Mary Christof, Queen of Hearts

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Scary Godmother/Hounds of Heaven

“I sought no more after that which I strayed
In face of man or maid;
But still within the little children’s eyes
Seems something, something that replies,
They at least are for me, surely for me!
I turned me to them very wistfully;
But just as their young eyes grew sudden fair
With dawning answers there,
Their angel plucked them from me by the hair.
Come then, ye other children, Nature’s—share
With me’ (said I) ’your delicate fellowship;
Let me greet you lip to lip,
Let me twine with you caresses,
With our Lady-Mother’s vagrant tresses,
With her in her wind-walled palace,
Underneath her azured dais,
Quaffing, as your taintless way is,
From a chalice
Lucent-weeping out of the dayspring.”-Francis Thompson

I wondered where he this point, the cat, St. Jude and Rita were the only three paragons of sanity I had left to turn to. Everyone else turned away from me, as if I were plagued.

The cat was gone. So, I had to turn to them--how, though, when my mind was not connected to my body?

...and thus, a black-haired, brown, blind (with an eyepatch!) and mute spirit in a habit went a-wandering for an out-of-body experience to find her friends, carried by the strength of her stubby feet and long legs.

“Cool! And it’s, they were upstairs in my room when I last had my eyes...I just have to try not bumping into things and/or try not to get noticed...with my new luck, that’ll be...”

There they were. Bruce and Agatha, Olga’s twin bloodhounds, snoring like innocent Rottweilers, blood trailing down their--jowls? Jaws? Orifices? Fine, I’m calling it jowls.

Probably from some poor shmuck who got her leg ripped off trying to escape, or, if the spirit was indeed Mary, as she had sacrilegiously avowed before, a rabbit feast that was successful.

“...easy, right? Like milking a cow, omigod...”

The weird, almost melodious squeaking from the stairs didn’t quite help anyone’s perception that Olga’s joint wasn’t haunted in any way, but the squeaks were quiet enough that sneaking around late at night wouldn’t wake anyone up except for the lightest of sleepers.

“I’m at the top, good. Now all I have to do is slowly open the door and explain my situation, then...yay! Wait a minute...why do I see Rita and Jude now? Ugh. Must be delirium. Utter delirium...unless...Lady Godiva’s ass---you’ve got to be kidding me!”

The smirk on His face was one to behold, as seen through the lips of Sister Červené--who walked toward me, began to open her mouth to speak--and almost in an instant I’d recognized her speech quoting part of a poem before asking sweetly,

“Why do you run from me, child? What’s the matter, my sweet adventurer? Do I scare you in any way?”

The cat was back, though he seemed to be minding its own business, silently slinking about the city on his paws, busied.

“Ic pro iernan oferniman nâteshwôn êower, wislic dôð grîma of êower. weorð−mynd êower, stefnian me a râd a−dûn bêgra holc n? holca scrift ðurhtêon ût êower êow dôð cargêst norðêast sb sîn, ge sê hwæt wislic ðêah−hwæðere, mid mîn ex hêanes hire of hê hield, mîn mid mîn swâðêah mîn tunge, attraction with pron ðe ic sêon behôfian un−l¯æd me, hîe nem−nan nêðan, êower forcýðan, wislic hit hê wægn dyrstigian.”

She bit her lip in thought, before swiftly coming up with an answer, her smile fading a bit into a pursed look.

“Yes. You do scare me, in the most unintentional way, see. Please, I just want my eyes back--that's...ow!"

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