May We Rejoice

I stare down at the pews, quietly observing the flowing people entering the chapel. I have my silk white cloak on, the hood keeping my face from the light. I hold a Bible in my hand, the soft leather against my skin. Inscribed is the name 'Bible' on the cover and side.

There are hundreds of pews and the windows colorful with pictures of baby Jesus being born, Noah's Ark, the beginning times, and later on. They glowered numerous colors across the floors as the sun rises higher, the heat kissing the ground and giving life and blooms. People are in their most modest dresses and suits, their hair is done up, and their eyes give bright joy for the sermon.

Then there is me, darkness upon all the smiling, gleeful people. I am the one who will not be forgiven for my sins as an executioner and will continue to be hailed with guilt and the gazes of pity. Some feel sadness for me and others feel disgusted. I take in the fragrance of cinnamon and lavender. They collide and I wrinkle my nose in slight disgust at the smells together. I step back from the railing and set my Bible on a nearby table. I take out white gloves and slip them on, my hands swallowed by the cloth. I grasp my Bible again and stare out at the wondering people who are talking, saying their good morning, or getting their quick confessions into the priest.

I hear footsteps coming and I do not bother to see who it is. I already know who it is and stand there and observe.

"Are you always up here before the sermon starts?" the Prince asks.

I don't make a single movement. I feel his presence move closer and it's almost as if he is right behind me.

"Why will you not speak to me when spoken to?"

"I am always here every day for service. I stand here and read my Bible and listen. Is that what you want from me, my Prince?"

"You wear a different colored cloak. I wish for you to wear something more revealing."

I scoff at his suggestion, "Do you mean you wish me without clothes in your chambers?"

"That is not at all what I meant," he quickly assures.

"That is what I thought."

"Then why such foul words from you?"

"It is to see your real reasoning. How else am I supposed to know why you are like a goat after food?"

He chuckles. It's deep laughter that reaches down and it stirs something within me, something unknowing. "You are lucky that my father thinks highly of you, or I would have had you on your knees asking for my forgiveness."

My brow arches and I turn toward him with a glare. "I bow to no one except the God from above. He might be my King and you are my Prince but I will never put my lips to your shoes and if I do, I will assure you that I will light them fire with the darkness I've succumbed to."

The Prince stares down at me with his lifeless eyes and watches me closely. They hold me, grasp my own being, and caress the line between light and dark. "You tell me that I am not worthy of kissing?"

"It is your shoes that I will not bear to kiss," I whisper harshly.

He smirks deviously, "So will you kiss my own lips?"

My eyes glance off of his own and I frown deeply. "I must not touch since I have the touch of death, my Prince. I will kill you off and it will bloom a black rose that states my foul warnings."

I glance at him and his eyes flicker with anger, darkening. "You will kill no one."

I scrunch my face up, my eyes closing for a second before I inhale. His scent wafts towards me, the smell of roses and lavender. It is something I smelled earlier but cinnamon cancels the rosey smell.

I glance at him and shake my head. "I do not kill just anyone. Only the ones with life in their eyes, and you, my Prince have no life in yours."

His eyes fall on me and step back quickly.

"May we pray for our sins this morning!" the priest shouts in happiness.

"I do not pray for my sins, Tanda," the Prince said quietly. I turn back to the pews and step back. His presence stays, standing beside me.

"Do you believe in God, my Prince?" I ask.

"I do but I have already lost his love for me."

"What lies you tell. God loves all endlessly, even if such bad crimes are committed."

I feel him palm my back. My body tenses and goes rigid.

"Not if I wish to take you to my chambers and see what hides behind this cloak."

I swallow hard and move away but his hand grasps my cloak. "Do not touch me. I ask for you to let me go."

He doesn't listen well. The sermon goes on and I cannot focus on what the priest says. It's discouraging and I want to flee from the church and go home and dress for the evening out to get my supplies for the week. I feel suppressed in the Prince's presence. I want him to let go of me and let me go back to the daily routines that I have been doing the same for the last five years.

There is a scream that makes me step forward quickly and look down at the pews. Though, it is not the pews I should be looking at. As I realize the priest stopped talking just seconds ago when the screams started slipping from the mouths of women and shouts are heard from the men. No, in front of hundreds of people, the priest lay on the ground. His throat is impelled with an arrow. He lay there, choking, his body convulsing. I stare and watch him struggle.

"You tell me God is here?" the Prince whispers beside me.

I inhale before blowing out as I stare at the priest. In seconds, he goes limp with life leaving his body and his soul dispersing. I inhale deeply again. The Prince palms my back again with his hand and chuckles quietly beside me.

"You will see the struggle I have soon and then you will ask me for help."

Chaos is all around us. He and I stood there, watching, observing, contemplating.