Standing outside the massive stone church, she stared hesitantly at the twin doors. She tilted her head back, looking up at the cross that mounted on top of the building, hoping that something inside could free her from her demons. No longer could she live a life of hatred—of fear.
It was around high noon on a late winter day. Roads were deserted, modern day businesses were closed for the holidays, and families were out vacationing without a care in the world. It was all perfect for them, but alas, Emily was here on her own free will. She had nowhere else to go, no loved ones to keep her company, no friends or even a gentleman friend to stay in companionable silence with.
She was alone.
Raising a trembling hand, she grabbed onto a brass handle, opening it, nothing but the creak of the door was audible in the vacant edifice. She made her way inside, only pausing as she was about to walk down the never-ending aisle. Did she really want to do this? She could always turn back now and face her fears another time, or perhaps another way. There was always another way... right?
Deciding the inevitable, she began to wander. Every step made her heart race faster and faster, every wooden pew seemed to put her in an enclosed space. She began to break a cold sweat as she avoided eye contact from the paintings of the lord and savior that was settled on top of windows, light emitting from the cracks, emphasizing her olive tone skin.
The tapestry beige stone walls began to ease her worries as it should be the ones to comfort her through her walk down the fawn carpet, creating light geometric diamond shaped patterns. Above, were bronze arches standing on top of pillars that looked of royalty, engraved with ancient Middle-English words, written in a spiral-like way, that she couldn't decipher if she tried.
Finally reaching the altar, she faced the man who saved her from her sins, nailed onto the wooden cross in its bloodshed. Even though it was a sculpture, it was as if she could feel the pain, only it was converted into her own personal version of it.
Her mind conjured up the figure of the man that was permanently etched in her brain until hell froze over. The same brown eyes and brown hair that haunted her, the same tan skin that burned her every flesh, and the same sickly sweet smile that used to warm her heart. The same man that used to whisper sweet nothings to her as she slept with him, shielding away the torments of her past. Now, it was only a distant memory.
She closed her eyes tightly and drew a deep, shaky breath, kneeling down before the statue. Words seemed to fail the young woman, but with all the courage she mustered up, she breathed the hardest seven words that she ever had to say:
"Forgive me father for I have sinned."
Memories swarmed around her mind, reminiscences from both good and bad replayed over and over again without her consent. She couldn't escape it this time. The others, she was lucky to even make it out alive. Did she deserve life? Probably not, but that didn't stop her from trying.
The words were on repeat in her mind:
"... pain is pulse... I will make you beg for it—better yet, crave it. You will look forward to wanting me that you just cannot help but feel like your life depends on it."
The one image in her head practically scorched through her thoughts. The dark mahogany room along with the four-poster bed right in the middle. Red. All she could see was red.
The cold air filled the room as she layed on the silky Egyptian sheets she has grown accustomed to for the past several months. The glimmer of light passed through the curtains and draperies, causing her to flutter her eyes. Her head hurt like pins and needles.
