1 Chapter 1: Long-lost Love

Chapter 1: Long-lost Love

I half-expected my father to follow me up the steps, but another part of me knew that he never dared to venture upon what he called my “territory.”

So there I lay upon my bed, attempting the best that I knew how to cover up the tears that I shed. Although, from whom I was hiding, I had yet to discover.

To any “good Catholic” member of the faith- I would have been labeled as “demonic.” As a blasphemy against the “holy Sanhedrin,” a sheer sacrilege to those who had chosen to rear me in God’s name.

But the path I had chosen bore no relevance whatsoever to those who had so claimed me. It reflected little on my own father, and the way that he had chosen to raise me. My fascination with “demons” and witchcraft had arisen from my own personal studies in such matters. Since the nature of my existence had remained so secretive for such a long period of time, I hadn’t been required by law to attend school, for by law, I did not exist, and never had.

That’s when I began to hear footsteps creaking, as I keenly observed the shadows that played in every corner of my mind, reflecting grimly the wounds that had newly formed on the edges of my elbows.

I had nearly forgotten these cuts, these abscesses, that had so left me feeling smoldered with pangs of regret. Almost as though I had smothered my own soul in the process of maiming my body.

“Who’s there?” I called toward the door, which I knew would never close completely. Ever since I had broken the door from its hinge, I knew that fixing it would have been nigh impossible.

Of course, I had only broken the door out of curiosity, nothing more. Not anger, but more because I had desired for malevolent spirits to haunt me, to come pay me a visit.

Regardless of my reasons- it mattered not, for to this day, my father still had not trod upon my territory.

For he and I both knew that he dared not enter a realm of demons.

So if it wasn’t my father- I wondered absently how anything could have entered the house without my father’s consent. Or not really so much our “house,” but rather, our manor. Our place of royalty, our abode of rest.

That’s how I viewed it, at least. Because things like this, I knew I ought not take for granted, as they weren’t exactly offered to the average person, every day.

I knew, however, deep in my heart, that something certainly was amiss when I heard a faint knocking on my door.

“What is it?” I called defensively as I lay with my chlorite on quartz strewn across my lap, believing firmly in its healing powers, in its ability to enable me to transcend the temporality of my circumstances.

I had lately consulted daily with my pendulum, which had provided me somewhat prophetic abilities. Proceeding my mother’s unexpected disappearance, I had made it a habit of conducting daily séances, which proved to eerily invite spirits into my presence that seemed far from friendly.

All of it had paralyzed my senses, so that they were sufficiently numbed. Night owl that I was, the phenomena ignited some strangely, uncanny prophetic abilities in me, causing some dreams that I could have sworn were revelatory in nature, my sleeping patterns quickly becoming accelerated.

So, needless to say, I was fairly spooked when I discerned a knocking on my door. I often felt I had a “sixth sense.” but truly, my supernatural inclinations failed me in whimsical scenarios such as this.

The knocking only continued on, however, which led me to believe that the source did indeed originate from a human spirit.

“Please do come in,” I muttered nervously, under my breath, ensuring that I was dressed appropriately for the occasion.

The being that set foot through the door, however, was not who I expected him to be.

In fact, I almost could have surmised that it was a female spirit, based upon its level of timidity.

But the individual who opened my door, who gained entrance to my hidden lair was in truth… someone whom I hadn’t planned on seeing, for an occasion that I had quite forgotten about.

“Here,” The unexpected visitor offered me a bouquet of roses, with a faint smirk playing upon the corners of his mouth.

“Why are you here?” This wasn’t exactly an opportune moment, and it truly vexed me that he would actively search me out when I had clearly declined the invitation to the masquerade ball, offered to me by none other than Pope Leo XIII, when of course I knew him well.

“You knew it had to have been inevitable, Kitty. Take a long, hard look at the life that surrounds. You have so much purpose… so much here to live for.”

I shuddered, desiring against my will to just curl up and retreat, perhaps taking more time to observe my surroundings.

Maybe he was right. Perhaps I did need to slow down my pace, to take more time to appreciate life as it was.

Not only that, but my taste in art was absolutely impeccable. Both he knew it and I knew it.

But the trouble was that my walls remained bare, still, in spite of this characteristic that both of us treasured so deeply.

Well, my walls weren’t entirely empty; they captured some of my traits rather elegantly, if I may have said so myself.

But only certain facets of my soul. Only the parts of me that remained hidden from the world, as though they were locked inside of a jewelry box without a key, secreted solemnly like the key had been discarded.

“My lovely lady, what brings you here today?” He questioned me, throwing me a quizzical look as though I were the stranger, and he the resident.

“Please… why must you tempt me so?” I drawled to him in the faintest whisper, attempting to remain hardened or else neutral- but alas, I did not succeed in driving him away.

“I’ve been a fool for you for far too long. My love… why must we abandon our adoration for one another so easily?”