The nurse had never considered herself particularly religious. Lisa's mother was old fashioned and traditional, often dressing the girl in silly frocks and preaching to her about the importance of keeping up appearances.

Though she would argue and whine, the intern always found herself perched on one of those solid and uncomfortable pews, writhing to and fro as she struggled against the stiff wood that scratched her bare legs.

Attending Sunday mass was something that she found tedious and dull, eyes flitting about the high angled roof as she tried to focus on something more interesting. When it was time to pray, she would clasp her hands together and bow her head, oblivious to the complicated words that seeped from the reverend's lips.

Even her own parents displayed a flicker of boredom, hiding their blatant yawns behind hymn books and badly masked coughs. They did it to be good patrons of the neighbourhood, not because they believed in the values that were expressed.

So Lisa began to ponder what had brought her to Balkan Church that evening, flat shoes scuffing the stone steps as she stood before the opposing door. Sunlight warmed her body as she gazed at the intricately detailed hinges, forged from a powerful black iron.

Was it guilt? Had a yearning for forgiveness driven her to that place? She had never willingly visited the building, which made a pang of fear strike her core as she began to question whether God would be furious at her for seeking refuge only as a last resort. Selfishly, all she wanted to do was feel better about herself.

Lisa...

There it was again. That voice, haunting her like some pitiful revenant. All afternoon she had endured the sound of that child calling out to her, beckoning for the woman to come and ease her leaking wounds and lonely heart.

Or maybe it was all in her head? A figment of her imagination. Regardless, the teenager hoped that the solace of those church walls would provide her the comfort she needed. Sanctuary may have been an archaic term, but it was a pleasant one.

Seating herself on one of the forlorn pews, the intern hesitantly brought both palms together, bowing her head as she tried to ignore the tortured expression worn by a statue of Christ, hanging from the ceiling in front.

It made her nervous to think that He could have been watching her, bearing witness to all of the horrible things that she had done. Squeezing her eyes shut, the nurse struggled to retain what little certainty she had left, foot tapping impatiently against the stone floor as she wallowed in her own self-induced pity.

It was darkly amusing how people seemed to lust for salvation only when they desperately sought redemption. If not for Alessa's involvement, Lisa knew she would have never considered entering a place of prayer. That child made her question everything she had ever believed in.

'Come to confess your sins?'

With a gasp, the young woman's expressive eyes shot open, her body spinning at an awkward angle to gaze at the tawdry figure standing in the aisle. Dahlia hadn't made her presence known, but it was obvious she had been there since the intern arrived. There had been no telltale creak of an old and neglected hinge screaming as the door swung open.

Gillespie had watched her silently from the shadows, unkempt hair draping down her shoulders in a murky compound of brown and grey. No longer sporting her fur trimmed coat, the older female had instead donned a long robe adorned with matching hood, bare feet shifting along the floor softly as she carefully tread towards the teen.

Lisa couldn't help but think she resembled a wicked nun, and almost questioned why the woman was even in the church. Whatever creature Samael was, it certainly didn't appear to be human. It resembled something more akin to a demon, and the intern was dubious that anything demonic could be in any way holy.

'What do you want?' The girl asked, forsaking her usual good manners.

'How is my darling incubus?' the mother enquired, an amused glimmer illuminating her otherwise unpleasant features.

Furious, the intern made to stand, knuckles going white as they gripped the dark wood. It were as though Alessa, the child she had carried in her womb for nine months, had become nothing more than a means to an end. Lisa was thankful that, regardless of how bad things were, she would never be as sick and twisted as Dahlia Gillespie.

The entire town seemed to forget just how much of an oddball the older woman really was. She was insane. Always had been. But now she was insane and grieving. Nobody wanted to mock a mad woman who had recently lost her only child.

Poor woman. Since the accident, she hasn't been the same. She's lost her mind. Who can blame her? Alessa died, afterall.

None of it was true. Dahlia had known exactly what she was doing, and no amount of sympathy could change what the horrible woman had orchestrated.

Perhaps she wasn't even crazy? The more Lisa listened to her, the more she began to think it was all an elaborate ruse. Nobody wanted to associate with the woman because she was strange, but that sort of anti-social existence allowed her to do as she pleased.

Even now, townsfolk were wary of commenting on her unusual choice of dress, fearing that they would be laughing at a woman driven to the brink of madness by an unforeseen tragedy. Lisa knew the truth, but it was a hollow victory when there was nobody to tell.

'Do you really think that scarring your daughter is going to birth God?' The nurse quizzed, denim jeans grazing the pews as she shifted from foot to foot.

'Insolent girl.' The woman flippantly responded. 'Paradise can only exist in a world free of pain and sorrow. We must cleanse this filthy planet before it can rise from the ashes like a Phoenix emerging from the purifying flames.'

'What does that have to do with Alessa?'

'That child is special. She will be the mother of God, as was prophesied.' The tie around her neck swayed as she moved, clashing with the rest of her garish outfit. 'Only loathing can fertalise the being inside her, for there is no stronger emotion than hatred.'

Lisa scoffed. 'What about love? Surely the love for your daughter should outweigh all else?'

'Love can be false. It can be misleading.' Raising her arms to the concealed sky, Dahlia spun in a single circle, as if awaiting the arrival of some unseen saviour. 'But hatred is something pure and honest. When your heart is full of hate, it cannot be swayed by something as futile as love.'

The intern thought carefully about what Dahlia had said. It was true that love was often misconstrued. She herself had discovered this with Kaufman's scheming and manipulation. Even so, to consider burning one's offspring was something even she could not condone.

'Why are you here?' She quizzed, knowing it was pointless to argue. 'Don't you zealots have your own church to go to? Someplace far from here?'

'Can you hear her?' The older woman quizzed, ignoring Lisa's question. 'I can. She sometimes speaks to me, crying out for attention. It would be wise to ignore her, she is very manipulative. That girl weaves lies like a spider weaves its web.'

The two women stared silently at one another, locked in a match of wits as both refused to blink first. Lines creased the nurse's brow as she scowled unfavourably at Dahlia, wondering how long she'd be able to stand there and gaze into those hollow eyes.

It were as though nothing lay behind them. Two dead, empty orbs that emit a cold vacancy. The Gillespie was devoid of everything that made her human, like a being born without a soul to warm their icy exterior and frozen heart.

No longer comfortable with continuing their conversation, the intern buttoned up her jacket to leave, head swimming as she pushed by the waiting mother. Dahlia seemed to leave a shadow wherever she walked, as though her very presense corrupted the world around her. The church felt tainted, as though it had been completely stripped of all that was good.

Shuddering, she stepped out into the dim street, dull lamps illuminating the pavement as she descended the steps with eager hops, trying to place as much distance between herself and that woman as she possibly could.

Kaufman was a bad influence, but for him, the entire debacle was merely business. Dahlia, on the other hand, earnestly believed that she was going to birth Paradise from the womb of her daughter, twisted beyond repair as she were.

I thought I had a miserable upbringing. Lisa thought, placing both hands in her pockets as she walked. But in hindsight, living with my mother isn't so bad.

It was strange, but for the first time in months, Lisa wanted to be with her parents.