I’ve mentioned a couple of times in the past that when I tried Nanowrimo, I promptly abandoned it because I met my husband instead.
Recently I got a new laptop, and with shuffling files around, I came across that story.
Honestly, I find it hilarious that this is what I wrote as a 21-year-old, literally the day before I fell madly head over heels in love at first sight.
Mizrael stood next to his bed and stared down at the sleeping teenage girl, unsure of what to do. He had accosted the vampire more out of hatred for the race and less out of concern for the girl, because he was a man of God– a man of solitude– and he rarely dirtied himself with the affairs of humans. There was a reason why he had requested that little church set deep in the heart of a forsaken land, because he knew that the human occupants would never bother themselves with attending church. The chapel was his haven in the depths of hell, and an outpost that the church was desperate to keep open. In short, he liked it.
Yet there he was, wondering why he had uncharacteristically rescued that particular child from the cold, hard pew to place her in his bed. He was sure that he was somehow breaking the rules. He wished that he was breaking the rules so that he would have a good reason to toss the girl back out to the mercy of the vampires. Life was short and cruel, and it was not his place to protect anyone from that. As a priest, Mizrael simply had to hear confessions then pass the judgments of God. That was all they asked of him, and all he did. The body of the church had grown cold long before Mizrael’s heart, but it hadn’t taken much prompting for him to follow suit.
Cold like the snow, pure white and beautiful. Frozen and silent. Winter and Heaven shared many characteristics.
He looked down and met the girl’s eyes, waiting for her to speak, almost challenging her to make her words profound. It was a gaze she did not like, and she turned away.
“Father forgive me.” Her weak voice trembled. “I have sinned, and I have never confessed my wrongdoings.”
“Since you are currently lying in my bed instead of sitting in my confessional, I do not believe that the formality is necessary.” Mizrael’s voice wasn’t harsh, but it wasn’t filled with warmth either. “In fact, I would prefer it if you didn’t make a confession at all.”
“But I need to.”
And the priest’s patience snapped. A teenage girl – even one who was the property of vampires – had absolutely nothing original to share. All of their sins were the same, and he was in no mood to hear a confession outside of his preferred set up. If the child wanted to confess, then she would have to wait till the appropriate time and place. If she continued proving herself to be weak and pathetic, then he would turn her away like he should have done in the first place. “Get up,” he ordered, his voice a low growl.
She was surprised but she obeyed, sliding out from under the blankets and steadying herself on her feet, her white silk nightgown rippling around her legs. The sheer fabric didn’t hide much of her figure, and Mizrael’s eyes narrowed in disgust. He had always found the human body to be repulsive.
“I suppose you’ll have to wear something of mine.” As much as he hated the idea, it was still better than her current apparel.
“Thank you,” she whispered as he rummaged through his drawers and more or less flung a shirt and pair of pants at her.