𝙴𝚁𝙾𝚃𝙸𝙲⠀& 𝚁𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙶𝙸𝙾𝙽 ͏ ♱⃬ ͏ ͏
⠆ ͏ 𝓜𝙸𝙳𝙽𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃 𝙼𝙰𝚁𝚃𝚈𝚁 ¿
⠀❲⠀⠀♱ Vincent Rien wasn't just a man of God.
He was a wolf draped in a shepherd's cloak.
In the quiet corners of Spring Falls, the devil
could spe...
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❝ Can I ask you somethin'? Somethin'... personal? ❞ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
♱
"Wake up baby you need to eat some breakfast so you can get to class on time" Mississippi spoke gently. Jacqueline stirred beneath the thin quilt as her mother's voice filtered into the room, soft and insistent, pulling her from the heavy fog of sleep.
The light from the window was faint but enough to throw pale streaks onto the walls, catching the edges of her cluttered desk—textbooks, pens, and a tangle of loose notes she'd never gotten around to organizing.
"Baby, c'mon now," Mississippi said again, gently tugging the quilt down to expose her daughter's face. "You'll be late for class if you don't eat somethin'. And Father Rein's stayin' for breakfast."
That last part jolted Jacqueline awake more effectively than her mama's coaxing ever could. Her eyes blinked open, dark and wide, still soft with sleep but quickly sharpening. "Father Rein?" she mumbled, her voice rough with the residue of dreams.
She rubbed at her eyes and sat up, the quilt pooling in her lap. The thought of him sitting at their kitchen table, so close to her life outside of church, made her stomach twist in ways she didn't care to examine.
"You heard me," Mississippi replied, her tone as sweet as honey but firm enough to leave no room for argument. "Now get yourself ready."
Jacqueline sighed and swung her legs over the side of the bed, her feet brushing the cool floorboards. She moved with a sluggishness that felt deliberate, like she was resisting the current pulling her toward the inevitable. The bathroom mirror reflected her face, sleep-smudged and pensive, and she washed it quickly, as if scrubbing away any lingering traces of vulnerability.
She chose the outfit her mama had left out—a soft burgundy sweater, cropped and slightly oversized, paired with dark bootcut jeans that hugged her hips just right. Her heart-shaped locket glinted faintly as she clasped it around her neck, a quiet weight against her skin. The heels Mississippi had insisted on, white platforms with an ankle strap, felt more like a costume than anything practical, but they clicked with purpose when she finally slipped them on.
