All Saints

Prières de Paix

The eternal house of God, where he lives on between preachers and desperate sobs. This was Dahlia's place, everyday without fail Dahlia will repeat her prayer. At first her prayers were more of a agonising weep that bounced across the holy, hollow walls of the house of God but now it had altered into repetitive, desperate, whisper under her breath. She had collected the pieces that fell on the alter of God. If in the coming future this place of worship was burned to ashes she would still return and pray over ashes. This is all she had left. Her father could not rest in his end days so she hoped her prayers would let his soul rest in the days beyond death.

"What are you praying for saint?" A voice asked from beside her making her slightly jump in fear. She refused to open her eyes which meant cutting her prayer short to face him. Joseph Descamps kneeled onto the stone steps besides her clasping his hands together. Dahlia's eyes were closed in concentration, "For you to get castrated for the greater good of the holy kingdom, for my mother to find sanity in God and for my father to come back to life." A smile ripped through her serious composure. He shifted uncomfortably and after a moment of silence Dahlia's eyes split open to find Joseph Descamps, the devil, praying. "What are you praying for?" She says in a hush tone almost as if she's scared she'll wake the evil that resides in him. "Just that he'll make you fall in love with me and for him to give me my eye back." He shrugged nonchalantly his hands clasped together. "Do you think he'll grant are prayers?" She laughed at how serious he was taking this. Joseph Descamps was not religious in any sort of way. "I doubt it, but I hope he does." He says in a melancholy tone. "I don't know I think one your prayers might have a good chance of becoming true." She said patting his back in comforting gesture.  "What really? You think God's gonna give me my eye back, I bet it's growing back in my socket right now wanna check?" His hand goes up to his brown eye patch to check. Laughter died with that. She couldn't get herself to laugh at his foolishness not after the deed he committed against her burning in her rib cage. "I'm surprised they let you in." She said her lips lifting into a look of true disgust remembering his sudden fit of honesty. He scoffed, "thou should not lie to one another." He stated the holy words against her with a patronising smile on his face.

She stood up from her knees and turned to walk away unable to hold a conversation with him any longer. He grabbed her by the wrist and turned her towards him. Joseph was standing over her with an intense look in his eyes. He could feel her rapid pulse beat against the pads of his fingers. She struggled her wrist out his grip and he dropped it. "Peace?" He held out his hand as if to shake a truce between two fighting armies. She looked down at his pathetic hand hovering in the air, "God would have to force me." She said to him frankly turning away from his offer and forcefully yanking his hand off hers.

Across the path the carcasses of the fallen leaves lay in heaps as they drowned in the rain of the past few days. Their vibrant orange had dulled to an ugly brown. A relentless Descamps chased after her, "I thought you'll be here, truth is bitter but I wasn't here to have a chat with you. I came  to find out what we're gonna do about this assignment?" He informed her putting his hands in the pockets of his brown leather jacket. His words were news to Dahlia, her feigning attention span in class had brought a surprise upon her. She hated surprises.
"What assignment?" Dahlia's distracted mind had come in between her and her academics once again, it was obvious she wasn't listening. Now she feared that she was behind. Her academics were very dear to her especially now that they posed an escape from poverty. "Mrs Giaurd's." He explained the woman's name leaving a bad taste on his mouth. Dahlia raised her eyebrow, "I'm surprised you even care for an assignment." She stated suspiciously, she couldn't be naive now after everything and trust his words. What if this was a set up of some sort? He rolled his eyes as if disinterested in talking to her on this topic, "It's Mrs Giaurd," he shivered pretending to act as though he's frightened of the woman, "plus she's threatened me with expulsion." He added like it was nothing.

Dahlia laughed from joy, a big smile threatening her lips from the thought that he was receiving divine karma, "Ah I see you need me." She continued strolling on her way as they had their rare, civilised discussion between them. They could help it. She wanted to turn around, curse him calling him all sorts of names like pirate and cyclops but she restrained herself from the urge. He had the same yearning to call her prude and make her suffer with the sin he would plant to her lips.
She thought momentarily knowing what her decision had to be. She wanted to prologue their enemy status a little longer dreading the words that would come out of her mouth next, "Yes I suppose I do... truce." The words forcefully came out. She turned around stopping refusing to look up at him in case he got any new silly whims again. He put his hand out, "Truce." He agreed shaking on it like too business men selling stocks of companies.

She awkwardly stood there for a bit, as a question formed in her mind, "Wait just me and you?" She asked anxiously throwing up at him. A smile stretched onto his scowling face and he started to actually laugh in disbelief, "how do you think we're going to do it? What shall I get a priest in the room to sit between us?" Dahlia grew vibrantly red at his words and she started to walk off unable to stand there and be laughed at. It was too early to be belittled and mocked by Joseph Descamps. "When shall you expect me?" He screamed after her making people turn to look at him in annoyance. "No later than 11." She informed the boy. There was no need to exchange numbers or addresses as she was sure he knew where she lived, he had watched her on the day where all of Volitare had gathered to watch the calamity at her door. That day marked the downfall of their noble family, for the Beaufort's name to waft around the word shame and scandal. French society loved nothing more than the theatric decline of the rich. The Beaufort found themselves in any noble's nightmare.