♱ November 13th 1834, 1 month ago. ♱
On a day of endless rain and storm, the winds of this very day did hiss into Delilah's ear whilst she marched towards the ancient cathedral of Ascot. The sky above was bleak, and the soil grounded under her feet. The sanctified edifice stood steadfast against the cold wind, as if its foundation were fashioned from the sins and faith of the populace. Nevertheless, Delilah's hair was not spared from its violence. Hence, her dark brown hair was dancing around her face, covering her eyes at times. Her scattered clothes were stuck by the rain to her feeble body while she was fighting her way through the storm. She could almost hear strains wafting from the cathedral's organ, nearly beckoning her to enter and confess her sins. When she finally managed to arrive inside the cathedral, her eyes were shedding salted tears, being almost indistinct between her soaked face from the hail.
As Delilah managed to cross the threshold of the Gothic cathedral, she felt her chest vibrant of despair, with a sense of desolation and woe overcoming her. The dim light of this sacrosanct place made her feel deezy, as if the interior was devoid of any warmth, mold had infested it. The high walls were shrouded in an opaque mist, making it seem as if they were replete with foreboding shadows that loomed over her. The austere walls adorned with gargoyles exuded of an eerie morbidity. The curved ceiling seemed to grow bigger on top of her as she walked further inside, it made her feel imprisoned in an otherworldly realm of sorrow and despair. The piercing silence was only making her silenced screams ache deep in her chest, only the occasional flicker of a votive candle punctuated the place. The faint sounds of her footsteps filled the void, the smell of incense trying to reach her nostrils, but it only made her more distressed, the scent making her almost suffocate. The flicker of the candles casted shadows against the nefarious walls, as if the souls of the departed were still wandering into them. The atmosphere was heavy with the scent of incense, mingling with the musty aroma of age-old stone, as if to remind her of the transience of all things.
Delilah felt as if the cries and despair were still imprisoned inside the walls, stuck to her skin. And her robe, drenched with rain and blood, didn't help her with this feeling. The blood of the Hellhounds almost burned her flesh, a blood created from hellfire and the crying's of sinful souls. With determination, she quickly straddled the distance separating her from the sanctuary, where the altar stood firmly, under the stern gaze of the gargoyles made of stone. Once she was facing it, she hardly fell to her knees, scratching them even more, so much that blood started oozing out.
Delilah's visage was turned upwards facing the fresco of the sacred maiden, her palms in prayers raised above her face she started crying out, "Alas, I implore you, O my Lord! Hallowed be your name. I confess my sins, and do beseech you to receive this offering of my flesh, the very blood that courses within this accursed heart." At the instant these words did cross her lips, her nails began to dig into her chest and spine. "Let me rend my own flesh as proof of my words, O my Lord! Mark them, for I shall not depart this world with my body soiled by the flames of hell." Patches of skin pattered in her fingernails, she did cry out words until there was no breath left. Her words did rebound against the frigid pillars and walls, "Let me be a martyr to the miseries wrought upon the earth, and may I repent for the transgressions of all whom you had allowed to exist. I BEG YOU, O MY LORD! I BEG YOU, O MY LORD! Spare me not a moment longer in this body, reduced to ashes and death."
Her hands clasped together tightly, tears of despair falling down her anguished face, and with each fervent plea, she tore at her own flesh, the crimson blood flowing down her fingers. The agony of her prayers was palpable, her voice trembling and hoarse. Delilah's eyes were wild with desperation, she scanned the high ceilings as if in a waiting of some sort of an answer from a heavenly being, clinging to the hope that her prayers will be answered.
"Prayers do not reach god." Uplifted a voice, he spoke with a voice that seemed to echo from beyond the cathedral's walls, making her almost believe that God had answered her pleas. In a final breath with quivering hands, she endeavoured to remove the hair adhering to her soaked face to see who was speaking. Thereto, she replied with a hoarse voice, "Pardon me, sir ?"
He strode whilst she was kneeling. He gradually seated himself upon a wooden bench, solely the illumination of the candles exhibiting half of his visage, rendering it arduous to differentiate his features. His revealed half was all she could see, and the maiden knew not whether she should praise the Almighty for it or beg the heavens to spare her from such a sight, for laying eyes upon his visage felt akin to the foulest of transgressions. His revealed half was as resplendent as the holy halos of angels depicted on the cathedral's walls. His countenance appeared to be carved from the finest marble, adorned with sharp cheekbones and unkempt dark brows. His cold obsidian eye was fixed upon her, yet she could not avert her gaze. But it was his tresses that captured her attention on this fateful day, for he possessed long silvery locks meticulously arranged, creating the ideal amalgam of angelic and sinful.
He gradually inclined his upper body forwards, his elbows raised atop his knees. He gazed upon her with stony eyes, as if the spectacle of her torn flesh and blood beneath her fingernails did not prompt him to question anything, as if it were the most commonplace sight he had ever beheld. His gaunt and slender fingers were immobile beneath his chin.
Curiosity mastering her, she inquired, "Who are you ?", certainly he replied, "What I might be cannot be defined." Bewildered, she surveyed him from head to toe, her mouth agape, her cheeks and lips rosied from weeping. She slowly swallowed her saliva, shame inundating her soul, she replied, "Your name alone suffices to define you, sir."
He slowly ascended from his seat, he traversed, his back now towards her. And she knew better than to request names, but this being present here was no man, his scent was redolent of death and his hands were adorned with blood.
"Perhaps, I shall give it to you some other time."
♱
"What on earth have you done to your skin, Delilah ?" inquired Dalia, her mother. "Nothing unusual, Mama. I came across a group of Hellhounds a month ago, my wounds are still healing from this encounter."
Ms. Jenkins yet sat on her mother's bed, regarding her with a brow creased in doubt, scarcely crediting her statement. Delilah perceived her suspicions, but before she could address them, she spoke, "You will be behind schedule for the local omnibus, Ms. Jenkins. Allow me to walk you out of town."
As they journeyed side by side on the same paths they trod before, they took their leisure, yet, they exchanged not a single word with each other. Delilah sought for words to speak, but she managed only to murmur, "I know not how to thank you for all you had done for me, for us, Ms. Jenkins. An entire lifetime would not suffice to repay my debt.", to which Ms. Jenkins replied, bewildered, "Hush now! You do not need to do anything, my dear. Furthermore, there is no debt to repay, I did it not out of pity. I hold your mother dearly, Delilah." It was one of those rare times when Ms. Jenkins addressed her by her name, and this made her feel indescribable. In a way, she felt nostalgic.
They were descending a never-ending slope, their footsteps resounding through the desolate streets. At last, Delilah lifted her gaze, and her eyes alighted on the Gothic cathedral, beckoning to her like a summons. Before she could speak a word, the bells pealed out, striking her mute as though cautioning her to choose her words with utmost care.
"Then, permit me to escort you until you safely arrive to your own town, to express my gratitude," Ms. Jenkins waved her hand as if she had wept away her words, before replying, "You should not burden yourself with such matters, Miss Delilah. You already have enough worries for a young lady. You should only be concerned with mundane things." Delilah let out a gasp, her eyes still gazing at the cathedral. "You forget that I am no ordinary girl, Ms. Jenkins."
Suddenly, the omnibus appeared before them, the coachman and other people waiting for tardy passengers. The two women positioned themselves beside it, whispers emanating from within the carriage at their sight.
"Nonetheless, miss ! Your singularity was never intended to be a load, but rather a boon bestowed by the heavens." Said Ms. Jenkins, her palms pressing firmly upon Delilah's shoulders, but she could only shake her head before replying, "I cannot reconcile myself by calling it a boon, Ms. Jenkins." Yet, the coachman suddenly bellowed loudly enough for the two women to hear, "The departure is imminent, and the tardy shall not be waited for!"
Ms. Jenkins began to clamber into the omnibus but turned back to say, "Soon, soon, my child, you will see it in a different view. Patience is the key. But when that time comes, think only of yourself and your mother."
Delilah could only smile at her words, and as she was about to speak, some latecomers were seen hurrying from a distance, yelling to the coachmen, "Wait for us, sir! The Knight Templars were conducting identity verifications for out-of-town folks!" At the mention of the Knight Templars, Delilah gazed anxiously at Ms. Jenkins, fear filling her chest. "They've been patrolling more frequently these days, you should return to your abode, little miss, I will take care of myself from here." Delilah nodded her head before turning her back to her, her lips painfully compressed, as her thoughts assailed her. Yet, before she could proceed further, she heard her name from the rear, it was Ms. Jenkins.
"Pray tell, what is it that you require of me, Ms. Jenkins ?" inquired Delilah. Ms. Jenkins then made a request of her, saying, "Might I ask for a favor, little miss? Would you be so kind as to pay a visit to Rosetta on the morrow ? I suspect she may be up to some vendettas against the Holy Office. I have pressing matters to attend to out of town, and cannot attend to her myself." Delilah assented with a resolute nod and said, "Indeed, I shall do as you ask."