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Silence is His language


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Holding a piece of God in her hand, she stumbled through the snow.

How lucky she was! How blessed! The fact that she, she, at the tender age of thirteen, had been visited by a saint beggared belief. Why, she had just been a normal girl.. Or, well, she probably wasn’t. Why else would she have been chosen? She clutched the Lorraine tight, felt its otherworldly ambience. 

She chose me! She laughed. It still seemed insanely improbable.

The wind howled with her. Her fingers had long turned blue, and her shivering frame fell to its knees. She could not go on. She had dressed in nought but rags; what had driven her to think that she could endure this trip?


. . .Oh, right. The Lorraine.


God would not lead her astray. Even as the biting snow began to pile upon her,  as she crawled underneath a swaying pine and felt her eyes drooping, she still clutched the Lorraine.


God would not lead me astray!


God led her to sleep.




She rushes through the Church, glancing from pew to pew. “Excuse me,” the child asks one man, “have you seen Nicolette Amador?” But he turns to her without a face, and she runs in sudden fright.

“Do not be afraid, Serwa.” He stands and follows. He has no voice - only a noise. “You are ordained by me. What have you to fear?”

She doesn’t listen. She isn’t listening. She can’t listen. Her hands are covering her ears, and she’s running, and she’s mumbling to herself, “A dream, that's all.. I'm looking for Nicolette. Yes, that's it. Nicolette. The saint. Where are you?"

“Behind you,” the false man murmurs  - with a voice that lulls, with a voice that stills her.

Serwa turns. The man looks down at her, and sighs.

“What are you?”

“The devil,” the faceless man says, “but only if you want me to be. I can be Nicolette too.” 

“Can you be God?”

“Yes. Watch.” And he presses his fingers into her eyes, gouging them out.

Serwa screams, but he doesn’t stop. She punches and kicks, but he doesn’t react. She screams obscenities, but he has no mouth to smile with. For what seems like an eternity, the Church is filled with nought but the sound of dripping blood, struggling limbs, and dread silence..

Until, she tires to exhaustion, and falls limp. Blood runs down her face onto the carpeted floor below.

“Do you see? I can be anything you want me to be.”

He speaks without a voice. Silence is his language. 




Serwa wakes. At first, she thinks she’s still dreaming; she can feel the cold wind, hear the cawing of departing ravens, feel the pain in her..


She shrieks in blind agony. The Lorraine falls from her grip.

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