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"Go on, my child." "I am scared." She swallows, letting the sound of her heart echo off the confessional walls. It had taken all of her courage to come inside the gold decorated walls of the sanctuary. This was the last hope to save her life, and possibly her soul. "Why are you afraid?" the soothing voice next to her asked. "I fear that I have let the devil into my heart. I have had impure thoughts, and I am afraid that he wants my soul." "When did you first have these impure thoughts?" "One week ago. Forgive me Father, I should have come sooner, but I was so afraid. He told me no one could help me." "Who told you this, child?" The blood rushed in her ears as she tried to form the words, tried to stop her voice from shaking. "Satan." The candles glowed off the gilt walls as the choir sung of faith and harmony in their motley voices. She knelt on the softly upholstered stool, lowering her head and closing her eyes, envisioning Christ's love all around her as the priest had instructed her. She felt his heavy, shaking hand on the top of her head as he blessed her and made the symbol of a cross. When his fingers touched her chin, she immediately opened her eyes and looked up, taking in the body and blood of Christ. The Priest smiled at her, and she smiled back, getting up from the stool and moving back to her seat on the pew. The sermon continued after all of the girls had taken communion, and Raven straightened the wrinkles out of her knee-length skirt as she listened. She tried not to squirm, but she had a habit of not being able to sit still. One of the nuns had said it was because of her nerves, a general anxiety that caused her to fidget and be disruptive. After months of practice, Raven had learned to control herself by holding onto the hem of her skirt and keeping it at her knees. She kept her fingers tightly against the fabric while concentrating once again on the Priest. After the sermon was over, Sister Catherine escorted Raven and her class to the Pre-Calculus classroom. At Sacred Hearts Catholic Boarding School for Girls, age groups made up the classes, and because Sacred Hearts was very selective with the students they let in, it was a very small school. Raven had just turned sixteen two months before, in July, and now she sat with the rest of her small class in the small, dark math room with its wood paneled walls, short windows, and giant blackboard. Sister Catherine, a slender, frail woman in her twenties with compassionate blue eyes, tapped her ruler on the desk, silently demanding the conversations to end and the attention on her. She turned her back to the class, picked up a piece of chalk, and wrote a long equation on the board. After dusting the tips of her fingers, she called Raven to the front of the class to solve the problem. Raven slowly took the piece of chalk between her small fingers and slowly worked out the problem on the board. When she had finally solved for 'x', she put the chalk down and stepped to the side, awaiting the critique. Correct, Sister Catherine had said, giving a slight nod of approval that signaled that Raven could be seated. Raven took her seat quietly, proud, but not too proud, that she had remembered the equation from the week before. After Pre-Calculus, Raven had three other classes, including bible study, in which they studied The Song of Solomon, where a wife speaks of her passionate love to her husband, whom she does not name, and her ardent desire and faith. After bible study, Raven sat alone at one of the long, wooden lunch tables in the dining room, silently thinking about the wife's love; a love so strong, that burned like the coals of an intense flame. She lingered with ideas of someone loving her like that; undeniably and fully. Stronger, maybe, than her love for God. But as soon as she thought this, she struck it from her mind. She had thought this blasphemy against God, and he had heard her, and now she must repent. She pushed aside the half eaten meat loaf and waited for the bell to ring. The ending was near; she could feel it. The darkness flowed over her like a shadow as the sun sets. All there was left to do was wait. Wait for death to consume her. It was coming. She could smell it; feel its power push against the corner of her conscious. Soon she would look into the eyes of evil itself;if she lived that long. Raven awoke in a cold sweat. Her heart was pounding so hard it shook her entire body. The cotton nightdress she wore was clinging to her body, and the sheets were pushed down to the bottom of the bed. The dream had been terrible, filled with fear and anticipation, but she couldn't quite remember what it was about. She just lay there in bed, her eyes open in the dark, staring above her at the ceiling she couldn't even see. None of the other girls she shared the large room with had noticed. The girl nearest her stirred for a moment, then seemed to be consumed back into a deep sleep. As soon as her heart had slowed to its normal pace, Raven closed her eyes, turning on her side and pulling the sheets back over her, even though she was in no way cold. On the backs of her eyelids she could see images, snapshots of the dream she had had, but they were all too fast and chaotic. It was half an hour before she was finally able to get to sleep, and only because her mind went clear with fatigue. At five o'clock in the morning the bell tower tolled. It was time for the girls at Sacred Hearts to wake up, make their beds, wash, brush their teeth, comb their hair, and go down to the dining room for the standard breakfast of plain and bland oatmeal. As Raven was getting dressed in front of the armoire beside her freshly made bed, she noticed small markings on her legs. There were only about three of them, but they were distinct, round, blue and purple bruises on the outsides of her thighs. She was startled when she saw them, noting mentally that she had not had them when she had gotten up the previous morning, nor when she had gotten dressed for bed the night before. She didn't panic. She told herself that she must have hit her legs on something without realizing it, and she just didn't notice the bruises that night. She tried not to think too much about them throughout the day, and soon her mind was on her studies, and the fact that exams were in a few weeks. The next morning there were no new bruises, only the greenish yellow of the old ones healing. Raven thanked God with an "Our Father" before going down to the dining room for breakfast, holding onto the blue beaded rosary that her grandmother had given her. Holding the beads close to her gave her a sense of security and relief. Somehow they made everything all right. That night, after dinner, instead of spending her free time until the eight o'clock curfew in the gardens, Raven decided to stay in and study for Latin, and perhaps even French. No one was around the dormitories when she entered, so there would not be any distractions. But as soon as she sat down at the desk, with the book open in front of her and all of the foreign words spread out before her eyes, she found her attention wandering. There was nothing in particular that held her attention, but she found herself following the grain in the wood of the desk, or counting the floorboards on the floor nearest her. Every time she lost her attention in class, Sister Catherine would smack the back of her hand with the ruler. Remembering this, Raven took out a ruler and gave her hand one good smack. She bit her lip as the stinging lingered on in her pale flesh, but she suddenly felt more focused. She could actually make out the words on the pages. She studied until she started to think in Latin and her eyelids started to get heavy, but the curfew toll hadn't rung yet. She still had time to get in some French before the rest of the girls came back. She pulled out her French book, and, opening the hard cover, noticed a small sheet of paper folded neatly and stuck inside. She pulled it out and unfolded it. "Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave: the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame." A line from The Song of Solomon. Perhaps she had written it down during bible study as the Sister had been teaching it to them. Or perhaps one of the girls had written it and put it in Raven's book by mistake. It didn't matter, really, but she decided against throwing it away. She folded it up and stuck it back into the crease of the front cover, turning the pages until she came to the correct lesson. The bell finally rang. It was curfew. Raven lifted her head from the pages of the French book. Somehow she had fallen asleep; she just couldn't keep her eyes open, and she hadn't absorbed any French either. The other girls started filing in, talking and laughing with each other, paying the dark-haired girl at the corner desk no mind. They stood by their beds, taking off their crisp, white blouses and navy blue pleated skirts, replacing them with plain, cotton nightgowns. Raven didn't get up from the desk until all the other girls were in their beds, tucked in neatly under the clean sheets and silent. The lights were still on and would stay on until the Headmistress came around all the rooms to make sure the girls were in bed. The bed felt so warm and soft compared to the hardness of the desk. Raven's neck hurt a little from the awkward position that she had fallen asleep in, so she stretched the kinks out before laying her head on the fluffy white pillow. With her eyes closed, she waited for the darkness to overtake her. The dark figure stepped in front of her, challenging her to run. She didn't, she wouldn't. As much as she tried not to look into his eyes, the black pits caught her, and held her there. His eyes seemed to be pulling her into oblivion. Shaken, she squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath. The footsteps came closer, until she could feel his cold breath on her face. He paused there for a moment. Confused, she opened her eyes to see him staring at her. A smirk ran across his lips as he bent down and... This time she was awakened by a sensation; a touching, a slight pressure on the bed. She opened her eyes and looked around wildly, sure that there had been someone near her, beside her, looking at her. But there was no one in the dark room that she could see. No evidence that anyone had even been there. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the upstairs hall was the only sound that Raven could hear over the rushing of her ears. She blinked several times, straining her eyes into the dark corners, before finally, hopelessly, giving up. As her heart slowed, her eyelids became heavy. Every few seconds they would shut, and she would lightly drift away. But then her mind would scream at her and her eyes would slam open. She would look around again, as if the one who was there before were back again. And then, upon seeing that the room was empty of strangers, her eyelids would shut again. The vicious cycle continued until her eyes could no longer open. She couldn't believe what was happening. The dark figure's lips were on hers. She could feel his body heat pressed up against her. He burned like a furnace. She tried to clear her thoughts, but he clouded her mind. It was as if he was trying to make her forget. Forget what? Forget that they weren't supposed to be doing this. Before she could react, he pulled away, the smile gone from his lips. She could see satisfaction and longing on his face. She looked into the black pits of his eyes, but couldn't see anything. He was hiding. He stepped back a few paces, and she heard him speak her name, but it was inside her head, for his lips were not moving. "Raven," the voice called soothingly. Raven turned over on her back, breathing in deeply as sleep called her back. It had almost sounded real, so real she could still hear it echo on her eardrums. "Raven," it said again, but this time it was not in her head. She turned her face towards the voice and slowly opened her eyes. He was there, sitting on the bed beside her. His figure was backlit by the window, so what she would’ve been able to see in the dark was hidden. When he smiled, she could see his extraordinarily white teeth stand out against the shadows, and she noticed that he had beautiful black hair, glowing as it was from the moonlight. Raven wanted to run, her mind was screaming at her to run, her muscles were tensing, but something about him made her stay. Maybe it was his calm and collective demeanor that told her she wasn't in danger. Or maybe it was the long, strong arms that wouldn't allow her to reach the floor. Whatever it was, she sat there vulnerable; clenching on to the bed sheets and holding them up to her neck, breathing hard. "Raven," he said again, his voice like desire, wanting. "Don't be afraid." "Who are you?" Raven asked in a small, quaky voice. He took so long to reply that she wasn't sure if he had heard her. "Does it matter who I am?" He paused for a moment to put a hand on Raven's knee over the covers. "Who are you?" "Raven Winters." This time it was only a whisper. His hand on her knee had sent tingles into the pit of her stomach, and her head was starting to feel light and dizzy. "No," he said, shaking his head slightly for effect, "you are mine." Raven's heart started to beat in her throat as he leaned towards her. His cold breath tickled the skin on her cheek, then her ear. "Is a life with so much pain, a life without pleasure, really worth living?" He let his breath linger, breathing in and out several times before speaking again. "God can give you salvation, but I can give you so much more; so much," he paused, taking the lobe of her ear between his soft, moist lips, "better." Without another word he got up off the bed and immersed himself in the darkness of the room. She heard the door open and saw the light spill onto the floor. "I will have you," he called back to her before he shut the large wooden door. She still hadn't seen his face. For the rest of the night, Raven just sat up in her bed, staring from the door to the window, feeling where his body had been seated beside her. The places where he had touched her were overcome by a sweet prickling. It was almost...sinful. Raven began to panic with realization. Little sharp pangs emanated from her chest and surged up to her head. Now her immortal soul would be damned for all of eternity. She must go to confession; even if there were no priests on call, she had to confess for redemption. The panic in her body controlled her every movement. She hurriedly got dressed, throwing on wrinkled clothing without bothering to shower. None of the other girls were up, seeing as how it was Saturday, so her every movement echoed in the large halls as she ran down stairs to the sanctuary. She passed Sister Catherine, who told her to slow down, and upon seeing her disheveled demeanor, gave her a disapproving look. Raven slowed her pace to a fast walk and smiled apologetically. Relief flowed into her when she saw that the confessional, indeed, was occupied. She waited silently in one of the pews until the occupant, another Sister, had gone to the alter to pray, and she quietly slipped into the confessional, closing the door behind her. "Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been two days since my last confession." "Go on." "I have had thoughts of the most disturbing nature." Her voice was small, almost a whisper as she rushed to get it all out. "Strange things have been happening to me, and I am afraid that God is punishing me." The Father chuckled. "God does not punish, he forgives. I am sure that these strange things are purely your imagination, brought on by stress from the exams that are to come. And as for these disturbing thoughts, you know that they are wrong?" "Yes Father." "And you are sorry and shameful for having them?" "Oh yes, Father," her voice full of desperation. "Ask the Lord for forgiveness. For your sins, say three "Hail Mary"s and five "Our Father"s." "Thank you, Father," she said before quietly getting out of the confessional and kneeling at the pew with her hands folded in front of her. She said the "Hail Mary"s and the "Our Father"s, but her panic was not still. She breathed in deeply, telling herself, hoping, it was all in her imagination. But he was with her every night. He sat on the bed and watched her sleep, until she stirred and was awakened by his mere presence. She would sit up in bed, too frightened to speak, clenching onto the bed sheets. And he would just watch her, sometimes engaging in conversation, dying to hear her voice. One night she slept with a rosary wrapped in her hand, so when she inevitably woke up beside him she sat up and prayed silently in her mind. But he saw her, knew the rosary was in her hand, and he took it from her, dangling it in front of her face like a dead and disgusting animal. She saw the white of his teeth as he grinned almost savagely. "They cannot help you. No one can. Not even your precious God." Raven let out a whimper, pushing away from him in the bed, but still not able to run away. When he witnessed her reaction, he immediately relaxed, dropping the beads on the floor. "I am sorry." He tried to caress her hand, but she shied away. "Do not be afraid. I would never hurt you." And she believed him, even though her body rebelled against the idea, tensing at the movement of his fingers to wipe away the wet tears on her cheeks. Some nights he said nothing at all, just stared at her, devouring her with his eyes. As her heart began to yield to him, he smiled more, knowing he was winning; knowing she was giving up. And the more her heart yearned for his presence, yearned for his attention, the more frightened she became. She still had not seen his face; still did not know who he was. Each time she got up the courage to ask, he would advert the question, never telling her. But somehow she knew; she knew that he was wicked, that this was wrong; and that is why she went to confessional one morning, determined to find help, determined to save her pure, immortal soul for God. "Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been one week since my last confession." "Go on, my child." "I am scarred." She swallows, letting the sound of her heart echo off the confessionals walls. It had taken all of her courage to come inside the gold decorated walls of the grand cathedral. This was the last hope to save her life, and possibly her soul. "Why are you afraid?" the soothing voice next to her asked. "I fear that I have let the devil into my heart. I have had impure thoughts, and I am afraid that he wants my soul." "When did you first have these impure thoughts?" "One week ago. Forgive me Father, I should have come sooner, but I was so afraid. He told me no one could help me." "Who told you this, child?" The blood rushed in her ears as she tried to form the words, tried to stop her voice from shaking. "Satan." The word came out of her mouth before she knew she had said it, before she had even thought it. But suddenly she knew it was the right word, the right name. As the priest was about to reply, the confessional door flew open. He stood there, looking at her, a look of sadness mixed with anger in his eyes. Though she had never seen his face before, Raven knew this was him. This man, with his dark hair, red lips, and eyes of black nothingness; this was Him. He pulled her out of the confessional, pinning her arms to her side with his thin but strong fingers. "I told you," he growled, looking into her eyes, "no one can help you." Raven was speechless; she just dangled there, not able to look from his eyes. He seemed to calm down, and let go of her arms. She pulled away from his stare and looked around. The priest was standing by the open confessional door, mouth agape, holding the bible with both hands. Sister Catherine was there as well, sitting in a pew in the front, turned around to see the commotion. She shook her head from side to side, eyes wide, holding her rosary and praying silently, pulling a bead through her fingers with each prayer she finished. There were other girls there, standing near the walls with looks of confusion on their faces, just staring; not able to move or speak. "You must come with me on your own," the hint of despair in his voice drew her attention. "I will not force you." "Corruption," someone in the sanctuary whispered. "Pray for redemption," whispered another. "I am beyond redemption," he whispered softly so only Raven could hear. He stepped back a few paces towards the door, then held out his hand to her, waiting for her decision. She looked at it, then at the faces around her. Sister Catherine still shook her head, moving her lips slightly with prayer; the other girls still statues against the walls. Raven turned to him again, staring into his eyes. The rosary she had unconsciously carried to confession dropped to the floor. Her fingertips tingled as she felt the cold, smooth flesh of his hand. |