[indent][img]https://i.imgur.com/5yMteM4.png?3[/img][color=black][b]𝓔[i]sther[/i][/b] [b]𝓟[i]uniceus[/i][/b][/color]				[url=https://photos.smugmug.com/Miscellaneous-Categories/Favorites/i-WBJ4R7C/6/36d9fc8e/S/St.%20Sophia%20Cathedral-6695_6_7_8_9_HDR-S.jpg]x x x[/url][/indent][img]https://i.imgur.com/5eXPXBu.png[/img][indent][color=black][b]sᴀɪɴᴛ sᴏᴘʜɪᴀ's ɢʀᴇᴇᴋ ᴏʀᴛʜᴏᴅᴏx ᴄʜʀɪsᴛɪᴀɴ ᴄᴀᴛʜᴇᴅʀᴀʟ | ʟᴏs ᴀɴɢᴇʟᴇs, ᴄᴀʟɪꜰᴏʀɴɪᴀ[/b][/color][/indent]


[indent]“Don’t forget to cross yourself before entering…” 

Upon opening the intricately wooden, adorned doors, the scene was written like a memory of the Dream; as if Esther had closed her eyes and awaken in the lavish pageantry of militant mercy amongst the Divine. Chandeliers dripped in golden, pearly tears from the ceiling of the Cathedral, draped in decadent and ornately rich and flaxen engravings. The smell of candles and incense graced the dimly lit atmosphere, arising like smoke in the ambiance of a low echo chanting the psalter. A velvet red carpet lead the back of the Church to the Royal Doors, closed with protective wings of the illuminated icons, painted firmly on the iconostas with headdress of sculpted twilight and articulate halos.

The Malkavian responded to the backdrop and glass stained history with stiff arms and wandering eyes.  Memories were floating around, and he was not sure which one he should choose.  Each held their own world of mystery.  A silent flame was standing firmly in a small puddle of trophic sand. The fire was like a desert rose, wandering through a scorched wilderness that was enclosed with aurelian leaves that were cold to touch, like Annie’s cheeks in the winter. His thoughts were pushed by the sound of a male, rich in vocals.

“O, Esther,” Father Bill stepped out from the corners of the Nave. His heavy black gown moved the sounds of the incense through the tiny kingdom.  He seemed pleased with a closed smile of allurement and attraction to the visitors, “You’ve brought friends, family, are they inquirers, as well?” His body glided patiently through pews. Automatically, lifting a wrist, with fingers bent and curved. Unabatangly, he crossed the air with minimal effort before letting his palm rest in the cups of Esther’s extended palms. His eyes looked to Peter, as he felt the Ventrue’s soft lips press reverently against his skin.

Esther spoke quietly, “Yes, Father.  Uncle Scott.” Her gentle breath whispered quietly against the priest’s flesh. She paused before straightening her and then turned towards the Malkavian. His dark eyes were wandering over the Church, as they tended to do. Excitement was setting them to life, and his lower lip, nibbled with nervous blood, was moving slightly, mumbling inaudibly to himself about something that minded nothing with Annie who appeared enchanted and bored all at once, “this is Father Bill,” she relaxed her shoulders. Silk threads gently touched against her pale skin as she moved. There was pity in her voice as watched the Kindred lose his mind in the details. 

“Th-the chandeliers are flickering, sh-shaking,” Peter finally noted in response to Esther, locking eyes with her and then tracing the weave of her black dress as it fitted and flounced over her body. They wrapped around the fabric-covered buttons that held her blouse over her neck, bosom, and waste. She was like charcoal, burning like a spinneret in the midst of a radiant, dead dream. The lace on her dress began smoking and evaporating into the air, stringing each of its threads from every corner of the room until all he could see was a web and three trapped flies. A darkness messaged and crawled over the back of his head, massaging its body tenderly into his mind; claws and tarsi appendaging his ears as its pincers began cutting the threads of his mind open.

There were muffled voices that he could not quite makeout. They came and went through cups of sounds.  It was the flies, squirming in their voices.  They made him thirsty, and he could feel the dryness of his tongue swiping over his cracked, bloody lips trembling with the beast re-awakening in him. Sweet sickness dripped down his throat as he tried to hold back, but the domineering command, “Eat him, Peter” vibrated in warped pochette echoes from the cobweb’s silk strings, like bells notifying the beginning of the Creed.

A bestial growl rumbled over the Malkavian, hungry with madness and lust. This was his favorite part of him. He remembered now as his strong frame tingled with sensation and compulsion while it moved forward. His shackles of insanity had been unlocked from his flesh, and snarls were foaming through his teeth, sharp to the point, overly excited to devour in the imagined Network placed in front of him. The feeling was strong and starving. He had not succumb to his beast in a long while, but he was drunk on this long sought after fever of hysteria, now, famished for satisfying her command and his appetite.

Esther watched as the two Kindred’s veins flexed and entwined together, each ripping for each other’s lives. She placed her hopes on Peter winning, if not because she decided he was the stronger of the two, but she was also penanced with the duty of caring for him. A girl of Annie’s age should not have to witness this.  However, the Ventrue had little interest in securing the sanity of a child who had already lost her reason for living to Malkav. She was but a snuffed flame in the loins as a potential Childe.

“Uncle Scott might not kiss you goodnight, Annie,” Esther miffed. Her slender fingers extended and combed through the child’s long, golden locks. They were soft to the touch, still mended from a bun holding the human warmth of a beating heart despite being the deadest thing on her. The Ventrue let out a lofty sigh as the Toreador antitribu crumbled under the pressure of the frenzying Malkavian. Humiliation by surprise had brought the beast out of the Toreador, as well. However, by the trembles and groans rummaging through the cathedral, it was fair to believe there was and enjoyment of agony from both parties.  So complicated dying had to be.

Her hand left Annie’s hair and tipped her fingers against her lips. Peter really had no manners. Lulling him out of a frenzy would be difficult. He was enjoying himself so much, right now. However, for the sake of time — her fingers intertwined with the lines and shadows and pulled the scene into a soothing display of debauched memories. Heavenly aromas budded like roses from the ground. The fields of incense blossomed and sprouted, vines twisted its leaves and sprouts over the cobweb, turning the weave gold, again.

Rich tapestry and iconography provided gentle siloques into reality. Breaths pressed through the Malkavian’s fangs, guilty in blood and gray skin.  As the room swayed in soothing motions, he lifted his gaze from the mess and found himself, again, lost in the dark trances of the Ventrue’s eyes. His undead heart could feel her state beating through him, now, changing the rhythm of the night. His lower jaw stuttered as drool and Vitae collapsed and spilled from it. 

The Ventrue’s features started to appear more abstract, as the vision dominated him. Her face started to resemble something more pure and holy. Her voice chimed his name, and his body relaxed, drawn to her presence like a moth to a flame. Panting he spoke questionably, “Ma-ma?” his voice was weak and withdrawn with a lock fastened around his madness. There were no longer spiders; and they were no longer in a web. Flowers were dressing a California field; and the sun was glowing all over the sky. He wanted to touch the image of the woman in front of him and feel her cheeks — they looked soft like petals that had grown like wings on the back of a butterfly.

He could feel against his own cheeks a breeze brushing against his cold skin. It had a warmth, like a mother’s embrace, against the fold of her chest. She looked like an angel, and she made him think, he was in heaven, with the hilt of her arms spread open.  His body moved towards hers, magnetized by her presence. “Mamuschka. Matuschka…” his voice twisted for tenderness and piety, as he fell at her feet. Saliva and Vitae drooled as he made small laughs, giddy and sad all the same.

Esther knelt down, bending her knees and softly tipping his chin upward to look at her. His grin had closed in his hazy stare, lost to mortal memories he would soon forget, “Thank you. You’re such a good little boy.” Her neck declined, and she placed a small butterfly kiss upon his forehead, pressing her matted lips against his dark, duey hair. Several strands pulled with her mouth, as her body and attention rose. She smiled politely at Annie before turning her attention to the undead corpse. 

Her body stepped around the awakening Malkavian and approached the antitribu. Her smile paused for a solemn moment, feigning pity upon the poor, stupid priest.  He was almost nothing, now.  “Memory Eternal, Father.” Esther bent her knees, again, tucking the frou-frou of her skirt beneath her.  Her body leaned over the limp and pathetic ruins of a Kindred.  She drew her right hand to her mouth and nipped the tips of her glove from her fingers, removing the lace gauntlet from her hand. Her fingers tiptoed quickly through the mess, and untwisted the gold cross from the black cloth. The ornament was relished inside a hanky and tucked into her purse thereafter.

Standing and turning towards the Malkavian, again, Esther lightly commanded in a petite manner, “Uncle Scott, you should call Big Joe,” she watched as the Kindred stirred to her voice, as he began returning to his reality, “I am under the impression that he has some cleaning to do.” Her eyes fell on Annie again and quickly dismissed the swollen eyed doll. She was a waste of innocence, as they all were. She was also a waste of time.  This whole scenario was had its own vessel of a story; and this was merely the prologue. A small sigh escaped her. 

[i]How depressing.[/i]

The Ventrue fitted her hand into her glove, again, and began making her way to the Narthex of the Cathedral. There were several more stops the three would have to make. Each foot was placed carefully in front of the other, minimizing the bustles of her flouncing attire. There was much to do in preparation before he arrived.

“Don’t forget to cross yourself before leaving…”[/indent]