Christopher slowly rummaged through her trunk, looking for another outfit to wear. She ended up pulling out one of her new dresses, a plain outfit that befitted anyone who lived in a monastery.
The first thing she pulled on was her only silk slip, a well worn cream colored slip given to her from a nun who had grown out of it. The lace around the hem and neckline was worn and has too many holes to count. She smoothed the silk under her finger, and pulled the zipper to its end right under her arm and caused the dress to hug her small form, though it still remained too big around her tiny hips.
Suddenly, someone knocked on her door, causing her to start.
"Ah… Just a moment!" she cried out, first pulling on the gray wool pencil skirt that fell respectively to her ankles. Next she shoved her arms through the soft cotton blouse's arms, and quickly weaving the small, mother of pearl buttons through the thin eyelets.
The blouse was only buttoned to just above her chest, leaving her collarbone and thin neck exposed. Her skirt was rumpled to her knees, but she didn't care, as she hurriedly made her way to the door, her bare feet skipping across the hard wood. Her hands clasped around the brass knob, and she deftly twisted it, pulling the cheap wood door open.
Rosette stood on the other side, her hands resting solidly on her hips. The light from the window slots behind her lit her golden hair up brilliantly, and one could be fooled into thinking that she wore a halo. Christopher smiled slightly at the nun, but the corners of her mouth twitched slightly, as though she didn't feel like smiling.
"Sister Rosette, by what means are you calling upon me?" she asked formally, making sure not to keep eye contact with the nun, her emotions hidden by the placid mask she wore.
"Uh… They're holding a mass for those injured and in the infirmary, I was wondering if you were going to attend," Rosette quickly replied as she cast her eyes up and down on the body of Christopher.
"A mass, I will be there, as soon as I am fully dressed," Christopher replied softly, her voice held low, remaining at its same demure tone of a content housewife for the entire of her talk.
"Fine, I'll head down with you," Rosette replied cheerfully, walking into the room and closing the door behind her, the hand clicking as its notch fell into place.
"If that is what you wish," was Christopher's plain reply. She made her way to the bed, sitting down carefully, pulling on the thin nylons, carefully making sure the seam always stayed far to the back of her thin calves, resting in an immaculately straight line. For a moment, she ceased her quick movements, as she though back into the past.
(4 years into the past)
"But Sister Mary, I don't like these," a young girl whined, as she weakly tossed a pair of nylons into a dark corner of the cold room.
The girl was 12 years old, with soft auburn hair that fell to her waist, and about six inched down the long locks, the hair turned a brilliant scarlet, the tips curling slightly. She looked up at the nun in front of her with brilliant ruby eyes.
"Listen, Christopher, you are coming into age, tomorrow we will go into the town and buy you some dresses, and those will last you until you are old enough to leave the monastery, and rid us of your hellish curse," the nun replied forcefully, tossing the thin nylons back at the girl, who caught them half-heartedly, and sighed, pulling them on.
"Put them on right, Christopher, you have to make sure that you put them on right," the nun spat at her, and roughly grabbed her legs, twisting the tights around roughly, until the hems were resting on the back of her calves.
(Back to the present)
"Are you done yet?" Rosette asked, casting a quick glance at the girl, who just sighed, and stood, smoothing out her skirt and pulling a plain pair of gray flats.
"Yes, Sister Rosette," Christopher replied softly, walking over to the door while pulling her hair back with a thin twine tie.
The two quietly made their way to the large congregation room, and the sound of idle chatter and prayer reached their ears first. Placed outside the doors were small steel bowls, filled with holy water. They were held up by stone carvings of angels, their head bend over the bowls, their arms outstretched.
As everyone walked in, they dipped their fingers into the water, and with the same hand, made the sign on the cross, wetting their foreheads, hearts, and shoulders. And slowly, the two made their way to the bowls, and each stopped.
Rosette dipped her fingers in and slowly, almost reverently made the sign of the cross. But Christopher's fingers hovered over the smooth surface of the blessed water, the image of her hand reflecting on the water's surface. She closed her eyes tightly and sucked in a quick breath as she dipped her fingers in, and quickly made the sign of the cross. After that, she let her right arm hang at her side, and slowly her fingers curled into a fist, but to anyone looking hard enough, blood was dripping off the thin digits.
As she walked in, she looked for people she knew, and saw Eamon, Rosette, Chrono and the girl Azmaria, all sitting happily in a random pew that was close to the marble alter. Quietly Christopher made her way to them, her skirt only rustling slightly. She looked down at the ground as she made her way to the pew, afraid to look at the crucifix, and instead, kept her eyes at her right arm, which was stiff, the muscles in her arm tense and twitching. Blood was dripping off the fingers along with small bits of skin, and for a moment, she flexed her hand out, looking at the skin, which was suddenly and horribly burned, the flesh around it red and angry.
"Christopher!" Eamon called out softly, motioning for her to come quickly, as mass was about to start.
She just nodded her head to him, sitting down between him and Chrono, who just looked at her oddly, before looking back at the priest and deacon, who began the ceremony by ringing the chapel bells.
Christopher groaned softly as the sounds echoed through her head, setting her head on fire. She could have sworn that she would die, but instead she felt something wet dribble out of both ears. Still, she sat upright, her eyes squeezed shut in pain, but it only got worse. The holy incense that filled the room made her very nose bleed, and then, they began to read from the holy book.
It was the last straw, as she suddenly stood up and with surprising speed, darted out of the room and into the nearest room, a large storage room. Steam was rising off her, and blood was pouring out of her nose, and dribbling down her neck from her ears. Her eyes were blood shot, her skin pale. She lay crumpled against a shelf, the door left slightly ajar. She could just barely hear the holy scriptures, but even that burned her ears, making her head ache and feel as though millions of needles were jabbing her very skull.
"Why… why me? What did I do?" she moaned, placing her hands on over her ears, ignoring the pain flooding from the burnt hand. She squeezed her eyes shut as she rocked back and forth, tears slowly falling off her face. Slowly, she remembered to the first time this had happened.
(Back 6 years in the past)
"I don't know what happened to the girl," A young nun cried out, holding onto the small form a girl. Blood was dripping off her body from her nose, ears, eyes and mouth, staining the wood deep crimson. Her hands and forehead were burned, small scraps of skin falling off, landing in the pools of crimson that gathered on the floor.
"This child is cursed! Father Thompson, I will only tell you once more. You asked for my advice, it is to send the girl back to her father, Lucifer, she does not belong here with mortals!" An old nun cried out, gesturing at the girl, fear in her eyes.
"It is not the child's fault, send her to the infirmary to be treated for the wounds, Sister Catherine," the young priest replied, motioning to the nun, who carried the girl away quietly.
"She has his mark on her skin! She is only a curse upon those around her!" the old nun replied gruffly, closing the door behind her.
"She has a right to salvation, and you know this," the priest replied, but he sighed, placing his hand on the window in front of him, "The girl has not had an easy life, but she is a good child," he replied.
"Bah, that's what you always say, she's no better then Him, the Dark One," the nun replied, and made her way out.
"Please, try to be nicer to the girl, she's already had a hard life," the priest pleaded softly to the nun's retreating back, knowing that it was useless. He saw too many masses to count in the girl's future. "Poor child…" he sighed, sitting back down in his chair.
(Back into present times)
Chrono was the first to leave from the mass, as he was out as soon as it finished, but it was not anxiety to leave the mass that fueled him. He had seen the girl's bleeding hand and ears, and was worried.
Slowly, followed by his friends and Eamon, they began to search for the girl. It was Eamon who found her, as he opened the door to the storage room the remaining way, to see Christopher, crumpled on the floor, her back against the support beams of the shelves that filled the room. Dried blood was caked on her face, neck and hands, while fresh still seeped from her nose, ears, fingers, and now from her eyes, dribbling out the sides and down her face like scarlet tears.
"Christopher?" Eamon asked gently, making his way to the girl, but it was useless. Her eyes were turned upward and her muscles twitched in pain and his words didn't even seem to reach her ears.
"Christopher!" he cried out, a bit more forcefully this time, grabbing her by the shoulders, and quickly he shook her, hoping to wake her. And slowly, she came to, her eyes settling on him finally, after scanning the room wildly.
"E…Eamon?" she asked quietly, her voice just barely escaping her lips.
"Christopher!" he cried out happily, pulling the girl to his chest, clutching onto her happily. He rested his chin on the top of her head.
"I found her!" He cried out happily as he tenderly wiped the blood off her face.
"Where?" Rosette called back, as the three of them quickly made their way to the storage closet, to find the two.
"Wha… What happened?" Azmaria cried out, rushing over to Christopher.
"I don't entirely know…" Eamon sighed as he tried to wipe the blood off her face, feverently trying to wet the thin cloth to get clean off the dry crud.
"Was it the holy incense, and water, and… and…" Azmaria trailed off as she looked at Chrono, who was staring intently at the girl, oblivious to the girl's gaze.
"But… it hasn't affected Chrono, and she's a demon, too?" Rosette murmured, placing a hand thoughtfully under her chin, trying to figure out the enigma that this girl was.
"Well, in truth, I don't know. I heard she had a human mother they weren't sure, she didn't live long enough for them to ask," he trailed off, before quickly beginning to wipe the girl's face.
"I don't entirely know a lot about her, just that my friend, a priest at the monastery she was staying at, well, he just said she would be a good partner for me," Eamon sighed, finally giving up trying to wash her off. Her eyes slowly fluttered open, weakly, like butterfly wings.
"E… Eamon?" her voice came out rough at first, but slowly became sweeter, and as she spoke she slowly got up, weakly at first, her legs shaking unsurely as she stood, wiping the fresh blood off her face.
"What… what happened?" she asked, her voice even sounding unsure.
"You… don't remember?" Eamon asked, watching the girl calmly wipe off her blood.
"Oh… the mass…"
"Why did that happen?" Rosette asked, though her voice demanded an answer.
"You mean the bleeding? I don't entirely know why, the nuns just told me because I was a terrible sinner," she replied sadly, tying a handkerchief she had produced from the pockets of her dress, around her hand.
"Just how much demon are you?" Chrono asked, grabbing gently onto her uninjured hand.
"Me? I don't really know, the priests guessed I was only half… but…" she looked away, cleaning off the last of the blood.
"Ever since I was young there was something wrong with me. I can't be anywhere near holy things, or else I bleed. Holy water burns, crucifixes make my eyes bleed, incense caused nosebleeds, and holy bells… the pain is indescribable. What's worse is blessed food, it turns to ash, and my mouth is ruined for weeks," she explained, sighing as she looked over at Eamon.
"But… I'm used to this, I've been to thousands of masses, each more painful then the last," she whispered, before leaving, heading out to the courtyard…
There we go! Yipee! I love this story for some odd reason.