faith A Vampire Chronicles story by _Twi_ (mailto:[EMAIL PROTECTED]) , May 1998. Number three in the Cure trilogy and the "Le Coeur" series; sequel to _"Holy Hour."_ (http://blood.less.as/hearts/holy.html) Rated PG-13 for language. The moon is a gravid orb in the sky as I follow the path before me, blue light leading the way. The twilight sky is a rich purple batik stained blood-red at the horizon, and already the streetlights are casting eerie shadows on the streets and sidewalks. Night has its own special charm. I pass an important landmark on my way: The church where Armand sought to burn himself. I find myself gazing up at the praying figures in the stained-glass windows, a shiver running through me as I kneel on the steps, bowing my head, placing my palms on the spot where he stood. These places require their own prayers. I have a place I have to go. My feet are drawn down the path she's drawn for me, uncontrollably. Loss of will. It's about faith. There's another face I have to save, another creature I have to play holy saviour to. I feel like I'm burning. On a mission. I can hear the static of human souls crackling through my head with every step. Random thoughts, streams of consciousness: (...dammit, there's never anything good on TV...) (...nobody loves me. there's no point. I can't do anything...) (...FUCKING BASTARD! how dare he...) It gets so I can hardly hear myself think, sometimes. A disadvantage to being so finely attuned to mortal suffering. But I can tune it out a little now, set on a goal as I am. Have to reach her. Have to free him. I shiver as if I have a fever. I wrap my arms around myself, shuddering, half-blind as I duck my head and a curtain of long hair falls into my face. I push it away carelessly with one hand. The impulse pushes at me, shoving my feet forward reflexively. People walking by are looking at me curiously, and I can hear their thoughts; concern, wondering what drugs I'm on, do I have any money? I try to push them out of my head. Almost there. Her house. White and spare and elegant as she is. If I close my eyes, I can track her movements inside, restlessly pacing, running anxious fingers back through unruly red curls. It's almost as if she's expecting me. Maybe she is. It's been so long since I've talked to her... years? decades? centuries, even? I don't remember when we first met. It seems like I've just known her forever. Here we go. The gate. It's spiked and electrified, an attempt at keeping errant humans away. Smart move. I grab the bars unhesitatingly in both hands, vaulting up over the sharp points and barbed wire, landing on all fours on the other side. I apologise to the peony I crushed and move on, blending neatly with shadows. I know she knows I'm here, but I like to at least pretend I'm going to surprise her with my presence. I smile at the two marble lions guarding her front door...the symbolism is not lost on me. I close my eyes as I reach the picture window that looks into the living room, where she's standing. Place a hand through, then another, then my whole body shifts and melts with the glass briefly before I come through on the other side. I lean very gently against the unbroken glass and just look at her, and she stares speechless at me. "Hi," I say. ************************************** Get a sneak peek of the all-new AOL at http://discover.aol.com/memed/aolcom30tour
