Sinner In A Church| a. arlert [ON HOLD]

ᴡᴏʟғ ɪɴ ᴀ sʜᴇᴇᴘ's ᴄʟᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ [ᴘʀᴏʟᴏɢᴜᴇ]

Fingers hesitating over the final digit on the emergency number, you turned to the devil resting over your shoulder. She was bolder than you, more meticulous, more scheming. Everything he could be and more. That was why you hesitated to listen to her. Your heart-rate slowed with the subtle shaking of her head, her voice pitched low as she whispered to you.

Leave him be, his immortal part with the angels now live.

And the thought was lucidly calming, that you're angel of a boyfriend was basked within the golden rays of the heavens, his blonde and smooth locks cradled by the crown of a halo of innocence around his head. But that's all it simply was: a thought.

Reality brought you back from your glorious and weightless realm, as you crept forwards to the summit of the staircase and peered downwards...right at your beautiful, fallen angel.

 Alas, he was not cloaked in golden rays, but swallowed by shadows and a vengeful moon. His hair was dishevelled and matted to his scalp, garnished in the hovering ring of a bloody crown. A crown that flashed deep crimson when the moon rested behind a cloud, and a sparkling rouge when it revealed its true form.

Part of you wondered which parts of him were currently immortal. You wished it to be none of him. You wished to travel far, far away on bitter wings to see a vision that was not this. Not this bitter void of despair.

Back away, careful now.

She continued in your ear, you could feel the weight of her body against your clothing. She was baiting you, luring out your terrible sides like you were measley prey. A wolf and an unassuming sheep. That is what he must have thought about you. 

You, a naive and malleable canvas, constructed into to something else entirely. Something with no name, no face, you could no longer feel anything, you were simply a creation, you were simply clay and paint. Forced to rewatch and relive the same dastardly scenes before you in a monotonous cycle until you crumbled.

No. 

This time you would not crumble. Raising the phone once more, you battled the demons who raked their claws against you skin, willing you to book a taxi, a train, a flight to do anything to free yourself from these invisible shackles that bound you. But you denied them, once more blinking at your angel.

Your perfect, saintly, angel...

"Hello? Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?" Came the voice.

Turned your broken, sinful devil.

"Ambulance, please...I think I've killed someone."