motion.

"I love you. You are the love of my life."

She pressed her lips together when she heard him gasp, an indication that he was crying but didn't want her to see it. It took him a moment to get more out of himself, her lips placing warm, reassuring kisses on his head.

"Forgive me for not being able to give you what you need."

"You give it to me."

"You know what I mean. Sometimes I wonder…" He began and hesitated, swallowing heavily, as if afraid to say his words aloud.

"…I wonder what would happen if I left, if I married you. I imagine we would have had children, a house with a garden. That we would have had a dog. That we would pray in the evening and then make love and it wouldn't be a sin."

She shuddered at his words, feeling a drop of cold sweat run down her back, her body tensed, all hot.

"− I − you would not forgive me for that −" She muttered helplessly. She felt him rise up on his elbow, his lips parted in an accelerated breath, his cheeks swollen from tears.

"− for what? −"

"− that I have destroyed your life − pulled you away from God and your destiny −" She whispered in a trembling voice, feeling a warm tear fall from the corner of her eyes onto the pillow under her head.

He looked at her with a gaze filled with pain, breathing heavily, playing with the fabric of her shirt between his fingers.

"− but it is in your presence that I feel his presence most strongly − as if he were in the room with us −"

"− the devil takes the form of angels −" She mumbled wearily, letting the air out loudly, feeling that her throat was squeezed with pain.

Was this the moment?

The moment when she would have to say farewell to him, do the right thing?

"I have deceived you for too long. Forgive me. I will give my official notice tomorrow."

He looked at her dully, as if he didn't understand what she had just said, his breath stuck in his throat.

"− you said you love me −"

"− I do −"

"− that you won't leave me alone −"

"− I won't leave, not in my prayers − but I'm destroying your life, pulling you away from what matters −"

"− is it because of this stupid date? − I regret ever taking you there −" He hissed, as if he was furious at his idea and the woman who sold them ice cream.

"− no, of course not − Holy Father −"

"− Aemond −" He growled.

She pressed her lips together, swallowing hard, the first time she had seen him like this − his jaw clenched, his nostrils twitching in accelerated, anxious breathing, his gaze dark and cold.

She didn't recognise him.

"− don't you remember what I said to you when I first met you? − there is no greater sinner in the world than me − because I am eternally, eternally thirsty −" He said slowly and carefully, like a predator who was just slowly preparing to lash out at its prey.

"− do you think you know what I desire? − what I really need? − I'll show you −" He said lowly, not even giving her time to reply − his lips immediately clung to hers in an aggressive, impatient kiss that took her breath away, a startled, muffled squeal escaping from her throat.

She felt his body pressed her back against the bed as his hips began to rub his hard manhood hidden under the material of his sweatpants to the spot between her thighs making her shake with a strong, wonderful shiver of pleasure.

"− mghm −" She mumbled out, clenching her fingers in his hair as she felt his slick tongue invade deep into her throat, licking her with its tip − she was panting into his mouth, shocked, involuntarily responding by rocking her hips to his movements.

"− undress −" He breathed out, rising up on his knees, pulling the material of his sweatshirt over his head with a quick, impatient swipe of his hands − she stared at him with wide eyes, feeling her insides clench greedily around nothing at the sight of his bare chest.

Her trembling fingers quickly rose to the buttons of her shirt, undoing it one by one, exposing her skin piece after piece. She shuddered and moaned, surprised, as his hands pushed the material aside, revealing her breasts and stomach.

His lips parted in desire at the sight − his hand tentatively rose higher, running gently over her bare flesh, kneading and massaging her breast between his fingers.

For the first time he was looking at her naked body, at what he was doing, and she felt like she was going to die of desire. It seemed to her that everything that happened next was like a dream − his swollen lips that clung to hers, their panting as they impatiently slid every piece of their clothing off each other, when at last his bare skin pressed against hers.

"− Aemond −" She gasped out into his mouth, feeling his thick length rubbing against her achingly swollen folds, their hands trailing blindly over their naked, sweaty bodies, pressing into their exposed skin as if to melt them into one.

"− fuck − so warm − so soft − like silk −" He murmured, sliding his lips down to her jaw, neck and shoulders, leaving wet, sticky trails behind − her body arched back with her innocent, surprised whine as his mouth finally pressed down around her puffy, hard nipple and began to suck on it.

"− yes − God, yes −" She mumbled, involuntarily spreading her legs in front of him − she heard his grunt of delight as he moved his hips back in a soft motion so that a moment later she could feel the fat, leaking head of his cock begin to push against her slick opening.

She guided him with the movement of her body to where he should slide in, only to hear his sigh of delight a moment later as he thrust deeply into her with an impatient, desperate push of his hips.

"− yes − yes, yes, yes −" She panted, tilting her head back with her eyes closed, digging her fingers into the hot skin of his buttocks, startling him as she threw her legs around his waist, crossing them over his back.

Nothing but grunts and noises of pleasure left his throat as, with his lips pressed against her nipple, he pounded into her again and again with deep, greedy, fast thrusts, from which their bodies slapped against each other again and again with loud, sticky splats.

For the first time in her life, she was experiencing something so animal and spiritual at the same time − him deep inside her, stretching her tight, fleshy walls apart, doing what was natural to man, what Adam had done to Eve back in Eden.

"− forgive me − I −" He breathed out at last, as if with each successive brutal thrust of his hips he understood that there would be no turning back from this, that they had crossed a line after which nothing would be the same again, that he would take her for himself in every sense of the word.

"− inside me − please, inside me −" She mumbled helplessly, thinking only of the fact that she craved his seed inside her, that she could be his lover, his whore, bear his children if it meant spending her life by his side.

By the side of the man she loved.

She reached her peak with a sweet little moan of relief at the thought, at the image of herself and him, holding their children in their arms. She heard him gasp loudly at her words and closed his eyes, panting heavily as she suddenly felt something hot and sticky squirt out of him deep inside her.

"− f-fuck − fuck, oh, God −" He mumbled out, rocking his hips inside her with a loud click of their shared wetness for a moment longer, his mouth wide open, his eyes closed, as if he wanted to remember this moment forever.

After a moment, he looked at her − there was a calmness in his eyes and some kind of certainty, as if he already knew what was right.

"− marry me −"

[socialpsycho484]

Word Count: 2051

Proofread?: Yes

Proofread by: @wannabekook

Warning: Language and Angst

1/2

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A silent atmosphere, red tinting the forbidden sky of the town of Silent Hill. I was a part of the church, unwillingly held to be a sacrifice to the beast. Everyday they forced me to eat disgusting food to keep my weight maintained and healthy. I hated it. This had all started when I was just a boy, going to school like the rest of the children til they deemed me to be a heretic. My two toned eyes and pale skin made me stand out and the church didn’t see that as normal.

They said they would purify me, make me normal like the rest of the kids. But they didn’t do what they said they were going to do. My clothes were tattered and dirty as I lay on a cold stone floor, chained to the wall by my ankle. My ankle had started to bruise from the days I would struggle to get free.

A nightmare was what I call my life now, waiting for the day they drag me to my utter demise. Some days I would cry out for my parents and some days I would try to sleep for days to ease my pain. Ten years living this way since the age of eighteen.

The days were getting easier as time had passed. Until today. I sat up from the ground, running my hand through my filthy hair. My face was scruffy, knowing I clearly needed to shave. I took in the horrifying red glimmer of outside that shone through the little window in my cell. I had grown used to it thankfully but I still dreaded what was outside.

The cell door opened, drawing my attention almost immediately. I tug at the chain attached to my ankle as I stand up.

The priest watched me with disgust, as if I was some grotesque abomination. “Come on you freak, let’s get you cleaned up.”

I wanted to fight against the man that stood before me but two other robed people stepped in, one unchaining my ankle and the other tying my hands behind my back. I just relaxed as they finally led me out of my cell, taking me to bathe and freshen up. I only got this treatment once a month which I couldn’t lie, I was thankful for it.

As I settled into the warm water, I lay my head back and thought of what freedom was truly like. This felt similar to freedom, being out of that damned cell was my short lived freedom. I reached my hands up and began to wash the dirt and grime off my face and out of my hair.

After I finished washing up, I shaved my face and cut my hair enough that it barely hung over my eyes. ‘That’s better’ I thought to myself before getting dressed. But what I didn’t know was that today was the day they deemed me old enough and fit enough to be sacrificed to the beast.

The priest walked in and grabbed me by the arm before pulling me along. My eyes focused on the double doors. The exit. My eyes went wide as instinct kicked in. I knew it was time. Fear filled my every fiber, starting to pull and struggle in the priest’s grip.

The priest pulled harder, dragging me along. The air was cold, horribly cold. After some time of struggling and physical protesting, I gave in. When I was forced onto my knees, they placed chains on my wrists that were connected to the ground behind me. Confused for a moment, looking around to see what was going on.

This horrible noise filled the air as well as the sound of heavy footsteps. A large monster looking humanoid walked into view. It had some large pyramid shaped helmet on its head and a large blade in its hand. Pained groans filled the silence as it staggered towards me. Panicking as the beast grew closer and closer.

‘What the hell is that thing?’ I asked myself, staring at it.

But my thoughts fell silent as the beast stood directly in front of me, staring me down but it just swayed there. My eyes skimmed over the beast down to its large weapon. I was wondering why this thing hadn’t swung at me yet.

It analyzed me through those holes in its helmet, letting out a hiss-like breath. The priest didn’t seem happy that the damn thing wasn’t doing anything to me. Hope filled me until the creature grabbed me by my hair and pulled me up. I let out a scream of pain, the chains around my wrists digging into my flesh. My screams made the monster set me down before reaching behind me and breaking the chains.

Something I hadn’t expected from the executioner but I wasn’t going to fight against it. The beast hoisted me up over its shoulder and began to carry me away into the darkness.

The priest just stared, anger boiling in his eyes as he retreated. I watched as everything around me faded to black, the only sounds I could hear were the occasional groans and deep breaths from under the beast’s helmet. I was beginning to wonder if this thing had a name or even talked.

My mind wandered off as my fears faded into the distance. “What are you?” I asked the creature but there wasn’t a response.

The creature dropped me onto the ground, landing on my back with a grunt and a gasp. I recover quickly, looking up at the towering figure. I then raised my eyebrow, unsure if the damn thing would actually answer me. Sitting up, I rubbed my back and let out a soft hiss from between my lips.

“You could’ve just set me down instead of dropping me on the ground.” I said with an annoyed scoff. I stand up, dusting myself off.

The beast just groaned in response to my annoyance, lowering itself to be leveled with my height. It was like the damn thing was inspecting me for something but I wasn’t too sure. I simply took a step back in avoidance to create some distance. The monster lifted a hand and pointed its finger at me which kinda put me in an uneasy state.

“What are you pointing to?” I asked, trying to make an attempt to understand.

The executioner pointed to its own head. Confused by this gesture, mocking its odd behavior and pointed to my head then it dawned on me. I made an ‘Oh��� kind of expression as I finally got what it was saying. “Pyramid head?” I asked just to be sure. It nodded at me to confirm my assumption before pointing at me, as if it wanted my name.

“My name is Y/N.” I introduced myself.

Pyramid Head gave one last nod before picking me back up over his shoulder. I struggled in his grip and groaned in annoyance.

I was always being dragged around by these damned assholes. Honestly, I was getting tired of being treated like some ragdoll. I thought that this would be the end of being pulled around but clearly it wasn’t. ‘Fuck this shit man.’ I thought to myself as I let myself go limp over the behemoth's shoulder.

After what seemed to be hours of being carried around through the dark, a dim light came into view. Trees surrounded the area. ‘Where are we?’ I couldn’t help to mentally ask myself. It was a barrel on fire that had been lighting the area. Pyramid head finally set me down on the ground, letting me stand on my own. I took a seat on the ground, my head pounding from my head being upside down the whole way to the rest stop.

The large man took a seat beside me and let out a deep huff and groan. I looked at him before rolling my eyes, laying back in the cold grass. I was used to the cold at this point from the years I spent sleeping in a rinky dink ass cell with no blanket, no bed, and tattered up clothes that barely covered a damn thing. I noticed the horrific man crawling towards me which was unsettling.

When he laid down beside me, it seemed to be some sort of gesture to offer warmth. I was hesitant to accept it but I knew I missed the feeling of sleeping in a warmer environment so I gestured to him that I was okay with it.

As I did so, his large arms wrapped around me, enveloping me in his warm embrace. I hesitated a moment before easing into it, relaxing and closing my eyes. The new found warmth was amazing and I just let myself melt into it.

I eventually began to doze off in a light slumber, finally resting peacefully without having to worry about eating another shitty meal or being cold ever again. My mind was flooding with memories of my mom and dad. I couldn’t wait to get home. I began to dream about them as I fell deeper into my sleep. I didn’t toss or turn a bit.

Pyramid Head’s breathing eased away into the back of my mind as I slept.

As the morning began to set in, I had woken up to the cold. I sat up, confused as to where the opposing figure had disappeared off to. As I went to call out for him, he appeared behind me with a rabbit in hand. My mouth began to water immediately. God damn it I was hungry. This had been the first time I had seen meat since I had been taken away to live as a sacrifice.

He extended it out to me and I quickly swiped it from his hand. After skinning it and gutting it, I stuck it on a stick and roasted it over the barrel of fire. My mouth practically foamed as the smell of cooked rabbit meat filled my nose. God it smelt so good. It began to make me think about home. I frowned and pulled the now cooked meat to my lips.

An unbearable wave of sadness hit me in the chest, my bottom lip quivering as I tried to hold myself together. My chest became tighter as I willed myself to take a bite, a tear escaping my eye. I let out a stifled sob, chewing the meat. My chest heaved with each sob I was unable to hold back, leaning over.

Pyramid Head stared at me, almost like he was confused. He looked at the meat like it was the cause of whatever I was doing.

A moment passed and I had calmed down, finally able to eat without struggle. I was still upset but there was no way I could fix my sadness right now. I started to wonder why I had been born tainted but I quickly smacked myself out of that way of thinking. I was just as normal as the rest, so what if I looked different.

A week had finally passed and I was getting more used to my nights and days being cared for and nurtured by this beast. Even though I couldn’t get direct answers out of him, I helped him communicate through body language and told him a bit about myself as well as my past.

I felt much safer the more I spent time with the inhuman figure, I was kind of growing to like him. I found it funny when he tried to comfort me during the times I cried. He was a very curious creature to be as deadly as he was. From time to time, I would explain to him that I was crying and wasn’t injured. I knew he didn’t understand what that was.

On the final day of my trip back home, I hesitated, knowing that I would be throwing away my newly created memories of Pyramid Head to be home with my family.

As me and the figure stood at the edge of the town of Silent Hill, I looked at him before hugging him tightly. I felt sad to have been leaving so I promised I’d come visit him. I said my last good bye and ran home to be reunited with my family.

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This is my first post for my Silent Hill blog, I will take positive feedback. Feel free to ask questions and I will get to them when I am able to. Also feel free to go check out @darylsbitchboy for my TWD fanfics! Thank you!

[mattchase82]

Cry of a Lost Soul

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This unusual narrative recounts the revelations of a lost soul to a former acquaintance. It is a powerful record of the steps which led a young woman to lose her soul in Hell for all eternity.

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Although it has several times been printed with imprimatur, this in itself does not guarantee the authenticity of the story.

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An imprimatur merely indicates that the subject matter is free from error in faith and morals.

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Is it true?

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Obviously, it cannot be "guaranteed" because the only evidence is that of the girl herself.

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It certainly may be true and its instructional qualities would pertain even if the story itself were not true.

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In the July apparition at Fatima a vision of a Hell of fire was given to the three little children, and significantly, its existence was confirmed by the great public miracle on October 13th.

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Yet Hell is little spoken of in the pulpits. Because of this, the special intervention of Heaven, may, as at Fatima, be necessary to restore this sobering doctrine to its important place in Christian dogma.

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It is well to remember that the Hell spoken of here is the Hell which has a significant place in Catholic doctrine, the Hell described vividly by Christ Himself, the Hell seen in all its livid horror by the children at Fatima on July 13th, 1917.

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The names of persons and places are omitted because of the nature of the Article.

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Clara and Annette, both single Catholics in their early twenties, worked adjacent to each other as employees of a commercial firm in Germany. Although they were never very close friends, they shared a courteous mutual regard which led to an exchange of ideas and, eventually, of confidences. Clara professed herself openly religious, and felt it her duty to instruct and admonish Annette when the latter appeared excessively casual or superficial in religious matters.

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In due course, Annette married and left the firm. The year was 1937. Clara spent the autumn of that year on holiday at Lake Garda. About the middle of September she received a letter from her mother. "Annette . . . is dead. She was the victim of an auto accident and was buried yesterday at Wald-Friedhof."

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Clara was frightened since she knew her friend was not very religious. Was she prepared to appear before God? Dying suddenly, what had happened to her?

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The next day she attended Mass, received Holy Communion, and prayed fervently for her friend. The following night, at ten minutes after midnight, the vision took place. . .

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"Clara, do not pray for me! I am in hell. If I tell you this and speak at length about it, do not think it is because of our friendship. We here do not love anyone. I do this as under constraint. In truth, I should like to see you to come to this state where I must remain forever."

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"Perhaps that angers you, but here we all think that way. Our wills are hardened in evil - in what you call evil. Even when we do something 'good', as I do now, opening your eyes about hell, it is not because of a good intention."

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"Do you still remember our first meeting four years ago at. . .? You were then 23 and had been there already half a year. Because I was a beginner, you gave me some helpful advice. Then I praised your love of your neighbor. Ridiculous! Your help was mere coquetry. Here we do not acknowledge any good - in anybody."

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"Do you remember what I told you about my youth? Now I am painfully compelled to fill in some of the gaps."

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"According to the plan of my parents, I should not have existed. A misfortune brought about my conception. My two sisters were 14 and 15 when I was born."

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"Would that I had never existed! Would that I could now annihilate myself! Escape these tortures! No pleasure would equal that with which I would abandon my existence, as a garment of ashes which is lost in nothingness. But I must continue to exist as I chose to make myself - as a ruined person."

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"When father and mother, still young, left the country for the city, they had lost touch with the Church and were keeping company with irreligious people. They had met at a dance, and after a year and a half of companionship they 'had' to get married."

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"As a result of the nuptial ceremony, so much holy water remained on them that my mother attended Sunday Mass a couple of times a year. But she never taught me to pray. Instead, she was completely taken up with the daily cares of life, although our situation was not bad."

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"I refer to prayer, Mass, religious instruction, holy water, church with a very strong repugnance. I hate all that, as I hate those who go to church, and in general every human being and everything."

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"From a great many things do we receive torture. Every knowledge received at the hour of death, every remembrance of things lived or known is for us, a piercing flame. In each remembrance, good and bad, we see the way in which was present - the grace we despised or ignored. What a torture is this! We do not eat, we do not sleep, we do not walk. Chained, with howling and gnashing of teeth, we look appalled at our ruined life, hating and suffering. Do you hear? We here drink hatred like water. Above all we hate God. With reluctance do I force myself to make you understand."

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"The blessed in heaven must love God because they see Him without veil, in all His dazzling beauty. That makes their bliss indescribable. We know this and the knowledge makes us furious. Men on earth, who know God from nature and from revelation, can love Him, but they are not compelled to do so. The believer - I say this with gnashing of teeth - who contemplates Christ on the cross, with arms extended, will end by loving Him."

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"But he whom God approaches only in the final storm, as punisher, as just avenger, because he was rejected by Him, such a person cannot but hate Him with all the strength of his wicked will. We died with willful resolve to be separated from God. Do you now understand why hell lasts forever! It is because our wills were fixed for eternity at the moment of death. We had made our final choice. Our obstinacy will never leave us. Under compulsion, I must add that God is merciful even towards us. I affirm many things against my will and must choke the torrent of abuses I should like to vomit out."

.

"God was merciful to us by not allowing our wicked wills to exhaust themselves on earth, as we should have been prepared to do. This would have increased our faults and our pains. He caused us to die before our time, as in my case, or had other mitigating circumstances intervene. Now He shows Himself merciful towards us by not compelling a closer approach than that afforded in this remote inferno. Every step bringing us closer to God would cause us a greater pain than that which a step closer to a burning furnace would cause you."

.

"You were scared when once, during a walk, I told you that my father, a few days before my first Communion, had told me: 'My little Annette, the main thing is your beautiful white dress, all the rest is just make-believe.' Because of your concern, I was almost ashamed. Now I sneer at it."

.

"The important thing is that we were not allowed to receive Communion until the age of 12. By then I was already absorbed in worldly amusements and found it easy to set aside, without scruple, the things of religion. Thus, I attached no great importance to my first Communion. We are furious that many children go to Communion at the age of seven. We do all we can to make people believe that children have insufficient knowledge at that age. They must first commit some mortal sins. Then the white Particle will not do so much damage to our cause as when faith, hope, and charity - oh, these things! - received in Baptism, are still alive in their hearts."

.

"Marta K - and you induced me to enter "The Association of the Young Ladies." The games were amusing. As you know, I immediately took a directive part. I liked it. I also like the picnics. I even let myself be induced to go to confession and communion sometimes."

.

"Once you warned me, 'Anne, if you do not pray, you go to perdition.' I used to pray very little indeed, and even this unwillingly. You were then only too right. All those who burn in hell did not pray or did not pray enough."

.

"Prayer is the first step towards God. And it is the decisive step. Especially prayer to her who is the Mother of Christ, whose name we never pronounce. Devotion to her rescues from the devil numberless souls whom sin would infallibly give to him."

.

"I continue my story, consumed with rage and only because I have to. To pray is the easiest thing man can do on earth. And God has tied up the salvation of each one exactly to this very easy thing."

.

"To him who prays with perseverance little by little God gives so much light, so much strength, that even the most debased sinner will at the end come back to salvation. During the last years of my life I did not pray any more, so I lacked those graces without which nobody can be saved. Here we no longer receive graces. Moreover, should we receive them we would cynically refuse them. All the fluctuations of earthly existence have ceased in the other life. For years I was living far away from God. For, in the last call of grace I decided against God."

.

"I never believed in the influence of the devil. And now I affirm that he has strong influence on the persons who are in the condition in which I was then. Only many prayers, others and mine own, united with sacrifices and penances, could have snatched me from his grip. And even this only little by little. If there are only few externally obsessed, there are very many internally possessed. The devil cannot steal the free will from those who give themselves to his influence. But in punishment of their, so to speak, methodical apostasy from God, He allows the devil to nest in them."

.

"I hate the devil too. And yet I am pleased about him, because he tries to ruin all of you; he and his satellites, the fallen with him at the beginning of time. There are millions of them. They roam around the earth, as thick as a swarm of flies, and you do not even notice it. It is not reserved to us damned to tempt you; but to the fallen spirits. In truth every time they drag down here to hell a human soul their own torture is increased. But what does one not do for hatred?"

.

"Deep down I was rebelling against God. You did not understand it; you thought me still a Catholic. I wanted, in fact, to be called one; I even used to pay my ecclesiastical dues. Maybe your answers were right sometimes. On me they made no impression, since you must not be right. Because of these counterfeited relationships between the two of us, our separation on the occasion of my marriage was of no consequence to me. Before the wedding I went to confession and communion once more. It was a precept. My husband and I thought alike on this point. Why not comply with this formality? So we complied with this, as with the other formalities."

.

"Our married life, in general, was spent in great harmony. We were of the same idea in everything. In this too, that we did not want the burden of children. In truth, my husband would have like to have one; no more, of course. In the end I succeeded in dissuading him even from this desire. Dresses, luxurious furniture, places of entertainment, picnics and trips by car and similar things were more important for me... It was a year of pleasure on earth, the one that passed from my marriage to my sudden death. Internally, of course, I was never happy, although externally at ease. There was always something indeterminate inside that gnawed at me."

.

"Unexpectedly I had an inheritance from my Aunt, Lotte. My husband succeeded in increasing his wages to a considerable figure. And so I was able to furnish our new home in an attractive way. Religion did not show its light but from afar off, pale, feeble and uncertain."

.

"I used to give free vent to my ill humor about some mediaeval representations of hell in cemeteries or elsewhere, in which the devil is roasting souls in red burning coals, while his companions with long tails drag new victims to him. Clara! One can be mistaken in depicting hell, but never can one exaggerate."

.

"I tell you: the fire of which the Bible speaks, does not mean the torment of the conscience. Fire is fire! What He said: 'Away from Me, you accursed one, into eternal fire', is to be understood literally. Literally! How can the spirit be touched by material fire, you will ask. How can your soul suffer on earth when you put your finger on the flame? In fact the soul does not burn; and yet what torture all the individual feels!"

.

"Our greatest torture consists in the certain knowledge that we shall never see God. How can this torture us so much, since on earth we are so indifferent? As long as the knife lies on the table, it leaves you cold. You see how keen it is, but you do not feel it. Plunge the knife into the flesh and you will start screaming for pain. Now we feel the loss of God. The lost Catholics suffer more than those of other religions, because they, mostly, received and despised more graces and more light. He who knew more suffers more cruelly than he who knew less. He who sinned out of malice suffers more keenly than he who sinned out of weakness. But nobody suffers more than he deserves. Oh, if that were not true, I should have a motive to hate!"

.

"My death happened this way . . ."

.

"A week ago - I am speaking according to your reckoning, because according to pain, I could very well say that it is already ten years that I am burning in hell - a week ago, then, my husband and I, on a Sunday went on a picnic, the last one for me. The day was glorious. I felt very well. A sinister sense of pleasure that was with me all the day long, invaded me. When lo, suddenly, during the return, my husband was dazzled by a car that was coming full speed. He lost control."

.

"Jesus, used frequently by some people of German language - escaped from my lips with a shivering. Not as a prayer, but as a shout. A lacerating pain took hold of the whole of me. (In comparison with the present only a trifle). Then I lost consciousness. Strange! That morning this thought had come to me in an inexplicable way: 'You could go to Mass once more', It seemed like the last call of Love."

.

"Clear and resolute, my 'NO' cut off that train of thought. You will know already what happened after my death. The lot of my husband and that of my mother, what happened to my corpse and the proceedings of my funeral are known to me through some natural knowledge we have here. What happens on earth we know only obscurely. But we know what touches us closely. I see also where you are living."

.

"I myself awoke from the darkness suddenly, in the instant of my passing. I saw myself as flooded by a dazzling light. It was in the same place where my dead body was lying. It was like a theater, when suddenly the lights in the hall are put out, the curtains are rent aside and an unexpected scene, horrible illuminated, appears. The scene of my life."

.

"My soul showed herself to me as in a mirror; all the graces despised from my youth until my last NO to God. I felt myself like an assassin, to whom his dead victim is shown during his trial at court - Should I repent? Never! - Should I feel ashamed? Never!"

.

"However, I could not even stand before the eyes of God, rejected by me. There was only one thing for me: flight! As Cain fled from the dead body of Abel, so my soul rushed from the sight of horror."

.

"This was the particular judgment: the invisible Judge said: 'Away from Me'. Then my soul, as a yellow brimstone shadow, fell headlong into the place of eternal torture."

YOU CAN READ THE WHOLE UNEDITED VERSION HERE

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http://sicutincaelo.org/b08_hell.html

[twentiethcenturymoviesandtv]

Ladyhawke: The Story

When you boil it down, the story of Ladyhawke isn’t quite a tale as old as time, but it’s pretty darn close.

Ladyhawke tells the story of star-crossed lovers, suffering under a curse that stands between them.  It is the tale of a couple who struggle to remain hopeful, to find a way to break the curse, to end their suffering. It’s a common theme, used everywhere from Romeo and Juliet to Buffy the Vampire Slayer.  Stories of star-crossed lovers are extremely prevalent, which unfortunately means that it’s rather easy to turn their accounts into stale, cliché-filled, predictable stories.

Ladyhawke, on the other hand, managed to avoid this with one, very simple change: They told the story from the outside.

Enter our ‘main’ character, Phillipe Gaston.  (Spoilers below!)

The story of Ladyhawke begins with two events going on at the same time, in the same place: A service in the cathedral above, led by the corrupt Bishop of Aquila, (John Wood) and an escape through the drain system below, performed by petty thief Phillipe ‘The Mouse’ Gaston. (Matthew Broderick)

His escape from his impending execution causes quite a stir among the guards of Aquila.  As it turns out, the prison of Aquila is impregnable, totally inescapable and thoroughly secure to the point where absolutely nobody, barring Phillipe, has ever escaped before.  In order to ensure that this reputation remains untarnished, the Bishop sends the guards, led by Captain Marquet, after him in an attempt to return him for execution.

“Great storms announce themselves with a simple breeze, Captain, and a single rebel spark can ignite the fires of rebellion.”

Phillipe gets away okay at first, traveling outside the city and stealing a change of clothes, a dagger, and some money.  His elation and confidence get the better of him however, and he foolishly announces to an entire inn that he is the lone escaped prisoner from Aquila.  Unfortunately, among the patrons of the inn are Captain Marquet and his posse.

Philippe, for all of his useful abilities, isn’t quite up to fighting off an entire squad of armed men, and though he does his best to evade them, (even slicing Marquet in the cheek with his newly acquired dagger) it isn’t quite enough to ward them off.  The soldiers restrain him, and prepare to kill him.  Right before the sword falls, however, who should arrive but a Knight in Shining Armor?

This strange and mysterious newcomer, armed with both sword and crossbow, turns out to be Etienne Navarre (Rutger Hauer), the former captain of the guard of Aquila. He rescues Phillipe, fending off the guard quite handily, and rides off on his black horse, accompanied by a faithful hawk, and a rather unwilling Phillipe.

That evening, Navarre and Phillipe stop off for a rest in a barn owned by a suspicious farming couple.  As darkness falls, Phillipe is charged with taking care of Navarre’s massive horse, Goliath, and gathering firewood.  Anxious to get further away from Aquila, Phillipe decides to tell Navarre that he is leaving, just before he is attacked again, this time by the aforementioned suspicious farmer. This time, however, his rescuer takes the form not of the great, black knight, but of a great, black wolf.

Terrified out of his mind, Phillipe flees back to the barn to discover that Navarre is nowhere to be found.  In desperation, the young thief grabs the former captain’s crossbow, and prepares to try to kill the wolf, but is stopped by a figure even more mysterious than the missing captain.

A strange, beautiful woman in a black cloak (Michelle Pfieffer) prevents him from shooting the ferocious animal, and to Phillipe’s stunned amazement, calmly leaves the safety of the barn, going out to meet the wild creature.  The wolf comes to her, quietly and tamely, and the pair walk off into the forest.  Phillipe is left in shock, attempting to convince himself that he is dreaming.

Already, we know quite a bit about our main characters.  Philippe is totally alone in the world, and is very concerned with the safety of his own skin.  He’s not exactly a coward, but he is certainly a sly person, using his wits to get what he needs rather than brute force.  He’s an Action Survivor, not a fighter, and he knows he’s not much help in combat.  Indeed, he seems to alternate between being terribly proud of his own cleverness, and knowingly humble about his own shortcomings, depending on his familiarity with what’s going on.

Another interesting quirk of his is that he is almost disconnected with the story, spending a good deal of the narrative talking to God, making plenty of observations about the goings on in the plot.  The audience hears his external monologue that comes across as wavering somewhere between flippant and earnest.  He’s a shrewd chatterbox, accustomed to his place in his own world, and very uneasy about being drug into a grander tale that he does not belong to.  He is very much an outsider, stumbling along with the story in a confused, frantic state, gathering information at the same rate as the audience is, unwillingly pulled into a conflict that, at this time, he wants no part of.  It’s almost a direct inversion of the traditional Hero’s Journey.  In a way, it seems quite odd that this ‘Mouse’ is our main character, when really, shouldn’t it be the fierce and mysterious Black Knight?

Navarre serves as excellent contrast.  He is quiet, reserved, and carries with him a very stern presence, an underlying dangerousness that comes out in battle. He patiently tolerates Phillipe’s behavior for a reason that, as of this point, both Phillipe and the audience aren’t aware of yet.  He is gentle with his horse and the equally mysterious hawk, and yet a capable and ferocious warrior in battle.  As the ex-captain of the guard of Aquila, he also carries with him an unknown history that connects him with events prior to Phillipe’s escape.  In a more traditional fantasy, it would be he that the audience is following.  Navarre is the one with an unspoken quest and sense of purpose, and it is Navarre and his actions that drive the story.  

And finally, there is the strange woman that has appeared out of nowhere, and disappears into nowhere again in the morning.  She has a strange connection to the wolf, and is a lady of few words.  At the moment, that is the extent of our knowledge about her, but we are instantly aware that she is vital to this story.

The next morning, Phillipe tells Navarre about the events of last night.  Navarre, for his part, takes special interest in Phillipe’s description of the enigmatic woman, asking if she spoke, what she’d said, and her name.  The Mouse, with very few answers for Navarre’s questions, is left perhaps more confused than when he’d started.

Meanwhile, Captain Marquet returns to Aquila with bad news: Not only is Philippe still on the loose, but the ex-Captain Navarre has returned. The Bishop reacts rather strangely; he is less interested in their escaped prisoner and the trouble-making warrior than what travels with them: the hawk.  He orders Marquet to ensure that the hawk is unharmed, and sends him back out to go search for the two fugitives.

Back in the woods, Navarre finally explains his plans: His quest is to kill the Bishop, and he wants Phillipe, the only escaped prisoner from the medieval version of Alcatraz, to help him.  By using him to get in, Navarre will enter the church and strike the Bishop down with the sword of his ancestors, adding his own jewel to the set that adorn the hilt of the weapon.

Phillipe is less than thrilled with this prospect, having just escaped from there, and has this to say:

“There are strange forces at work in your life. Magical ones that surround you. I don’t understand them, but they frighten me. You have given me my life. The truth is I can never repay you. I have no honor, and never will have. I don’t think you would kill me for being what I am, but better that than to return to Aquila.”

However, thanks to some…..convincing by Navarre, he is left with no choice but to stay.

Very subtle.

That night, with Navarre nowhere to be found, the woman appears again, stumbling across Phillipe, who has been tied to a tree to prevent his running off again.  Making good use of his silver tongue, he convinces the woman to free him.  Once released, the Mouse scurries off into the woods.

Of course, that doesn’t exactly go as planned, either.  He is once again apprehended by Marquet and the guards, who attempt to use him to find Navarre.  The next morning, Marquet leads an ambush against the knight, and in the scuffle, both Navarre and his beloved hawk are shot with a crossbow.  Despite his wound, Navarre defeats the guard and saves Phillipe again, and immediately rushes to the side of his bird.

Navarre gives the hawk to Phillipe, instructing him to ride as fast as he can to the abandoned ruins of a castle, now inhabited by a priest-turned-monk named Imperius (Leo McKern).  Phillipe does so, and arrives shortly before sunset.  The monk, a disgraced, but sincere man of God, brings them in, and immediately sets to caring for the hawk, locking Phillipe out and speaking soothingly to the animal.

You can all guess what happens when night falls.

Phillipe picks the lock and lets himself in, and realizes what the audience has likely figured out by now: The hawk and the woman are the same person, animal by day, human by night.

After tending to her wound, Imperius explains.

The woman is named Isabeau, and again, as one might have guessed, she and Navarre are deeply in love with each other, and have been for quite some time.  Years previously, she was pursued and lusted after by the Bishop, and by rejecting his advances, (and returning Navarre’s) enraged him to the point of bitter insanity. Though the pair tried to keep their love a secret, the Bishop found out, and after consulting with the supernatural, comes up with a demonic curse: as mentioned before, Isabeau is a hawk by day, human by night, and Navarre is human by day, and the great black wolf by night.  Forever together, eternally apart.

The monk’s part in all of this?  He is the one who mistakenly told the Bishop of their love, indirectly causing the couple these two years of pain.  Now, desperate for forgiveness and atoning for his role in the story, he has good news: there is a way to break the curse.

Here lies perhaps the greatest piece of genius in this story.  In some contemporary fantasy films of the time, there are neat little devices thrown in to offset the epic-ness, the strangeness, or the fairy-tale-ness of whichever story is being told.  In Labyrinth, the items in Sarah’s room follow her into the fantasy world she travels to, grounding it in real-life elements.  In The Princess Bride, Fred Savage interrupts Grandpa Peter Falk to insert his own comments about his disgust or outrage with the story going on.  In Ladyhawke, however, the addressing of its own ‘fairy-tale’ vibe is done from within the narrative, namely through Phillipe.

Although Phillipe serves as the audience’s window into this world, the fact is, the audience is likely to pick up on things much faster than the Mouse does, very simply because we know we are watching a story play out, and Phillipe doesn’t.  As far as he knows, he is just going through life, stumbling upon what he slowly realizes is a story.  He is an observer, unconnected to these people, figuring it out as he goes along.  As early on as the first encounter with the wolf, he begs God to not involve him in this, recognizing magic and mystery at play.  Despite this vague glimmer of genre-savviness, the identities of the animals don’t truly dawn on him until they are staring him in the face.  It takes the evidence of the arrow in Isabeau’s shoulder, matching the wound of the hawk, to convince him of the truth: that he has stumbled into a fairytale.

Thus, he needs things explained to him, and he, similarly to Fred Savage, comments aloud (repeatedly) the strangeness of the situation and his place in it.  Phillipe serves as the ‘real world’ tie in this fantasy story, albeit a more grounded one than the examples above.  He is the exact amount of ‘realism’ necessary for this story, which is frankly, not a lot. He can afford to be both fascinated and skeptical of the story, both moved and objective about Navarre and Isabeau’s plight because the story itself also straddles that line between the utterly fantastic and the grounded, down to earth realism of medieval Europe. It’s a fascinating balance that comes to a head here, halfway through the story, heralded by the first glimmer of hope for the star-crossed lovers.

At dawn, there is another attack by the Bishop’s guards, fended off by the unstable architecture of the crumbling ruins and a well-timed transformation by Isabeau.  This scene, while giving us the privilege of ‘seeing’ Isabeau turn into a hawk, also begins to escalate things on the enemy’s side.  Defeated once again, the Bishop sends out another force: a hunter with a specialty for wolves.

The Bishop’s orders are clear, and give us considerable insight into his motivation:

“A beautiful woman with alabaster skin and the eyes of a dove. She travels by night, only by night. Her sun is the moon. And her name is… Isabeau. Find her and you find the wolf. The wolf I want. The wolf who… loves her.”

What a nice guy, right?

When Navarre arrives in the morning, Imperius and Phillipe go to meet him with their news.  The Bishop’s evil curse can be broken if Navarre and Isabeau stand before him, confront him as man and woman, both human, which can only be done on ‘a day without a night, and a night without a day’.  Navarre, long hardened and discouraged, dismisses this hope as the ramblings of a drunkard, and takes Phillipe and the hawk to continue his plan of slaying the Bishop.

Ironically, with the tables turned, Phillipe finds himself attempting to persuade Navarre of this one chance, secretly telling Imperius to follow them.  Navarre, as stubborn as he is heartbroken, refuses to listen, and orders Phillipe not to tell Isabeau of this possibility.

One night, while Isabeau and Phillipe are talking, they meet the wolf-hunter that the Bishop has sent after them, who has ridden in with fresh wolf-pelts. The hunter realizes that this is the woman that the Bishop is after, but before he can do anything, Phillipe has his first moment of real, honest-to-goodness bravery.  Drawing Navarre’s sword, he threatens:

“If you lay one hand on her you will find it on the ground next to your head. Now ride on!”  

Desperate in an effort to find and save Navarre, Isabeau dashes into the woods, with Phillipe behind her.  Isabeau’s connection with Navarre, even in wolf form, allows her to prevent him from stepping into a wolf trap, sending the hunter himself into one instead. The danger is not over, however, and during a further scuffle, Navarre falls through the thin ice over a body of water.

Phillipe, selflessly throwing himself into danger for the first time, goes in after him, acquiring a series of deep scratches on his chest from the wolf in the process.  Assisted by Isabeau and Imperius, he deposits the wolf near their campsite, where the ‘Ladyhawke’ waits for him to awaken at dawn.

(This leads to my questions about the pair’s sleep schedules, but I suppose that’s not really important.)

At daybreak, Navarre and Isabeau lay eyes upon each other, and almost touch in their short moment before Isabeau’s transformation.  Too soon, the moment is gone, and the Ladyhawke flies off, leaving Navarre crushed.

Navarre, unable to find his family sword, lashes out at Phillipe when the Mouse tells him that he lost it during the night.  The knight’s anger quickly dissipates, however, when Phillipe’s shirt falls open and the former captain sees the scars left from his animal form’s panic.  Staggered and grateful, Navarre embraces Phillipe, and finally agrees to try to break the curse.  That night, Imperius and Isabeau smuggle Wolf!Navarre into the city while Phillipe goes back the way he came: through the sewers.

The next morning, the sun rises as usual, and Navarre, unable to see any sign of this ‘day without a night’ stuff, reverts back to his original plan: when Phillipe opens the cathedral gates, Navarre will ride in and slaughter the Bishop.  He orders Imperius to kill Isabeau if he fails, which shall be signified by the cathedral bells chiming as usual.

The plan goes off without a hitch.  Phillipe gets the doors open and Navarre rides in, full of righteous fury, now blocked from his revenge only by Captain Marquet.  During their brutal duel, Navarre sees something that makes him stop in his tracks: a solar eclipse.

Realizing that the curse can be broken, he attempts to rush back to tell Imperius to spare Isabeau, but it is too late.  The bells chime, and Marquet closes in.  Despairing and grieving, Navarre fights more brutally than ever, and after being thrown his sword (carried by Phillipe, who, turns out, did not lose it), ends Marquet’s life and turns on the Bishop.

He is halted once again, this time, by something good.

Isabeau enters the cathedral, in full light of day, not a feather to be seen.  Together, she and Navarre stand before the Bishop, breaking the curse once and for all. Enraged, the Bishop moves in, intending to stab Isabeau in the back, declaring: “If I can’t have her, no one shall!”

Now it’s his turn to be stopped in his tracks, pretty permanently, by Navarre’s family sword embedded in his torso, thoroughly killing him.

What a shame.

Navarre and Isabeau embrace joyfully, reunited at last.  The couple thanks both Imperius and Phillipe, and as the monk and the thief bow out, the happy couple share a kiss, looking forward to a life untarnished by curses.

It’s a satisfying end to a thoroughly satisfying movie.  A bit expected, but come on, who doesn’t like a happy ending?

The only thing that could come across as a little odd about this ending is simply who it’s about.

In a way, it makes perfect sense.  Of course we want the curse broken, of course we want the couple reunited and for the scummy Bishop to get what’s coming to him.  But what we also might want would be some resolution for our supporting protagonist here.  

What about Phillipe?

As with The Wizard of Oz, it’s easy to think that maybe our main character hasn’t changed that much from beginning to end.  Navarre, on the other hand, has gone from tragic avenger to hopeful hero, together with his love at last.  Isabeau is a person grown stronger through adversity, remaining loyal and relieved to be released from the curse.  Even Imperius is a new man, redeemed from his accidental betrayal by his assistance.

But Phillipe?  Where does his end come in?

The answer lies a little before the main climax.

The scene on the ice, where Isabeau tries to slide across to rescue Navarre in wolf form, is, in my opinion, the resolution to the Mouse’s character arc, where he goes from Action Survivor to hero.  By diving in after Navarre, putting himself in peril to save his friend, he sheds the remains of his selfish, thieving qualities and gains the honor that, earlier in the film, he said he was without.

That is where the change is completed.  That is where Phillipe becomes a hero.  And that is what allows him to put Navarre and Isabeau first.  Beginning the story alone in the world, Phillipe gains friendship and respect from notably Navarre, giving the young thief a new place in a larger world.

True, the climax of the film belongs to Navarre and Isabeau, as it should.  They are the cursed couple.  They are the main focus, even if they aren’t the protagonists.  They are the ones who have earned this ending, and deserve it.

In that sense, the end fits perfectly.  Everyone grows, everyone changes, and everyone gets their happy ending. Now that’s what I call a great fairy-tale.

In the articles ahead, we’ll be taking a look at some more of the aspects of Ladyhawke, so please, if you enjoyed this one, stick around for next time!  If you’d like, don’t forget that my ask box is always open.  Thank you guys so much for reading, and I’ll see you all in the next article.

[purplesurveys]

692

How old were you when you had your first crush? The first crush I had that wasn’t a celebrity or a teacher was when I was 12. If you're a girl, how old were you when you started your period? It was a month after I turned 10. By that time I was just entering Grade 4 and when we were asked who had already gotten theirs, only a handful of hands shot up haha. I was an early bird for sure. What is your worst period story? Pretty obvious TMI warning here. Happened last December. I was visiting a photo studio to test if they were going to be suitable for my college batch’s grad shoot and unfortunately my period started in the middle of the trip. Even more unfortunately the trip was all the way in fucking BINANGONAN, which meant I couldn’t have access to napkins for the entire drive. I had to cross my legs real tight to avoid any leakage but at the time we got to the studio, my crotch area was soaked nonetheless. I had to ask for napkins from the studio staff, but thank god they were the nicest people ever and didn’t hesitate to hand me one. Does anyone else know who your first crush was besides you? Gabie knows. I think she’s the only one who knows, but I also think Pia asked me at one point too, so maybe her as well. What was your most embarrassing moment? I have at least one everyday.

What are your worst cramps like? Leg cramps that wake me up at 4 AM, without a doubt. Those always end me in tears no matter how old I am. What is the most physically painful thing you have ever experienced? Either my foot infection back in ‘09 or the toothache I had a few months back. I had no idea a TOOTH could send me crying almost every night or wake me up in the middle of the night just from being so painful. Oh and the time I ripped my ear piercing off. What are you allergic to? I’m not allergic to anything... at least I haven’t encountered anything I turned out to be allergic to. Have you ever wanted to be someone else? I’ve never seriously wanted to be a particular person, but I’ve found myself fantasizing about if I were richer. Have you ever been jealous of someone? Sure. Have you ever been jealous of a friend? Yeah. Just mostly high school stuff though, like the time Erk kept getting Gabie away from me and I got super fed up about it at one point that I stopped talking to Gab for like a month lmao. Do you feel shy around someone when you are first getting to know them? Yeah of course. Aren’t most of us? Do you feel shy around a crush? I get both shy and distant. What color hair did your first crush have? Black. Do you ever cry in public unwillingly, or are you able to hold it in? I’m able to hold it in because I hate making a scene. I just keep swallowing the lump in my throat and try to blink less. Do you throw up involuntarily when you have to, or can you swallow it down? I also can swallow it down as long as I have to. But if I really need to throw up I run to the nearest toilet. What's one near-embarrassing moment you had? Uhh idk. If I can tell something is going to be embarrassing I usually already feel pretty embarrassed about it, regardless if I’m saved from the embarrassment or not. Do you ever call yourself stupid? Yeah. Just yesterday BoJack Horseman’s “You’re a stupid piece of shit" kept replaying in my head all afternoon and evening. What was the name of your first imaginary friend? Katrina. She was my first and last. What's one weird habit you have? When I get my usual drink at Starbucks, my first sip has to be a long one and I usually savor it by closing my eyes and letting out a contented sigh haha. Only then can I start working.  Are you more of an open or a private person? I’m a bit of both, if that makes sense? I keep my shit private when they aren’t being raised, but when someone asks me about them I have no problem being an open book. Do you wish you could be more open with others? No, I already am. Do you feel ashamed? Not permanently lmao, but I feel it every now and then. Do you get embarrassed easily? Yes. Do you have regrets? Some. Have you ever fallen asleep in class? Never. I feel like – aside from being disrespectful – it’s an embarrassing thing to happen, especially if you’re caught and get scolded for it, so I make it a point not to let it happen to me. What was the hardest thing you've ever had to forgive? [Big trigger warning: Domestic violence] The day my grandpa said sorry to each of us in the family for beating up my baby cousin in a drunken stupor. After that he left the house for the week, presumably out of shame, then he came back to ask for forgiveness from each of us. I was desensitized to all of the violence I’ve seen at that point, so my 9 year old self gave him a shrug. Is there anyone you hate? No, not hate. Is there anything or anyone you're angry at, that you haven't forgiven yet? I don’t plan on forgiving my deadbeat uncle or my brother anytime soon. List five of your biggest bullies. A lot of people bullied me for my name and looks when I was younger, but they’re all irrelevant in my life now and I’ve forgotten all of them save for two – Kaira (who’s my friend now) and Sophia (who I don’t like just as much as when I was 4). Have you ever plotted revenge against someone? I’ve fantasized about revenge but never plotted anything. Have you ever done anything to get revenge against someone? Nope. ^If so, do you regret it, and did you apologize later? Have you ever had a friend crush (i.e., you really wanted to be their friend)? Yeah I remember being like this with Macy. She’s changed quite a bit these days and we don’t talk anymore, which I find sad considering what we’ve gone through in the last couple of years. What is the greatest longing of your heart? Money. The rest of my desires - happiness, contentment, the material things I want - comes after I have money lol. Who was your first love? Gabie. What was the last thing someone said that warmed your heart? Chesca said something very sweet to me and it was something I needed to hear, but explaining it would need too much background context so suffice it to say, she reassured me when I needed it most. Do you pray regularly? Nope. ^If so, to whom? Do you love Jesus? What church do you go to? I’m not religious but my mom is, and she drags the entire family to church every Sunday. That said we go to a specific parish within our area, because that’s what we’re a part of. What denomination is your church (if you go)? Catholic. What was the first year you voted in a presidential election? 2016. How old were you when the year changed to 2000? At exactly January 1? I was a year old, but I was turning 2 that year. Have you ever been afraid of the world ending? Not really, but it certainly has felt like the end of the world these days. This is the kind of shit you only ever get to read about in textbooks, so it’s feeling a little surreal. Do you enjoy public speaking? If I’m prepared for it and/or I enjoy what it is I have to talk about. What food makes you gag? Pineapple, raisins, or ice cream with nuts. Who was your first celebrity crush? Ashley Tisdale when she was Maddie in Suite Life of Zack & Cody. I also lowkey liked the mom, hahaha. What show did you want to be on when you were younger? Hi-5 when I was extremely younger; the kiddie crowds looked so lit 😩 Hahaha but when I got a bit older, I wanted to be in Legends of the Hidden Temple or be one of the people splashed with slime at the Nickelodeon Kids’ Choice Awards. Looking at my answer I could now tell I was definitely a Nickelodeon kid. What was your childhood dream? To be an astronaut, to be a wrestler, and to have a big house with a swimming pool. Did you ever fulfill your childhood dream? I have 0/3 achieved, but it’s okay. My wants have mostly changed. What is your dream now? I still want a big house with a pool for sure lmao, but I mostly just dream of having enough money all my life and never having to worry about finances or having to ask people. What is your passion? History has always been my biggest one. Are you living your dream? Not yet. Do you receive insults or compliments more? Compliments, but that’s because I don’t let myself thrive in an environment where I’d get insults more because yanno, self-care? Lol. What is unfair about your life? Bad past presidents and how it’s led our country to be in the miserable state it’s in today, whereas I have to see other countries flourish in their unbelievably competent governments and see how these countries have public parks, libraries, playgrounds, etc. I don’t know what I did in my past life to have to end up in the Philippines hahahahaha, but here we are today. What about your life would you change? I wish my dog can stay with me forever. Did you write love poems when you were younger? Nope. Who are you jealous of and why? I’m not really feeling jealousy at the moment. When someone hurts you, do you start to feel jealous of them? No? Why would that happen? Name five people you know who have everything handed to them. Idkkkkk. I don’t wanna namedrop anyone for something like this lol. Name one person you know who is spoiled rotten. Boomers? Name one person you know who seems stuck-up. I know someone but I’m not naming him on here lmao. Name a church that just wants money. All of them? LOL at least all the Catholic ones, I can’t speak for the other denominations. What is your least favorite chore? I really hate folding clothes. Have you ever had an account of yours hacked? Yeah but like by a virus or something, not a person. Have you ever been a victim of police misconduct? Nah. But traffic enforcers have been incredibly rude to me before. Do you keep a diary? This one. What color is the diary you are currently using? It doesn’t really come with a color... Do you actually write "Dear Diary"? Only in the diaries I kept as a kid, because it’s what I saw in cartoons. When was the last time you wrote and sent someone a letter? December. I included a handwritten letter in my Christmas gifts for Gab. Do you write in cursive or print more? Print. Have you ever self-harmed? Duh.

[diaryofaprodigaldaughter]

I'm Katie (not my real name) and I used to be a pornstar. Well, I wasn't just a pornstar. I was an OnlyFans content creator, I was a cam girl, I did phone chat and escorting. I've done a lot.

Now let's just answer a few questions first. Before I got into sex work I was a church going good-girl. I was a prefect at school. I came from a good home where both my parents are still together. I'm twice university educated. I've never been addicted to drugs or alcohol, I've never been trafficked and I've never done anything unwillingly when it comes to my former career. I'm a 30 year old woman, I'm a big girl and I take ownership of decisions I made (even if those decisions were bad ones for me).

Until fairly February I thought I was happy, that working in porn was the best thing I've ever done. Actually? I wasn't happy and it wasn't the best thing I've ever done. The lie I continuously had to tell myself that I loved my job was a survival thing. I mean, I *obviously* enjoyed drinking urine from a guy's penis, or spending days shoving anusol up my bum after taking a rather large penis (or trying to take a rather large penis), right?

I stopped because I found myself. Re found myself. It took being hospitalised amidst a pandemic where I had to face days of just sitting with myself. A perfect opportunity to rediscover oneself. Or face oneself. The thing is that it didn't last. I started OnlyFans again to raise money to help my dad and found myself slipping back again. It was like as soon as I gave it an opening the industry tried dragging me back at full force. It was only thanks to two brothers in faith and God that I stopped completely.

I never intended to get into porn. I started OnlyFans content creation in my bedroom like a lot of other girls, just wanting extra money. I had medical bills to pay, a student loan to clear and my job as a trainee psychology practitioner just wasn't paying enough. Obviously potentially earning 20k a month was a lot more appealing to me than taking a part time job. Especially recently when trying to pay for my dad to have private cancer treatment.

The thing is that it very quickly slid when I was signed off of work with severe depression. It wasn't enough to just take some pics and some cheeky videos in my bedroom at home. I was having to work (or "collab") with other people. I found myself fast falling down the rabbit hole of sex work and doing much more. The things I was then expected to do became more extreme to get ahead of demand. I went from telling myself I'd never do escorting to escorting, from telling myself I'd never do porn to doing porn.

The porn industry isn't what most people think it is. Its not "glamorous", its not fast money and its not a monolithic machine. Its fake, its hard work and it takes a toll on both your body as well as your mind. I've had to do things on camera that outside of work I would never agree to do, get my body to do things on a set that I can't physically do without having to ingest certain chemicals (nothing illegal) or it being painful. You get tested, you shoot, you get paid, you go home and you deal with whatever fresh hell your body has gone through. That's pretty much it. I look back at pictures and films I was in...it breaks me. I look dead behind my eyes. Why? Because I was dead. Spiritually dead. I was in pain.

I was very lucky though. Everyone I worked with was lovely. From cameramen to producers and other performers. Others I know personally haven't always been; Co performers assaulting them (physically and sexually), directors getting handsy on set. The job itself is hard. Taking and commodifying for sale such an intimate act took its toll on me. It left me physically broken, I'd have to take time off because of the toll it played on my mental health. I know it does to everyone else too.

In my mind porn was what I was "made" for. I was great to work with on camera, I was great at my job. I was excellent at making men cum buckets and I was good at keeping them coming back for more. I had fans from the UK, the US, Brazil, Holland, Hong Kong and other countries. But porn wasn't what I was "made" for. That sentiment of being made for porn, being made to be an object to give men sexual pleasure came from a place of trauma. That's why a lot of us girls who get into the porn industry find ourselves there in the first place; we've been through trauma. That girl/woman you're getting yourself off to has been led to this situation from trauma.

I didn't have sex until I was 24 years old. But my first sexual experience was being sexually assaulted by the guy I was seeing at the time, so you could say I have a complex history with sex and ownership of my body. Then at 27 I was raped. That moment changed the entire trajectory of my life. It made me become hypersexual and left me with the feeling that a man would only ever want me for my body. Further experiences with some men I then dated just seemed to cement that false notion in my mind.

Doing porn, as I told myself, was "taking back control of my body". That I was "empowering" myself. But it's all bullshit. If anything I was still not the one controlling my body. I was renting it out for the sexual pleasure of others. Some that I could see (when escorting) but many across the world who I'd never even know existed. I wasn't empowering myself. I was exacerbating the emotional and psychological trauma that being raped had inflicted on me. Day in. Day out. Whenever a man got off to me, he was getting himself off to me reliving that trauma over and over. The most genuine feeling of empowerment I've felt was walking away from the industry. This feeling of freedom and empowerment continued when I walked away from it again recently.

To this day I still don't think I've met anyone in the industry who hasn't gone through an emotional or psychological trauma at some point in their lives. I don't think I know of anyone in the industry that hasn't got a battle with mental illness or addiction. The industry seems to attract us like little, beautiful moths to a flame. It then uses you up and let's you fall.

I just want people to know that the porn industry and sex work isn't all its made out to be. Its all illusion, its viciously competitive at times too and its soul crushing. Whilst I've met some lovely people, believe me the sweetest people I've ever met are all in the industry. All people I pray one day leave it too. It's selling a fantasy to people. Not a reality. It's making money off of exploitation, pain and trauma. When you watch porn or pay for an OnlyFans that is what you're doing...exacerbating trauma.

I'm going to finish this post here. The same way I ended my porn career. Abruptly. I'll post again soon.

[scribeofthenewworld]

On Holy Ground

Jacob sat down to confessional like he did every week. But this week was different. “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned,” he intoned. The priest’s voice came from behind the screen, bidding him proceed. He listed off his usual sins--lust, pride, wrath, so on--then paused. 

“Is that all?” the priest asked him. 

“One more thing,” he said, then took a breath and let it out. “I killed someone.” A silence followed this proclamation. “On holy ground,” he added quietly. The priest said nothing. “It was necessary. A… a holy cleansing, if you will. I didn't want to do it, but he was destroying our family--our name, our reputation, tearing us apart from the inside--he was my brother, you see.” 

The priest said nothing for another moment. Then, “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, I absolve you of your sins. Go and sin no more.” Smiling, Jacob stood and left the confessional. He had figured the priest would not take his final confession seriously-- it was not the first time he said something totally unbelievable at confessional--but this time, it was the truth. He paused and gazed at the fountain at the feet of the Virgin Mary staute, then closed his eyes, remembering his terrible, holy deed… 

Jacob looked down at his brother’s body, ecstasy coursing through him, the crowbar still in his hand. Shaking, he placed the weapon on the ground, then knelt and gathered his dead brother in his arms. Tears streamed from his eyes and dripped onto his brother’s face. He was rolled with a mixture of revulsion and rapture at his deed: he had saved his family’s legacy from the stain of his brother’s unconfessed sin, as well as eliminating the force that had been tearing them apart. And, most importantly, he had killed his brother as he prayed, guaranteeing his soul its ascent into heaven. Yet he had killed his own brother, something even years of penance could never fully erase. He bowed his head in sorrow, offering up a prayer to the Virgin Mary for his brother’s departed soul, then set to work--he already had the whole thing planned out. Under the watchful eye of the statue, he wrestled his brother’s corpse into the enormous duffle bag and half-carried, half-dragged it to the cemetery. He began to weep again as he approached the hole he had dug by the fence. He had chosen an area surrounded by trees and far from any family plot. Wiping his eyes, he pulled the bag to the edge and pushed it into the makeshift grave. The dull thud it made hitting the dirt hurt his heart more than any sound he had ever heard, more even than his brother’s dying gasp. As Jacob began throwing dirt over his brother’s body, his mind wandered, and he began remembering all that had led to this precise moment… 

Jacob’s younger brother had once been the darling of the congregation: eager, obedient, and devout. Yet, something had slowly begun to change in Bishop. It began with a series of small things, like his sudden reluctance to talk about theology, then eventually escalated into him staying out all night and stumbling into mass late the next morning, still drunk from the night before. Jacob’s parents had always been respected members of the church, yet people began to whisper about their youngest son. Afraid of the consequences Bishop’s behaviour would reap, they sat him down and attempted to determine what the cause might be. Bishop brushed off their concerns, insisting that everything was fine. Not satisfied, they took him to speak with the priest. Jacob could never be sure what the priest said to his brother that day, but Bishop’s behaviour began to alternate between continued rebellion and his former piousness: he would spend every night one week out binge drinking, then every day the week after at church, praying. His moods became unstable as well: he would curse out his entire family one day, then apologise tearfully and shut himself in his room the next. Jacob had gone to the priest about it, wondering if his brother could be in some sort of trouble, perhaps even possessed. Father Maynard had told Jacob that Bishop may be experiencing a crisis of faith. Jacob tried to learn what had been said between his brother and the priest the day their parents had taken him, but the priest said that he was bound by heaven to secrecy. This comforted Jacob somewhat, for he thought surely that must mean his brother had confessed his sins. Yet if he had confessed, why did he continue in his rebellious ways? Finally, when Bishop revealed to their parents that he wanted to move all the way to across the country to attend some state college, Jacob confronted him. 

“What’s going on?” he asked his brother. Bishop only shrugged, saying that he was ‘going through some stuff’ and ‘just needed time to figure things out’. Dissatisfied with this answer, Jacob pressed him for more information, and at last, Bishop caved. 

“How do I know if everything we grew up learning is true? Like, it’s not that I don’t believe it, I just… I don’t know, Jake. I’ve just sort of blindly believed what I was told my whole life; I’ve never really had a chance to take a step back and ask myself if it’s really what I believe, personally.” 

Jacob stared at his brother in shocked silence for a long while. “And… that’s why you’ve been… acting this way?” he finally managed. 

Bishop shrugged, looking rather miserable. “I mean, it’s not just that; I’ve also been dealing with some… some personal issues… it’s not a big deal, though.” 

Jacob pressed him for more information, but Bishop refused to say anymore. Unsure what else to do, Jacob went through his brother’s room while he was out until he found a journal. Jacob discovered more than he wanted to about his brother that day: he found multiple drafts of suicide notes, a detailed account of a sexual encounter with another man, and profound doubts about everything from the nature of man to the existence of God. Even more disturbing was that Bishop had apparently not confessed any of this to the priest, though why not, Jacob could not fathom. He wasn’t sure what to do--his brother was clearly going through either a trial or a crisis, though which Jacob could not say. He considered talking to their parents about the things he had found out, yet decided against it; if their parents knew how bad it was, they would almost certainly send Bishop packing off to a Catholic boarding school, and everyone Jacob had ever known who’d been sent to one of those unwillingly had returned with a great hatred for religion and the church. Not to mention, Jacob was not certain that his brother should be surrounded only by other boys his own age, given the circumstances. But certainly he couldn’t idly stand by while his brother wreaked havoc on himself and their family--especially if Bishop went through with the suicide he was contemplating, he would certainly condemn himself to Hell. Finally one night, as Jacob did his schoolwork, he came across the scene in Hamlet in which the prince would not kill his uncle as he prayed. All at once, the solution came to him, and his stomach dropped at the realisation of what he must do. 

Jacob finished penning the letter, carefully copying his brother’s handwriting. His chest ached with the thought of what he was about to do, yet he knew it had to be done. Carefully folding the letter, he placed it in his top desk drawer and grabbed his bag, which contained everything he would need for that night. On his way out of the house, he heard his parents talking--likely arguing--over what to do about Bishop. Jacob knew that his brother would still be at the church when he got there; every time he went lately, he stayed until long after the sun had set. Jacob began his drive to the church, feeling as though there were a weight in his chest. All he could think of was the passage from scripture: “For the wrath of God is revealed from Heaven against all ungodliness and unrighteousness of men...” 

He stopped at a red light, wondering how his parents would react. He imagined it would be some mixture of sorrow and guilty relief. The sky faded to a grey dusk as he pulled into the church lot, and he offered up a prayer of repentance for the act he was about to commit. He took one last deep breath, then pulled the crowbar from his glove compartment. He started for the church. As he pulled the door open, a cold wind blew, at odds with how warm the weather had been. Shivering, he entered and pulled the door shut behind him. The moment he entered the sanctuary, however, he realised his brother was not there. He looked around a moment, then turned and exited the church. He walked around the building toward the confessional entrance, wondering where Bishop might be. A flock of crows perched on the spires, and they glared down at him with their beady eyes. At first glance, Jacob could see that the confessional was empty. He was beginning to grow apprehensive; where was his brother? Just then, he crossed into the courtyard and caught sight of a figure kneeling before the fountain and the statue of the Virgin Mary. 

Bishop didn’t see Jacob enter the courtyard; his back was to the entrance, his eyes shut in prayer. As Jacob watched, Bishop raised his face to the statue and straightened his back, almost as though he was being drawn towards it. Jacob crept closer, holding the crowbar behind his back. His stomach was writhing, yet whether in revulsion or ecstasy, he could not be certain. When he was a few feet behind his brother, Bishop hung his head once more then put his face to the ground. Jacob stopped and gazed for a moment at his brother, a mixture of anger and pity welling within him. The crows glared down upon the pair still, and their gaze heightened Jacob’s unease. He steeled his resolve once more and strode forward the remaining distance between himself and his brother. 

As he came to a halt directly behind Bishop, Jacob gripped the crowbar more tightly and tensed his arm, ready to strike. Bishop turned in surprise. “Jake? What’re you--” Without a word, Jacob raised the crowbar and brought it down upon his brother’s head. Bishop fell forward, his face a mask of surprise and pain. He tried to scramble away, but his limbs jerked awkwardly as he began to lose consciousness. Bishop drew a rattling gasp, his lips forming words, although no sound came from his mouth. “God have mercy on your soul, brother,” Jacob said, and he raised the crowbar once more and cracked his brother across the face. Bishop fell limply into the fountain. Gripped by a sudden hysteria, Jacob stepped into the fountain and began to savagely beat Bishop’s head. After a few moments he paused and lowered the crowbar, breathing heavily. Blood oozed into the water from Bishop’s ruined skull. The crows suddenly lit off from the rooftops, wheeling over and over the courtyard until they took off east, rapidly fading into the darkening sky. 

Jacob’s guilt was assuaged somewhat after confessing his deed, but he still could not shake the image of his brother’s face as he died, nor the sound of his dying gasp. His parents had found the note he had forged, and they seemed convinced; he had heard his mother crying more than once since it had happened. He longed to visit his brother’s grave, but he dared not return there so soon. He knew that what he had done was necessary, and that he had been forgiven for it, yet three times since, he had awakened during the night in a cold sweat, the echo of his brother’s voice still ringing in his ears. Since his crime, he had gone to the church nearly every day for prayer and penance. He went there now, thinking hard as he walked. Despite his assuredness that he was forgiven, a vague unease remained in the back of his mind. As Jacob walked past the cemetery, he instinctively looked towards the place where he had buried Bishop. He could not see it from the outside, but the trees obscuring it looked black. Jacob halted, staring at the trees. As he looked more closely, however, he realised that they were only covered by a large number of crows. Although he could not tell from the distance, he felt that each of their beady black eyes were upon him. Unnerved, he turned away and kept walking. The church loomed in front of him, strangely cold and uninviting. A cloud passed in front of the sun behind the tallest spire, giving the church an eerie, almost skeletal, appearance. A chilly wind cut through Jacob’s thin jacket, and he shuddered and opened the door. 

The sanctuary was empty, and Jacob’s footsteps echoed through the space as he walked towards the altar. He knelt in the first row of pews. He tried to offer up a prayer of repentance, but could not focus. He opened his eyes and glanced about nervously. The figures in the stained glass windows seemed to glare down at him, and the icons, their faces usually kind and forgiving, seemed to leer at him in condemnation. Feeling strangely panicky, Jacob quickly rose and left the church. He walked around the building a few times, trying to calm his nerves. He walked into the courtyard, and his eyes fell upon the statue of the Virgin Mary. Jacob approached it slowly and knelt before the fountain, in the very place Bishop had knelt as he sent up his final prayer. The statue’s arms were spread over the fountain, seeming to encompass the entire courtyard. “Forgive me,” Jacob whispered, and he hung his head, all at once overcome by emotion. 

He heard a rustling, and looked up to see the spires of the church covered once more by crows. Jacob felt a silent terror rise within him; he fought it down, telling himself that he was being paranoid. The birds sat upon the church’s spires, silently glaring down at him. Jacob bowed his head once more and began to pray. “Lord, I know my brother’s fate at my hand to be divinely ordained; yet, I know also that murder is condemned, and so for this, in your holy name, do I ask forgiveness…” Suddenly, Jacob felt a prickling on the back of his neck, as though someone was standing behind him. He turned rapidly, but the courtyard behind him was empty. Now truly unnerved, Jacob bowed his head once more. 

“Brother,” a voice whispered behind him. 

Jacob was on his feet in an instant, turning to see who had spoken. The spectral form of his dead brother stood before him, its head tilted to one side. Jacob gasped. “Bishop?”

“You kneel in the very spot where I knelt,” said the spectre, its voice thin and insubstantial. Jacob backed away a few steps, half convinced that he was dreaming. 

“My spirit cannot leave from this place, for here I was murdered in the very act of prayer.” The spectre seemed to drift closer, and Jacob retreated another step.

“Don’t you know what you have done?” Bishop turned his head slightly, and Jacob saw the place where his skull was caved in. He took another step backward and tripped, falling into the fountain. 

“A murder committed on holy ground is cursed doubly, brother,” said the spectre. “Your damnation will be increased, for this holy place was tainted when you spilled my blood upon it.” The spectre suddenly loomed over him, and Jacob scrambled backwards in the water, too terrified to try to stand. “Bishop,” he whispered, “I’m sorry… I did it for you, to save your soul…” 

“My soul was never yours to save. Mea culpa, brother. But my soul is in God’s hands now. And, as for you…” Bishop leaned down. “There may yet be hope of redemption for you, for you have confessed yourself.” Bishop leaned closer, and Jacob could see the dent in his cheekbone where the crowbar had struck him. “But not in this life, for you cannot know fully the weight of this deed, and so cannot repent of it fully. As it fell upon Cain, God’s wrath falls sevenfold upon you for what you have done in this place, brother.” Then Bishop disappeared, and Jacob fainted, his head passing beneath the water. 

All at once, in a flurry of cawing and feathers, the crows alighted from the cathedral and hurtled away towards the setting sun.

[ecotone99]

[MS] A Snowfall's Story

Melissa woke up with a start. Clearly, she had thought that the nightmares had stopped. But no, this time it seemed all the more real and scarier. The baby lying on the snow, wrapped in a white sheet, beckoning to her, “Mama,mama” and then a car rushed over it. That roughly triangular shaped birthmark on the right cheek was prominent too. Melissa knew that her imagining of hypothetical situations had led to her creepy and spine chilling nightmares. She switched on her phone and checked the time. Date – 25th December, Time- 10:14 AM, Temperature- -4 degree Celsius, Weather – Heavy snow. Just like that day. She was dripping in sweat. She started to feel claustrophobic but somehow calmed herself down. The guilt would never leave her body and soul. But she was sure that someone had found her. Someone had to otherwise she would be punished in hell. It wasn’t her fault. She was exhausted and drowsy and she did it impulsively. She was still sorry for it. It was just impossible for her to keep up with everything at once. She started to feel tired all the time. She couldn’t do it all alone. Even Scott left her alone during that time. She still cannot believe how heartless he had been. He showed no sympathy towards her, not even the baby as if it wasn’t his baby as well. He left just like that without any concrete reason. After Scott left, Melissa started working as a night cleaner at a hotel so she could take care of her baby all day. But she still didn’t feel free at work and remained anxious wondering what if Pug woke up. Pug, yes, that’s what she used to call her. She never thought of a name for her, just a nickname. It seems odd to her now. She came out of the shower and the cold hit her. She looked out of the window. The streets were all covered with snow. No one was out but she looked at the opposite building and could see most of the apartments decorated with lights, Christmas trees, plastic stars, etc. As she lived in the last apartment of the second floor, she even got a good view of the neighbourhood. The street was decorated too. There was an atmosphere of merriment all around but nothing could cure her misery. She looked around her apartment. It seemed all gloomy with wallpaper peeling off, old furniture, a broken bulb and clothes all around. She put the towel on the creaky sofa and changed into a sweatshirt and sweatpants. She didn’t care to keep her apartment tidy. The clothes she took off at 7:30 AM after returning from work remained bundled up at one side of the bed. She sat down on her bed to eat some cereal and switched on the TV. The doorbell rang. She looked at the time on her phone, 11:27 AM. Who could it be? Perplexed, she went to open the door and as she opened the door she wished her eyes were telling lies. It was Courtney, after all these years. Standing there and smiling with a basket of cookies in her hands. Her past demons have decided to haunt her back today. She stood there dumbfounded with an inability to move. “How are you, sweetie?”, Courtney exclaimed and hugged her tight. So tight that Melissa could feel her nails digging in her back. “I missed you so much. It has been so long. Why didn’t you and Pug come to visit me even once in the last like what, five years?”, Courtney said in a loud voice. “Oh, you know I’ve been busy.” How could she tell her that she was actually afraid to visit her. “Of course, you’re a mother of a five year old.” Courtney started to look around the apartment and peeked inside the bedroom once. She touched the furniture and the curtains and seemed like an investigator. “Would you like some coffee?”, Melissa asked unwillingly. She felt uneasy in her presence. She wanted her to leave as soon as possible. “Oh yes. The usual, you know. Coffee with no sugar.” “Right.” “Where’s Pug?” “She’s at her Dad’s place.”, After impulsively saying this, Melissa realised the blunder she had made. “Scott, really?” Melissa took a few seconds to conjure up a story. “Yeah, actually Scott redeemed himself last year. Seems like he missed Pug a lot. He really loves and cares about Pug, you know. He visits us at least twice in a month.”, Melissa completed her story and wished that Courtney would believe it. Courtney remained silent for a few moments and then said, “You still call her Pug?” “Oh yes. I mean no. I gave her a name, it’s Whitney. I named her after my favourite singer, you know. But her nickname’s still Pug.” Courtney nodded. The once best friends sat down sipping coffee in the bedroom. “Your house really doesn’t look like that a kid lives in it. No toys or kid’s clothes. Just your stuff everywhere.”, Courtney said looking around. “Errm...”, Melissa started but was interrupted by Courtney. “What? Got them all stacked up like skeletons in your closet?” Melissa looked at Courtney and tried to read her expressions. Was she taunting? Was she being serious? Did she know something? “Oh my God! You got all worked up. I was just kidding.”, Courtney let out a raucous laugh. “Snows quite a lot in Williamsburg. Parking my car was so hectic. It doesn’t snow this much in Manhattan or does it? But I don’t know, I haven’t lived in there since 2012. September of 2012. I remember when I used to live in Manhattan; you two would so often hang around in my house. Pug loved me so much. I think she liked my place more. Then I moved to Connecticut and ya’ll forgot me. Hey, remember the Christmas of 2012. That was the first and the last time you two visited me in Connecticut. Pug was so happy that day. She kept on laughing and cycling her legs. I loved her so much. She loved me too. I wished she were my daughter.” Melissa listened to Courtney’s recollection of the Christmas of 2012 and started to feel guilty again. “Hey, do you remember that church near my house?”, Courtney asked with a strange malignant voice. “Wha... What church?”, Melissa said agitatedly. “Oh, you might’ve not noticed but it’s a pretty big church. Recently, I became friends with a nun there and if you and Pug would like to come around I’ll take you two there. The nun, she loves children and knows all the stories from the Bible and narrates them to the kids. Pug would really like her.” Melissa received a call on her phone. “Oh, yes... no of course I haven’t forgotten. I’ll see you in half an hour. Bye.” Courtney could see there was no caller ID on the mobile screen from the gap between the phone and Melissa’s ear and smiled a lopsided grin. “Well, I see you’ve got to be somewhere in thirty minutes so I’ll be leaving.”, Courtney couldn’t hide her sarcastic tone while saying this. Melissa heaved a sigh of relief but didn’t make it look obvious. As Courtney was putting on her coat, Melissa said, “Pug and I would be surely visiting you next year.” Courtney was waiting for a statement like this from Melissa. “You insolent fool.”, Courtney shouted at the top of her voice. Melissa was taken aback but then gathered up some courage and mumbled a few words ,”Wh... Why are you shouting Court?” “Oh, you’re asking me why am I shouting?” “I... I don’t understand.” “Oh, you don’t understand. Are you still gonna pretend that Pug is alive and lives with you?” Melissa stood there dazed, eyes bulging out and kept mumbling “This can’t be true” under her breath. “How could you be so ruthless? Huh? Tell me.” “I... I... you don’t understand.”, Melissa tried to compose sentences but all that came out were half finished words. “What don’t I understand? That you’re a monster who killed her own daughter.” “I did not kill her.” “Please, Melissa. You did. Involuntary but it was murder. You murdered your daughter. You’re a murderer.” “No... I... please.”, Melissa started sobbing. “What were you even thinking when you left her there like that? Tell me.” “Listen Court. You’ll have to listen to me carefully. You have to understand me...” “I don’t have time for your drama. Just tell me the truth.” “I was only twenty-one when I became pregnant, you know. I thought it wouldn’t be that hard and Scott promised he would be always there to help me. When Pug was born, I realised how difficult it is to be a mother. All that nagging, crying, running around, sleepless nights and then Scott left too and I had to apply for a job. I remained frustrated and tired all day. I just couldn’t take it anymore. That is why... that is why I left her there in front of the church thinking... thinking that someone would find her and take her.” Melissa stopped and looked at Courtney’s face to find signs of sympathy and pity but there were none. “Oh, so you thought that someone would find her. Well, let me tell you the truth. I found her but when I did, she was already dead. You left my house at around 8 o’ clock that evening. At around 10 o’ clock in the night it had started snowing heavily and the temperature fell back to negative degrees. That is when I discovered that my room heater wasn’t working and so I decided to go to the local electronics’ store and see if I could find someone who could fix it. The store is situated at the lane just opposite of the church. It was closed but then I noticed something lying on the ground covered in snow in front of the church. I went near it and was astonished beyond limit to find out it was Pug. She was cold as ice, her skin pale and blue, her eyes were closed and she was as stiff as a wooden plank. I rushed her to the hospital immediately but she was declared dead then and there. I couldn’t believe it. I pressed her close to my chest and tried to transfer some warmth to her. Then I went to the cemetery and buried her with my own hands... with my own hands. The baby I loved so much, you made me see death come upon her face. Oh, how I despise you.” Melissa broke down and started wailing loudly, cursing herself. She pulled her hair, scratched the floor and looked like a total savage. “How could you be so cold-blooded? She was only eight months old for God’s sake. I can’t even imagine that a heartless person like you used to be my friend once. I wish you were dead instead of her.”, Courtney said with a severe abhor in her voice. “Do you want to know the purpose of my visiting you today? I just came here to remind you of the dirt you did. It seemed like you had forgotten about it. You know, I waited for you to come back, realising the horrible crime you committed. But you never came back. You called me and chatted with me like everything was good and the same. You kept on lying about Pug doing this and that. Ugh, you atrocious woman. You kept on enjoying life wh... “, Courtney was cut short. “No I didn’t keep on enjoying life.”, Melissa said with a firm voice. “I have been living in fear and guilt all these years. Can’t you see? I live a desolate life. I don’t socialize. It’s just the job and this apartment. I am terrified to go far away, afraid of being caught. I thought leaving Pug there would give me back my freedom. But I got more imprisoned than before. Every person I interacted with, I felt that they knew something about what I did and would get me arrested. I started drifting away from my colleagues and then stopped socializing at all. I started suffering from insomnia and horrific nightmares kept me from sleeping. I’m just dying each day by day...” “It would be so good for you if you just didn’t exist anymore, won’t it be? I don’t mean it in a bad way. But look at yourself. As thin as a stick, living like a ghost, alone in this apartment. No one would even notice if you just go away one day. What’s the purpose of leading such a life?”, Courtney said trying to accomplish her plan. Melissa looked at Courtney, astonished but gradually understood the veracity of the statement. Her life was a mess, that’s clear. What’s the point of going on with her life? If she were dead she would be free from all the awful guilt and loneliness and she might also get the chance of reconciling with her daughter. “Yes, you’re right. Death is the only option left.”, Saying this, Melissa went into the kitchen. After a minute or two, she came out with a rope in her hands. Her face was expressionless and there was a vacant stare in her eyes. She went into the bedroom and placed a stool on the bed and stood over it and started tying the rope to the fan. “No, you don’t have to do this.”, Courtney said half-heartedly. “I’ve nowhere else to go so I’ll just leave this world. If you don’t want to be here then leave.”, Melissa said almost breaking down. Melissa looked like a human puppet whose strings were being controlled by Courtney’s firm and fierce eyes. Courtney didn’t try to stop her and kept on watching as if it was deem necessary to witness everything that was going to happen. Melissa put the rope around her neck and pushed down the stool. Her eyes rolled up and her tongue came out. Courtney almost threw up and got out of the bedroom to avert her eyes from the awful situation. She took away the two cups and washed them thoroughly and wiped them dry and put them back in the shelves because first of all she didn’t want anyone to suspect that she visited Melissa today and second of all a person who had been so depressed as to commit suicide wouldn’t care to have a cup of coffee in the morning. There was a bowl of cereal in the basin. Most of the cereal was still in it. Yes, the perfect sign of depression and anorexia. She took a cloth and started to wipe off every possible fingerprints and footprints from the floor, furniture, etc. She didn’t for once look at Melissa in the bedroom. She put on her coat, her winter cap and gloves and took away the basket of cookies while leaving. She checked in the hallway. No one was out; no one saw her leaving Melissa’s apartment. While ascending down the stairs, she removed the gift card from the basket and dumped the basket in a dust bin on the street. She got into her car and drove away. She knew what she was starting to feel like. She felt like a legit murderer. But she didn’t care ‘cause she had avenged Pug today. She took a deep breath, pushed out the thought and focused on the road instead. She reached her house at around 4 o’ clock. “Chrissy, where are you?”, Courtney called out. She noticed Chrissy sitting on the porch swing outside. She went out and saw her eating the fruit cake she had baked yesterday. Courtney sat beside her and brushed off some of the crust from the roughly triangular shaped birth mark on her right cheek and then kissed her. “I avenged you today, hon.”, Courtney said with some tears at the corner of her eyes. Chrissy didn’t understand the statement and remained silent. Seeing her scantily dressed, Courtney asked concerned, “Don’t you feel cold?” “No.”, Chrissy replied instantly. Courtney smiled and said, “Of course, you don’t.” “You’re a fighter, you know. You’ve caused miracles. You fought pneumonia at such a small age.”, Courtney said after a pause. “You always say that but I don’t understand what it means, Mum.”, Chrissy said and made a cute angry face. Courtney pulled Chrissy into her arms and made her sit on her lap and rested her head upon hers and said, “You were always supposed to be mine.” and a lone tear escaped her eyes. They sat there silently, staring in the distance until snow decided to fall on them again.

THE END

Author Message - This story was written by me. It hasn't been copied from anywhere.

submitted by /u/idyllic_killer [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2CFEyua

[readbookywooks]

But Capricorn had already noticed the boy. ‘Stop!’ he commanded, so sharply that Mo broke off in mid-sentence and raised his head. Abruptly, and rather unwillingly, Capricorn’s men returned to reality. Cockerell was the first on his feet. ‘Hey, where did he come from?’ he growled. The boy ducked, looked round with a terrified expression, and ran for it, doubling back and forth like a rabbit. But he didn’t get far. Three men immediately sprang forward and caught him at the feet of Capricorn’s statue. Mo put the book down on the flagstones beside him and buried his face in his hands. ‘Hey, Fulvio’s gone!’ cried one of Capricorn’s men. ‘Vanished into thin air!’ They all stared at Mo. There it was again, the nervousness in their faces, but this time mingled not with admiration but with anger. ‘Get rid of that boy, Silvertongue!’ ordered Capricorn angrily. ‘I have more than enough of his kind. And bring Fulvio back.’ Mo took his hands away from his face and stood up. ‘For the millionth time, I can’t bring anyone back,’ he said. ‘The fact that you don’t believe me doesn’t make that a lie. I can’t do it. I can’t decide who or what comes out of a book, nor who goes into it.’ Meggie reached for Mo’s hand. Some of Capricorn’s men came closer, two of them holding the boy. They were pulling on his arms as if to tear him in half. Eyes wide with terror, the boy stared into their unfamiliar faces. ‘Back to your places!’ Capricorn ordered the angry men. A couple of them were already dangerously close to Mo. ‘Why all this fuss? Have you forgotten how stupidly Fulvio acted on the last job? We almost had the police down on us. So it’s the right man to have gone. And who knows, perhaps this lad will turn out to have a talent for arson. All the same, I want to see pearls now. And gold and jewels. After all, they’re what this story is all about, so let’s have some!’ An uneasy murmuring rose among the men. Nonetheless, most of them returned to the steps and perched once more on the worn treads. Only three still stood in front of Mo, staring at him with intense hostility. One of them was Basta. ‘Very well, so we can dispense with Fulvio,’ he said, never taking his eyes off Mo. ‘But who is this wretched wizard going to magic into thin air next time? I don’t want to end up in some thrice-accursed desert story and find myself going around in a turban all of a sudden!’ The men standing near him nodded in agreement, and looked at Mo so darkly that Meggie almost stopped breathing. ‘Basta, I won’t tell you again.’ Capricorn’s voice sounded menacingly calm. ‘Let him go on reading, all of you. And anyone whose teeth start chattering with fear had better go outside and help the women with the laundry.’ Some of the men looked longingly at the church door, but none ventured to leave. Finally, even the two who had been standing beside Basta turned without a word and sat down with the others. ‘You’ll pay for Fulvio yet!’ Basta whispered to Mo before he stationed himself behind Meggie again. Why couldn’t he have disappeared? she thought. The boy still hadn’t uttered a sound. ‘Lock him up. We’ll see if he can be of any use to us later,’ ordered Capricorn. The boy did not resist as Flatnose led him away. Apparently numb, he stumbled along as if he were still expecting to wake up. When would he realise this dream was never going to end? When the door closed behind the two of them Capricorn returned to his chair. ‘Go on reading, Silvertongue,’ he said. ‘We still have a long day ahead of us.’ But Mo looked at the books lying at his feet, and shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You saw. It happened again. I’m tired. Be content with what I’ve brought you from Treasure Island. Those coins are worth a fortune. I want to go home, and I never want to set eyes on you again.’ His voice sounded rougher than usual, as if it had read too many words aloud. Capricorn looked at Mo appraisingly before turning his eyes to the bags and chests his men had filled with coins. He seemed to be working out how long their contents would keep him in comfort. ‘Yes, you’re right,’ he said at last. ‘We’ll go on tomorrow. Otherwise we might find a stinking camel turning up here next, or another half-starved boy.’ ‘Tomorrow?’ Mo took a step towards him. ‘What do you mean? Aren’t you satisfied yet? One of your men has disappeared already. Do you want to be the next?’ ‘I can live with the risk,’ replied Capricorn, unimpressed. His men leaped to their feet as he rose from his chair and walked slowly down the altar steps. They stood there like schoolboys, although some of them were taller than Capricorn, hands clasped behind their backs as if at any moment he would inspect their fingernails for cleanliness. Meggie couldn’t help remembering what Basta had said – how young he himself had been when he had joined Capricorn – and she wondered whether it was out of fear or admiration that the men bowed their heads. Capricorn had stopped beside one of the bulging moneybags. ‘Oh, I have a great many plans for you, Silvertongue, believe me,’ he said, putting his hand into the sack and running the coins through his fingers. ‘Today was just a test. After all, I had to convince myself of your talents with my own eyes and ears, right? I can certainly use all this gold, but tomorrow you’re going to read something else out of a book for me.’ He strolled over to the boxes which had contained the books that were now burnt to ashes, and reached into one. ‘Surprise!’ he announced, smiling as he held up a single book. It didn’t look at all like the copy Meggie and Elinor had brought him. It still had a brightly coloured paper dust-jacket with a picture that Meggie couldn’t make out from a distance. ‘Oh yes, I still have one!’ remarked Capricorn, scanning the uncomprehending faces with pleasure. ‘My own personal copy, you might say, and tomorrow, Silvertongue, you’re going to read to me from it. As I was saying, I like this world of yours very much indeed, but there’s a friend from the old days that I miss. I never let your substitute try his skill with my friend – I was afraid he might fetch him here without a head, or with only one leg. But now I have you, and you’re a master of your art.’ Mo was staring incredulously at the book in Capricorn’s hand as if he expected it to dissolve into thin air at any moment. ‘Have a rest, Silvertongue,’ said Capricorn. ‘Spare your precious voice. You’ll have plenty of time for that, because I have to go away, and I won’t be back till noon tomorrow. Take these three back to their quarters,’ he told his men. ‘Give them enough to eat, and some blankets for the night. Oh yes, and get Mortola to bring him tea. That kind of thing works wonders on a hoarse, tired voice. Didn’t you always swear by tea sweetened with honey, Darius?’ He turned enquiringly to his old reader, who simply nodded, and looked sympathetically at Mo. ‘Back to our quarters? Do you mean that hole where your man with the knife put us last night?’ Elinor’s cheeks were flushed red, whether in horror or indignation Meggie couldn’t guess. ‘This is wrongful detention! No, worse – abduction! That’s it, abduction. Are you aware how many years in jail you’d get for it?’

[simonskizm]

The way I have been waiting for someone to draw the Tulpar crew to the Last Supper omg-

I listened to good time by owl city on repeat while drawing this