Voodoo Queens of New Orleans - Vol. II | In Progress

Part II

The walls are dark and cold. The air heavy on the chest and poison in the lungs. 

We sit here, waiting. We know of not what we wait for, but we sit and wait. 

Looking at the shadows in the water as they look at us, every day until we are taken and brought into the large house at night, cleaned of our wretchedness, our bruises concealed until the sun rises. 

They look at us - personified shadows, their eyes as yellow as the moon, their skin as white as porcelain but not as beautiful; cold to the touch. We must touch them, and they may touch us. They may taste us. 

We sit and wait. Not for the night to come, not for the wounds to heal, but for the wails to stop. For when the cries of the bayou have ceased, the one who owns them has perished. 

We sit and wait. I sit and wait. I sit and wait for this day; for her to perish. For the white shadows to perish. 

I fear the longer I sit and wait, the longer my spirit wanes from me. The spirit she keeps locked away; a prized possession. 

When they perish, what do I become? I fear I will become them. 

Though this won't be a fear for much longer.