Drunk and happy we run out of the elevator we race. Halloween, a masquerade! Everyone is wearing concealing attire—flashy and esoteric, escaping the reality, who they really are, embracing who they won’t to be.
black.
I have a fight with my boyfriend.
black.
Deep breath.
black.
The middle ages.
It’s a church ceremony in St. Peter’s Basilica. It’s the evening ceremony and during those we praise the devil. I hide in the crowd to not be noticed. The only reason I am there is because my husband is being persecuted. The priestess is wearing a long red robe with sparkling jewels. Her crimson hair is waving down her shoulders in sumptuous curls. I look in her direction and her fiery eyes return my gaze. She was looking at the white cardinal that was next to me, however, not at me. My heart stopped and jumped as though recharged when she laughed with an evil savor. She proclaimed into the crowd “Welcome, Cardinal!” and my mind cant think of nothing else but the power of her flesh-piercing fangs and the height of the marble columns. The cardinal is quiet. He came for me, and no other reason. He lowers his marble face to whisper something into my year. I look at him, at his majestic posture as well as his crystal white complexion. He trick is a sculpture that came to life.
When I wake up his whisper “Cross over to the good side!” still echoes in my mind.
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