The church bell rung like a school’s--and I felt like the sorority’s nervous new co-president--if they had those, stepping into the Heart Of Immaculate Perfection’s chapel room, seating myself...hurriedly in the back where the invisible window (and the door) was. “Exspecta - quid in tergo tu es...”“Parva flos nascitur. Uictam ego paulum distulit usque...”
“Numquam mentem. Sed, manifesta teipsum mundo.”
" ... Sed ut iam ad signa frequentes . O bene . Ita genium , te in hac parte ... expectares, ubi parochus?”
The laughter from her was again bounteous, as her light illuminated the sky above us, and I had, as though hypnotized, walked up to the dais--the crown perched upon my head like some sort of odd symbiotic parasite to speak into the microphone placed before me.“Sorores! Magnum diem instat adhuc - omnia currit secundum propositum et proelia concitantur in quibus victis fructus facti tam suavi certe ab ultimo tempore plantabo eos in paradiso humilis communis paradisi et gratulatum , quod est opus vestrum . Quomodo Purgatio domus agam? imo optimum , sic?” “Secundum consilium Mariae.”
Since it wasn’t theoretically my turn to speak, I just watched curiously, half wondering where my heart happened to be. I couldn’t ask questions or think--though something nagged me to.
Questions like, “How were Prince Royal and Duke Julienne? Were they truly okay? Did Vladimir’s brotherhood feed them? Was I being too worrisome about this? What plan? No one told me about the houses--I thought they just tore down the dilapidated and apocalypse-torn ones and built living spaces to help everyone with leftover issues overcome them?”
Questions I couldn’t ask. I was bound by obedience, frankly, and it nagged the--pardon, it nagged the hell out of me since I first took the merry throne of Eden a month ago. Not the obedience, no! But the vagueness. The games. The tears. The feeling that if I told her familiar any of this, he would stare at me incredulously and send me to my chambers with a cup of skullcap tea, have my pillow fluffed, and then check my temperature as if I were burning up--ordering me to say at least 10 of them before I had to settle in for a nap or something.
Which frankly wasn’t so bad, if it weren’t for the fact that it had only been a month and already something felt off.
Maybe it was just my loneliness popping up again, like four f’s on a music sheet. Or maybe it was the fact that my heart--and by extension--heart’s desire, was in her keeping somewhere and I was in denial that it was helping me like America and some other countries used to be that they no longer had sole existences and they along with the rest of the world were merged into the Holy Roman Empire.
I decided not to ask. I was heartless, not brainless. Besides, since she had stolen my heart and made off with it, it had also reflexively stolen what emotional response other than thinly veiled snark I could make of the situation. I just had to deal with whatever pie she was cooking up in this heavenly oven.
Or maybe I could talk to her Son. If he was around...what time was it? Like one in the morning? The fucking stars betrayed the sight of the sky, pardon my language...they were so bright they were mistaken for daylight. I couldn’t help the inquiry and yet, I couldn’t help feeling like a child gossiping to another of their mother’s business when it was theirs entrusted alone.
And so I turned to the only other Earthly pleasure in this time of great mental peril that I had left...
“Day by day, there is a time when men must choose...”
Musical theater. Or, more precisely, the ones I could remember. That and random lines from movies.
Whatever the problem, the first thing I needed to do was rescue Julienne and Royal from the Fratres Hominis. Then I needed to find my heart. Or, her heart, damn semantics…and then…well, then we would go from there on what next to do.