Author's Note: I was in the Saturday morning when 2P!France demanded to be added to the story. Add in a picture of a blindfolded by a nun being controlled by red strings and we get this. At first, I didn't know where I was heading but I managed to pull it off. I came close to writing a sex scene, but it didn't really call for it. I just came up with a new element to this project. Let's see where it goes next. I don't what I am doing next week. You are going to have to stick around and see. For now, enjoy this week's match.
Match Twenty-Two: Fallen Church:
In the middle of October, a man in his late twenties, maybe it was his late twenties, wandered into Paris in the early morning hours. A fog had rolled in overnight. The remnants hung around. His face didn't show it, but a strange sense of joy filled his chest.
Fit the mood that is to come.
There was one place that he needed to go first.
He made it to Saint Serge. At night, this place looked creepy. There was only a quick smile before the man went inside. He didn't need to wash. Oh look, there was somebody already waiting for me. A nun held her hands to her chest. She had her eyes lowered. No, those weren't her eyes. He knew her true nature.
The man bowed his head as he walked by. The nun didn't acknowledge him. She mumbled something to herself, in fact. The man walked into the church.
The inside looked so different at night. There's no one here, obviously. Well, not physically anyway. He saw shadows in the pews. They all had their heads bowed. The man could almost reach out and touch them. But why would he? That would destroy the scenery.
The man walked down the aisle. He whistled to himself. He didn't remember what the tune was or where it came from. It might not even have existed on this side of the world. Tonight, he was here to see a certain lady.
He paused when he heard singing up ahead. So soft, so beautiful. The man already knew who it was. He walked down the aisle. That same nun from outside stood in front of the altar. This time, she was blindfolded. She sang like an angel, but darkness veiled her true nature. The man looked up and noticed thin red strings holding up her head. The nun moved her finger to her lips.
"Hello, my dear," the man greeted her in a deep, raspy French accent. The nun lowered her finger.
"Good evening," she said. Only, it didn't sound like her voice was coming from her mouth directly. More like, she moved her mouth and the voice was coming from a speaker behind her. The strings moved with her head. He didn't bother cleaning up his appearance for her. Why would he? She didn't care. He walked up to her and kissed her on the lips. She kissed him back.
"And have you been, dear François?" she asked. The man stretched the side of his neck.
"I've been better," he said. "I was getting tired of being on the other side. I can't remember the last time I was here." The shadows looked like they were praying behind them. This church was going to filled by daylight.
"Who else is going to be here tonight?" François asked.
"My master," she said.
"I see," he said. "Is he actually going to be here or is he sending another messenger?" The blind nun only put her finger to her lips.
"Heh," François said. The whispering behind him began to die down. Those shadows were the sins of the people in this city. They never go away. No, where would the fun be in that? The world needed the darkness to go around. Otherwise, true beauty would never see the living world. Everyone talked about the light. To him, the light was overrated. People just needed to embrace the darkness.
"I agree with you," a voice said behind him. François smirked.
"Heh," he said. "Who are you this time?" The gruff man turned around. A pale young woman walked down the aisle. Her long white robes flowed around her frail body. Her long black hair came down to waist.
"Well, hello," François said. "So this is the form that you chose this time?" The girl's feet didn't touch the ground. Her head came up to his chest. François stared into her eyes.
"I thought you couldn't come in here," he said.
"I can't," she said. (She? Was she a she? François could never tell.) The man got a better look at her face. On the surface, she looked like an angel. Her skin looked so pale. Her eyelashes were black and curly. Could eyes be this beautiful and dark blue? She had a small nose. Her lips were so red that it looked like she was wearing rouse.
"Kiss me," she said. He leaned in kissed her. She kissed him back. François could hear her voice in his head.
Your fellow countries are already here. When will you seek out the counterpart?
They pulled away from the kiss.
"I am working on it," François said. He looked over at the shadows in the pews. They don't move. He couldn't make out any features of their shapeless bodies. No one else can see them. They never leave either. They can't right now.
"They will leave here when the time is right," she said. "But right now, they are stuck here." François turned his head.
"What keeps them here?" he asked. The young woman held out her arms.
"Many things," she said. "Sins, lies, guilt, shame, secrets, darkest desires. The human race comes here and leaves them behind. But alas, they don't want to be trapped here. They too want to be free into the world." She held François' hand.
"They will be released soon, but not without your help," she added. "You and him." François bowed his head.
"Understood," he said. The young woman looked up at him with a smirk.
"Would you like to do it with me?" she asked. "You could help to free them faster." François gave her a small smile.
"Gladly," he said. He leaned in and kissed her on the neck. The young woman let off a little gasp. She turned around to face him. Her dress fell to the floor. François embraced her and kissed her on the lips again. He carried her to the back room of the church.
Behind them, the shadows whispered louder without even lifting what was supposed to be their heads. The nun herself smiled before she vanished into thin air.
Francis awoke at sunrise to someone pounding on the door.
"Coming!" the Frenchman shouted. He only had time to throw on a bathrobe. Francis ran down the stairs and made it to the front door. He looked out the peep hole. A wave of confusion washed over his face. What was… he doing on his doorstep. A sense of dread filled his gut. He should turn around and run. He should call the police.
Against his better judgment, Francis reached over and opened the door. François stood outside with a dull expression on his face. The other Frenchman backed away with a worried look on his face.
"Well hello, mon cher frere," he said in a low voice. Francis' breath caught in his throat. Icy chills ran down his body as the dirtier version of him smirked.