6th of February, 1996
It was snowing lightly. I remember the way the frost gripped the masonry at the west of the church, making it slanted in the morning shadows. The birds never sung in this sort of cold; it was as if God had silenced them until he saw fit to warmth the earth and their dry throats. The east of the graveyard overlooked the fields, flat and slate grey under the light snowfall.
No one was working there, no one could see me crossing the path into the church. Not the early in the morning. Some crows landed and watched me unlock the ancient doors. I enjoyed the privacy, away from my ever clucking flock in their worn felt hats and desperate painted faces. Just for a few moments each day, I was free of the vulgar licentiousness of the ignorant congregation.
I lit some candles upon entry, and prayed a little, my mind wandering as the soft light filled the glass windows, sending an array of coloured luminance across the steps. I shut my eyes, shutting out the distraction from my God. Beauty is a great temptation away from purity of thought, even for those as focused on spiritual cleanliness as I. But still, knowing the warm pallor of Eve's skin fell on my own hands left me with frustration and guilt. Nowhere is free of temptation.
A shadow past the window, a small silhouette at some distance, ten foot or so from the wall of the church. I felt the light change around my eyelids and opened them in surprise. It was unlike any of the sinners to creep in here before nine in the morning at least, after a large meal and a globulous helping of powder to their aging faces. I stood and left the church, crossing the graveyard, searching for the intruder amongst the gravestones.
A rather young woman, with hair blacker than soot tinged a faint auburn in the sunlight stood facing one of the old victorian graves. I would have dismissed her as some gothic fantasist and shooed her on, but her clothing stopped me. She wasn't dressed like other women her age; a plain blue velvet dress fell covertly to her knees under a beige coat, legs clad in slightly worn grey tights, a modest pair of heeled white shoes on her small feet. At first, I thought she was wearing gloves, for her hands were as pale as her heels, but as she turned I realised her face was the same luminous white as her thin hands.
I could describe that face until the end of my days; deep, wide pupils that shone green and deep brown at the same time, thick dark brows and a delicate small mouth; all her features moved with a melodrama of surprise and friendliness that lit up the warmth in her soft features and blinded me with her extraordinary, striking beauty; no feature could be called exquisite in itself but the overall effect was ungodly.
She was ageless, still young and fresh with youth, untouched by man and still gleaming in her features. She was around eighteen, perhaps a little older. She smiled, her eyes widening, her lips parted to reveal small white teeth. Her figure pleased me. She wasn't tall or thinly boned; her small waist contrasted with her elegant wide shoulders and long skirts.
I didn't speak, nodding in response to her warm smile. I had to leave. I felt flames in my very being, warning me with a cruel intensity to run, run far from this woman whose hair alone burnt with satan's flames before me. I forced myself to turn on my heel, walking back briskly but at a pace that would not appear rude. Who was she, my mind raced. She was not one of my flock.
