Held By The Queen
“St. Michael the Archangel,
defend us in battle.
Be our defense against the wickedness and snares of the Devil.
May God rebuke him, we humbly pray,
and do thou,
O Prince of the heavenly hosts,
by the power of God,
thrust into hell Satan,
and all the evil spirits,
who prowl about the world
seeking the ruin of souls. Amen...”
-Prayer to St. Michael
“Salve, celsitudinis tuae. Iucunde quietis?”
SHIT! I forgot, the scepter brainwashed everyone into speaking Latin now. It took me nine minutes to process what he had said, and then a wide smile appeared on my lips.
“Optime carissime nota.”
My new smile still creeped me out a little--it was warm, it was matronly, but it didn’t diffuse the benevolent dictator vibe I was feeling as she stripped herself of her elegant clothing and led herself into the shower.
“Non possum non terretur speculorum imaginem tuam.” I snarked as she turned on the water, a heavy look of distilled disappointment on her face as my fingers tingled.
“Volo putas lambent tuum quoque sanguinem pulchri? Dixi vobis, quia ego nolo tibi.” Her fingers slid down my thigh and left hip, and if it weren’t for the fact that this was a holy site and by all means it had pictures of her and her son in it, I’d assumed the person steering this body of hers was a vampire searching for a vein to suck on.
“Hoc est quod volo iungere mihi non multum curant, neges amica lacrimis negas?”
I sighed, then mustered up enough courage and emotion to answer back, straightening it as immediately necessary to articulate my independent point.
“Minime, mater . Sicut subditorum amo te amo , et forte magis . Suus ‘iustus ... ... non possum dicere eum obriguerunt sumus . Ille in fraternitatem ego praeesse regionem quod pluris est quam omnium libertatem bomb est . Nos sancta Maria . Im ’ , exterruerat ad eum . Et universam terram hanc mihi . Quod si ita sunt, auertere omnes ... ”
Her grin was wide like every politician’s wife’s publicity stunt, as she parted my hair like the Red Sea and slipped out of the shower into a nice robe and slippers.
“Et facta sint a Iesu iocos terribilis politicus , et nunc sumus , ut tandem cum suo termino , quod apparet benevolus in paucis dictator mirum similia sunt.”
The conversation was suddenly cut short, as she held up the habits. “Hyacinthum purpuram?” I didn’t cringe, but I had a different set of clothes in my mental closet laid out.
“Ego youd ′ amo ad induendum sectam. Subtiliter rosea Maybe unum ex istis, qui vere ostendit off in dolium.”
The look on her face was like the captain on the Titanic before it sunk, minutes, seconds even. “Quin tu aliquid tale non gerit. Principem es. Principem existimantur et cogita quem titulum geri non ostentationem asino.”
“Et ego credo in bonam. Non nimis arcta, videtur adhuc infans oculorum captans et crucifixus est... ut facis, et opus meum.”
“Certe non es sponsa. Nubentibus appenderunt vela, et similis figura eorum congruat sicut caestu.”
“Sed non dixerunt ad uxorem, quamvis - sum ego utique... proposuit memor essem et lienosus honore...”
“Iam satis diximus et inutiliter nobis opus est, mea.”
“Visum est et vinum?”
“Ita visum est vinum, sed scio non sumat... voluit bibere dulcis. Ad quaestiones madet internum vestrum?”
“Et odivi eam. Libenter tibi licet. Sed tu quoque mortalem Non habeo?”
