MARTYR
PROLOGUE
I didn't believe in golden gates or six-winged angels, nor did I bat an eye at the mention of demons lurking in the muddy waters of Britain. Superstition was never for me, I couldn't find peace in the idea that someone, or rather something was watching over my shoulder. Patiently waiting for the day I drew my final breathe to decide whether or not I had been holy.
Chapels sent chills down my spine, for righteous punishment seemed to scream from its walls, making me shudder at the thought of being judged. From the pews to the silent statues of our father, it all made me want to weep. The stained glass felt more like a spotlight heavy on my face. Mocking me, reminding me that I could never be redeemed for what I've done, for what my family has done.
I couldn't believe in a higher power because I was afraid, I was petrified of a punishment that would be well deserved. Sitting in churches made my heartbeat rapid enough to send me into shock.
I couldn't find peace there, I would never be able to find peace there.
But even so, watching your limp body drain blood into the snow, not being able to reach you, to hold you, and feel your heartbeat against mine...It made me believe, it made me pray just once that somebody above would save you, anyone, at all. In exchange for your life, I prayed they would take mine, and damn me to whatever hell was awaiting my presence.
If it meant you could live I'd give anything, blood and bone, heart and soul. My lover, all I have ever wanted was for you to be happy.
Please, don't give up on me, Please...look at me, don't leave me here.
I'm so scared of being alone.
