"Father, I have sinned..."

Carmilla said. Her voice was low, slow, heavy, and almost perfectly flat. Except for one wavering note. Although she stood straight and tall, still and serious, there was one single tremble. Was it of anger? Or fear? Or both? Or something else?

"For I have loved a woman without fear..."

She finally confessed her innermost thought, her innermost sin, her innermost desire, and the smallest of smiles twitched at her lips.

"Loved her with all the fires of Hell burning inside me."

She said, voice breaking again. It was a brief stumble, but audible. She clutched at her chest, as though grasping at the strands of smoke she could feel burning through her ribs and wafting out of her skin. But it was strange, the fire was not entirely unpleasant. It burned hot in her belly, tongues of light licking upwards and searing her ribcage and tickling her heart. On some days, the fire melted it into oblivion, but on others, the flames only seemed to stoke it, each billowing puff of smoke causing it to beat just a bit harder, a bit faster, a bit longer... a bit stronger. The smoky warmth of affection was fueled by the sparking embers of passion and both of them were fed by the smoldering flames swirling below, bright and golden, shining and dancing even through her outer darkness. It was a raging inferno burning and soothing her heart in equal amounts.

"I have loved a woman with open palms,"

The young woman confessed, unthinkingly unfolding her hands and facing them upward to Heaven, but whether she was doing this to bear her guilt or to display her passionate pleasure was unknown both to her and the judge to whom she was speaking.

"Open legs.

"Rolling hips."

Carmilla closed her eyes, not in piety or pain, but memory. A warm and beautiful memory of the Girl. Those memories of warmth and cold, strength and vulnerability, peace and excitement, rhythm and rhyme, constancy and change, truth and privacy, day and night, bedroom and public, these paradoxes that fed off of one another in equal amounts, love fueling love fueling love. There was only one thing missing...

"And no apology..."

"Father, I have sinned,"

Carmilla repeated, but this time, the hollowness in her voice had turned into a calm, resigned, matter-of-fact tone. It was almost as flat, but it was not hollow. It was pitchless and unwavering, but definitely not emotionless. There was something there this time, stronger than before, although her words were spoken without a single tremble. Just simple fact. It was the strength of acceptance and acknowledgement.

"For I have shunned your churches,"

She looked around the empty, crumbling chapel in which she stood. Twice she had been here when her life was lost. The first was centuries ago, the other, not anywhere near as long, but both of the memories stung as fresh as yesterday. The wood was rotting, the doors were falling in, hinges rusted beyond recognition or salvation. The pews were the same, mold, insects and rodents living in what remained of the couches. Ivy covered the walls inside and out and crept across the cracked, caked tiles of the floor. God's mighty alter had faded into a slab of wood, old symbols whittled away not by the hand of a woodworker, but of Father Time himself. The golden cross and the holy pictures surrounding it were gone, whether stolen or simply removed was unknown to Carmilla, and she didn't care at all. The stain glass windows were all broken out, only shards around the edges still remaining, the Bibles and hymnals were all gone, the preacher's pulpit had fallen over long, long ago.

"And scorned your priests,"

She continued. Although none were present, Carmilla could still see the stuffy old white men in their stuffy old white robes of virtue. How she hated them! Mocked and scorned, despised and disdained them! And their stupid books that they toted. Their noses were always in the air, so how did they ever even read what was in those books that they lauded so highly? Or was it all so they could occasionally peer down from their high, stiff collars and scoff at what passed under their noses? Holy and untouchable, almost so distant that they were little more than myth to Carmilla.

"I have disgraced Adam and Eve,"

She said, next, another waver entering her voice. Was it of amusement or guilt? She thought about those old preachers and priests, of every religion! And how all of them had warned her... The foremost was this religion of Adam and Eve. Carmilla could remember when a picture of the Garden hung in their chapel. Eve had always been prettier than Adam, she thought, even though everyone else had insisted from the start that Adam had always been much better. After all, it was not he that had been seduced by the Serpent. But that was because, Carmilla thought, he was too stupid to understand the raw human emotion and knowledge and liberation that the Serpent had offered to Eve that fateful day...

"With my poisoned apple..."

Carmilla raised a hand without meaning to, imagining that perfect round red fruit sitting thereupon, in her hand instead of on its branch. She could see a little green head, waggling in approval. Clearer than that, though, she could see the red lips of the Girl, both red as blood. She could smell her fresh, wild scent, just as intoxicating and sweet as the apple, moving and full of life. So intriguing, new, raw and human. Everything Carmilla had ever wanted. Nature in its most natural form, plucked straight from the vine, still so new and pure.

"Sweeter than your manna..."

Carmilla could taste that sweet, sweet nectar that had so tempted and seduced Eve all those eons ago. Now she was at it again, the succulent taste too much to resist even now. She always came back for more, despite her Lord's repeated warnings. The taste of those lips and that skin... and the blood, warm and red. Was it what Eve had tasted when she took that first fateful bite? And if so, did Eve ever regret her mistake? Or had that one second with the apple been worth the punishment that followed?

"And freer than your garden,"

She now could see all the moonlit walks by the river, the exploration through the gardens, sitting on benches and bending over flowers. Dipping toes in the cold water at night and basking in the warm sun in the day. She could see flowers and fruits, greenery everywhere, speckled with gold. Surely Eden could never have compared, for Eden never had what Carmilla had in that Garden, imprinted into her memory. Eden was constrained, one small garden with rules and borders. With the Girl, it was a new Eden every day and there was no fear in any, only her and Carmilla.

"My own personal genesis..."

The young woman had since opened her eyes and raised her head again. In this crumbling chapel, she felt hollow, cold and dead, just like the chapel itself. In that garden, with that Girl, though, she had felt like one coming to life again, becoming human again, a resurrection of, by and for love as powerful as Jesus'. When she was in that garden, her Eden, she became who she always was and who she was supposed to be. It really was her own genesis, her return to life, only this time she was both creator and creation. It was freedom and birth and rebirth with no strings attached. No controlling Mother, no condemning Father, just her Eve and her Eden, all of the fruit free to taste and try. The Serpent was a friend and there was no temptation or sin and punishment. Nothing but Eden.

"Father, I have sinned,"

Carmilla uttered for the third time. But this time, her voice was strong and certain, no longer hollow, robotic, sad or resigned.

"But you will not find me on my knees,"

She said, slowly rising from the alter. For the first time ever, she spoke with conviction. Her voice was neither smooth or trembling. It was rich with a deep and powerful emotion and she no longer cared for standing straight and tall before a God, not when she now had a goddess.

"You will find me on my feet,"

She looked up at the newly-restored golden cross hanging before her on the back wall of the newly-restored chapel. It was beautiful, but she would not kneel to stone. She would only kneel before flesh.

"You will find my hand in hers,"

The young woman vowed, already feeling phantom fingers twining with her own. She could feel the friendly and childish squeeze of her fingers, the reassuring pressure that encapsulated her whole hand, the insistent hand dragging her forward into a new life, but then back again for another kiss, asking her to stay a bit longer. Holding hands conveyed so much to Carmilla, touch was very powerful to her, this was just the first time she'd been able to use that form of communication safely. Their hands were held during their most private of times. Their hands were a symbol of unity.

"I have loved her with defiance,"

Carmilla almost growled now, thinking about how much blood, sweat and tears she had lost, fighting to keep that girl safe, and at her side. She had fought a long and hard battle for love, and it had demanded much sacrifice. Maybe now at last, she had a right to be angry and defensive. She had earned her rest. Had she not?

"I have screamed from lips that drip with love and lust!"

Carmilla's breathing grew ragged as she thought of all the passion and anguish both that she had screamed. The agony, guilt and despair that was always chorused with the pure ecstasy and the sense of fullness and pleasure. Screams of pain and pride, of hatred and love. Her mouth was always open and never soundless, screaming out how much she loved, even if no one heard her screams, which were tinted with sharp white and liquid red.

"I worship at her alter."

The woman said firmly, deciding her true allegiance at last. It was not to God's feet, or anyone else's, that she fell willingly, it was to the Girl's. It was to Her that Carmilla surrendered total control with a blissful and willing smile on her face. It was at Her feet Carmilla fell every time, undone by everything that beautiful conundrum of a woman did. It was not any of any deity's miracles or promises, it was simply the apparition of one of their angels. This was what broke Carmilla every time, her savior and her condemner in one beautiful body. It was her Eden, her Apple, her Serpent, her Angel, her Goddess, her everything. Her freedom and her choice, her life, her redemption and her salvation.

"Father, I have sinned. And I do not ask forgiveness."

AN: I found this poem written in a poetry book published by IU Bloomington's Hutton Honors College. The book was called "Labyrinth" and the poem, written by someone named Abby M, was called "Heaven Above/Below". I just had to write a fic about it because it was such a powerful poem to me. It hit really close to home, and I wanted to share it with everyone else because I think it deserves to be told (and this is coming from a girl who doesn't normally like/read poetry). It's so beautiful and intense, I hope everyone enjoyed. I did post the full poem on the Creampuff Facebook page.

Also, if the layout seems a bit confusing, that's because you can read it several different ways.

You can read it parallel to "To Die As Lovers May" with each paragraph being one of Carmilla's three lovers.

Or you can read it as defying three different masters (her father in life, God himself, and then Mother Inanna).

Or you can read it as being her story from accepted resignation to defiance (because it does seem like, in the start, Carmilla just goes with the flow, but by the time Laura H rolls around, she begins to fight for herself again).

Or you can read this as webseries with the girl in the first part being Elle and the girl in the next part being Laura.

Or you can read it as book only, just with Carmilla surviving the book and returning to the chapel years after the climax of the book. The first paragraph sounds like something book Carmilla would say anyway, comparing her love for Laura like Hellfire itself.

Either way, there's lots of interpretation, and it didn't help that I intentionally left out names...