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374 pages, Paperback
Published March 28, 2024
"I would let all of Grimm burn for her. I would break my every vow for her. I would watch our mother die at my hand one thousand times for the undeserved peace of knowing that Selah lived."
I wanted more knowledge ...... of what this place was. Because it wasn’t normal or natural, it was wild, dark, and some sort of gothic abyss full of secrets.
And when he asked to watch my sin… I’d wanted to show it to him. I wanted to show him more. I hoped he would ask for more.
"I’d never wanted until her...... She was untouchable, perfect porcelain, untampered glass… I imagined how lovely she’d look, broken, bleeding, crying on my cock…"
Confession was back on. The Priest was in. And I was ready to devour her sins.
"You don’t belong to god anymore, Selah. After this, after today, you are mine. You belong to me."
"You have a new father now. He’s not your father anymore, I am. I’m your father, your daddy, your everything, and you belong to me."
“Selah,” he spoke my name like a song, and I stopped at the threshold of confession. “Your body is yours. Not your future husband, not your father’s, not god’s, it is yours.” Tears pricked the corner of my eyes at hearing such a radical notion. “And,” he said gently as I turned my face so he wouldn’t see. “You are forgiven.”
Father Dante didn’t treat me like a shell. He didn’t treat me like a Holy Daughter or a nun. While his instructions were undoubtedly obscene, I felt a sense of ease around him, like he saw me as a whole person. For the first time, did someone see me? Did someone see past the religious garb, my sheltered upbringing, even my engrained beliefs, and understand something about myself even I had scarcely explored? I could only hope and sorrow at the thought. It was outrageous and unrealistic.
The rain picked up, coming in sheets, and the thought of swimming back was half-baked when another wave caught me by surprise—pushing me under, deeper, deeper into a swirl of tiny bubbles of dark silence.
Blessed silence.
This was dying, wasn’t it? Officially dying. Because I was already dead, I realized. My life held no value, no more value than a breeding heifer.
Keep pure.
Keep sweet.
Stay silent.
Be obedient.
Commands you’d give a dog were my life’s decree and the most I could aspire to. Why would any man want me for anything else? I was here to be a vessel for god, for old men’s semen, for violent men’s babies, for their fists, for their sermons, for their dinners.
No, the most I could do would be to take that power away from them.
To say I’d rather greet the ocean of black eternity than live under their chains.
Finally, I’d had enough.
Finally, I no longer cared about being their nameless Proverbs 31 virtuous woman. She worked too hard and did too much. Did anyone ever ask her if she wanted to be the virtuous wife? The verses never even gave her name.
She had no name. The Virtuous Wife was her name and all we knew her by, much like me. The Holy Virgin Daughter. The nameless woman that was my mother. That bore me in silence and died like nothing more than a contract fulfilled. I wondered if she loved me or hated me. I wouldn’t blame her if she despised having me infiltrate her womb.
We were the same, the woman who birthed me, the virtuous women of the sacred texts, nameless.
The only one to use my name, to look beyond the thin pages of me that were written by men, was Father Amorth.
Selah was perfection. She was holy and pure—but not in the fucked up patriarchal ways her upbringing had poised her to be.
Selah was an untamed wildflower forced into a row of carbon copy, dulled roses. Selah wasn’t mechanical and pruned.
Selah was rusty church bells singing a siren song after a hundred songless years. There was something enchanting in her tenderness, in the wildness lurking within, in the gentle violence of her challenging gaze as she sought to see me for who I was...
She was the church bells, wasn’t she? Come to life to bring beauty into my dried and fire-ready garden of nothing. Could I be so selfish as to accept that offering? Could I be so egotistical as to invite a world of sin and darkness into the life of The Holy Daughter?
He kissed me with passion and fervor, and I closed my eyes, moaning into his embrace. His tongue parted my lips and danced with mine, flicking in and out of my mouth. His taste was more intoxicating than altar wine, the heat of our bodies like two prayer candle flames sparking upwards to eternity.
We were two instantly ignited prayer candles, him and I, and I would gladly burn beside him until the wick met glass, and we were nothing but forgotten smoke in an empty cathedral.
Maybe our pleas for some almighty god to acknowledge us would always go unanswered. Maybe there was nothing greater awaiting us beyond this one life, and what a liberating and terribly wonderful thought that was. Because right there, right then, I had my exorcist priest’s cock pressed against my stomach, his teeth scraping against my black cum-stained lips, and the only thing I wanted was to feel him inside me again.
This didn’t feel like sin. It didn’t feel like an obligation to a husband, didn’t feel like pain accepting my burden of opening my womb to potential blessings from god in the form of children.
When Dante’s bare skin, so warm and all-encompassing, pressed against my middle, my breasts, it felt like wholeness. If I could step back, even just a few feet, and stand in my nakedness like Lady Vanessa had, I would have undoubtedly felt shame in my body in the blasphemous act of fornication on the sacred floors of god’s church.
But then again, here our combined passion dripped to the floor, evidence of life and pleasure and bliss— while back at Lady of Sorrow church, red blood of pain, of sacrifice, of death stained the ground.
Which would a loving god prefer in his house?
Which offering was more pleasing to an all-knowing entity?
Sinners painting the altar with love, or saints marring it with hate? I didn’t know the answer. And though I’d been taught of god my entire life, I realized I knew nothing of the being that supposedly guided my every step and ordained my every purpose.
“Is this holy water?” Selah asked in a small voice.
“It is. And next are holy anointing oils.”
“You shouldn’t waste these on me… I am now so incredibly far from holy.” I stopped with my hands on her knees and leveled her with my stare, getting close so she could for once see my horrible eyes and my wretched face. If any point needed to be shocked through her, it was this one.
“You are sacred, you are worthy, you are beautiful, you are whole. You are not changed because you’ve had a man inside you. Men’s cocks have no power over you. They do not change your virtue in the least. You don’t deserve pain. You were not born wicked. You are and always have been whole. Understood?”
...
“I do not believe love and my priesthood are so far removed from each other. There are things beyond the sacred texts, beyond the veil, that ring true. Men have fucked it up, muddied the waters, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t some good in there. More importantly, there are people within these systems who have been forgotten. They are worth fighting for, worth staying for..."