it was late at night when the church bell resonated from faraway into the voidness of the silence, when Joanne has seated with her hands folded together in a pious position as she had her kneels on the floor in the humblest way with her head looking down, her drape covering her head with barely her eyes could be seen, being only devoted her sight for the holiest image of God. The only sparkle of the night was Joanne's tear weeped in tranquility for the selfless sacrifice of Jesus, dropping promptly from her eyelids and wetted the old dusty medieval carpet.
it was until a remote footsteps approach the hall as the door opened as loud, heavy steps echoed closer. Joanne is the least surprised as she continued her prayers until the footsteps stopped next to her that she fixed her posture decently, and stood up facing the man who revealed his stature through the drape of the night. A holy scent of the candles propagates from him and his wide sleeves from his outfit, one can denounce that his identity commonly agreed upon in the religious community of St. John's Cathedral.
"Brother," Joanne breathed into the coldness in the air with a puff of steam smoking from her fragile lips, so weak that her sentence was left hanging over the atmosphere waiting to be finished by another interpreter. "For thou hast long suffered in thy longing for salvation," The man hover his wide palms over her slim shoulders, so pure and virginal that the man hesitates to have any physical contact even with the fabrics of her costume that his hand is just slightly above hers.
"Doest thou desire to be hallowed in God's kingdom, and to be forgiven for the mortal sins thou hast bear?" The man tenderly reaches her face under the heavy drape and closed her eyelids, which are still moist with the tears devoted to the holiest cause. "Amen," Joanne murmured, again leaving her sentences unfinished with the uncertainty and fear of ending a statement to be conscious of self opinion and identity, as she is completely subdued to the holy church.
The man stared dearly at Joanne, a virgin as pure as Magdalene right before his eyes which coincide with his prophetic sight from biblical readings and dreams that his illusional alternate reality has told him, that a prophecy has to be fulfilled in order to prepare for a new age to be dawned, an age of Catholic salvation would be enlightening the ignorant mankind who has conflicted for the wrong Gods of religions, who has worshipped the atheist practice of capitalism, who has battled for decades and centuries and eventually, today is the day where Catholics won in the name of the father, of the son and of the holy spirits who witnessed this day.
The prophet's hovering hand has thus lowered and lowered till his palm's warmth to be felt by Joanne. His posture slowly shortened the amicable distance between himself and Joanne, until it wasn't merely amicable, but intimate, tender and endearing. There was a slight sentiment lingering in the ambiguous atmosphere that questions whether this intimacy that has been shared between them was godly, or personal. Is he doing this out of the unselfish purpose of mortal salvation in the name of the holy church, or for his own pleasure? Or even in his wildest imagination would Joanne took forbidden pleasure in her fantasy to what lies for her beneath that fabric of his, under his soft dark sweater and his jeans, just between those strong thighs as she moved her gaze slightly lower.
the night was filled with longing, desire and uncontrollable joy, masked by a self-deceptive holiness that they dedicate to their God, which wasn't our common perception of God, but their God of love. as Venus gazes and Cupid sleeps in her cradle, the darkness unfolds.
