The Believer and The Wicked

The Believer and The Wicked--prologue.

Her body was so elegantly laid in the mud when i had come across her.
In the twilight, her skin glowed in the ethereal brilliance. I marveled at her. Her face was pointed away from me and her body was contorted in a manner reminding me of a broken porcelain figurine.

So graceful, so fragile, so arrogant.

Almost determined to have her body twisted in such a manner, as if to tempt the demons of the world to taste, to touch, and to ultimately fail. She seemed just too out of reach for the whispers of supernatural forces to overtake.

Yet someone had. Overtaken her that is.

Her body was defectionless, graffitied only by the red. Red welts, red gashes, red blood spattered all around her, and even red stains on her parted lips. But even this red seemed to add to her beauty. Her glazed eyes stared out into the dark forest as if peering into another world.

Like a fallen monument to saving grace, like a disfigured testament to glory, she laid there. Her life so violently stolen from her.

She had a small daisy tattooed on her ankle. Like the whisper of some lost memory of her youth. A mark that would never leave her. Just like this memory that would mark my mind forever.

And I saw her, long before the men came and put yellow tape all around the sacred area. I saw her and I dream about her and I can still picture her now, clear as that night I had unknowingly come upon her. And I still marvel at her beauty, her radiance, her glorious form whose life was so artfully and prematurely and brutally taken from her.

~brittany