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They are but the breathing dead

A graveyard scene at night, stars peppering the sky - they are but the breathing dead
Image sourced from Pixabay (COO)

They Are But The Breathing Dead

Order of the Rose, Order of the Night I shall not sleep. I shall not dream ere I see your face melting in the pane of my memory. 
Who bade them come? They that have no heart nor home to call their own. Dread they brought to this house, though clothed in the red of the Church the stench of corruption hung on their words. 

I saw them see you.
Red, those bastards, red they bled you. 
They are but the breathing dead, my vengeance motes in the wind carrying poison to their eyes and steel to their bellies. How I RAGE at their deceit. 
Now your face, your pale, beautiful face haunts me, shrieking my failure as it bemoans my loss. 
Why did you have to die? I was always a servant of our faith, always an open heart, a leader of the flock. Why take you from me? 

My beautiful sister, my soul, my love. 
I hear you curse me, see you dance in despair. Why do you hate me?
I loved you, real love, like my breath. How I worshipped your beauty, kept you safe from all others, kept you clean, kept you pure. 
No other touch than mine caressed your skin.
Until they came.
I could not let them have you.
I saved you. 
I won’t let you stay dead my darling. Shh, I promise, you won’t feel a thing.

Published inDarkProseStories

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