She teaches doctrines with every step that would make the pagan gods of lust canonize her with glee.I’m gonna be honest right up front here: I’ve not clicked with an X game since X-Tension many years ago. Ah, what an angel of the Lord, this, I thought musing, this heiress of the druglord Father's severed head. Let me return to the scene, the three of us gathered in the black-lacquered Chinese chairs around the thick glass table, and Dora coming in, at once struck by the presence of him, of which her mortal senses hadn't given her a clue, a pretty picture with her short gleaming knavish black hair, cut high to show the fragile nape of her swanlike neck, her long supple body clad in a loose ungirdled gown of purple red tissue that folded itself about her small breasts and slender thighs exquisitely. One shoe was left to him, the other foot bare, his coat torn, his hair wild and snagged with thorns and dried leaves and bits of errant flowers. Loved him then, yes, I had, but this had been a bodily disaster which his evil blood would heal, and I knew from our old lore that in the healing he would gain even greater strength than serene time itself would have given him. He pushed back the Chinese chair, and wringing his hands he began to pace, the inevitable prelude to his tale telling. He looked at me, and a faint charming smile brightened his face.Don't fear for me, little devil Armand, he said.Fear for all of us. In his arms, to his chest he clutched a flat bundle of folded cloth as if it carried the whole fate of the world embroidered on it. I wanted to comfort him, to tell him wherever he'd gone and whatever had taken place, he was now safe again with us, but nothing could quiet him. He wore new shoes.īut her greatest adornment in these moments was the tearful and eager love for him, her lack of fear of his mutilated face, the grace of her white arms as she enclosed him again, so sure of herself and so grateful for the gentle yielding of his body in towards her. He was washed and dressed, his torn and bleeding foot no doubt healed. He came quietly into the parlor of the apartment as the darkness clambered down, starry for a few precious moments before the dreary descent of snow. Her swelling breasts, their shadowy cleft quite visible against the simple stitching of her dark low-cut dress, told more of God and Divinity. What are such holy objects now, tumbling on milky bosoms with such ease, but trinkets of the marketplace? My thoughts were merciless, but I was but an indifferent cataloger of her beauty. Oh, why had I come to his aid? Why must I see him brought low like this when it had taken so many painful decades to cement my love for him forever?Ībout her pale sweet throat she wore a crucifix so tiny it seemed a gilded gnat suspended from a weightless chain of minuscule links woven by fairies. He was handsome and radiant, a darkish ruddy glow coming from his face as though he'd seen some powerful mystery.Īs I sank down that morning into my own resting place, secure in clean modern darkness, I cried and cried like a child on account of the sight of him. There was no denying the beauty of his smooth poreless sun-darkened skin, and even as the dark slit of the empty socket seemed to peer at me with some secret power to relay its vision to his heart. Why do you love me after all I've done to you? he asked. We had to seek our dark corners away from the prying sun, we had to wait until the following night when he would come out to us and tell us what had happened.īut nothing could lessen the grotesque picture of his torn face where the cuts of a claw or fingernails surrounded the gaping, puckering lids. He kissed me quickly on the cheek.Ī deep exhaustion saved us all from the inevitable tale. It won't take me but a moment, and then I'll have the eye in my hand and be the doctor myself and place it here. In a low voice I whispered to him my plan.Let me go down into the streets, let me steal from some mortal, some evil being who has wasted every physical gift that God ever gave, an eye for you I'll do it. As for the bundle he had carried in his arms, what could it have possibly been? I do not even think I thought of it. I remember only that the morning hastened us away, and if you cried too, I never heard you, I never thought to listen.
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