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✝ I don't live in
darkness, darkness
lives in me ✝
--- *** --- --- An Hour Later or So ---
An hour after the double clashes with the aspiring Monsignor's venomous, dubious jealousy and opening yourself about the prologue of your false institutionalization in the madhouse to Sister Jude, you were sent back to the common room just shortly before being conveyed to the bakery for double shift by using your mere culinary skills in baking and kneading the dough.
After your brief journey up to the common room with a handful of minutes of striding within a several steps, your elvish, {S/C} hands fashioned in balled fists, subsequently sweeping with your physical strength the double door, leading to the sufficiently expansive room.
Your {E/C} embers blazed a tempest amalgamation of despondence, sheer duvet of hopes and emotionlessness, landing on the tattered, uglily obsolete couch with its sufficiently average scale, taking in the room and fitting exquisitely a couple of patients, depending on their body structure. An eerie flat line smeared across your pallid, chapped lips due to the lack of proper care and hygiene to fertilise your health condition which was critically depending also due to the madhouse's gruesome conditions which it may offer for every imprisoned patient. The same monotonous, sinister French song was tingling its own ballad in your ears, regardless how oddly spooky was a mental institution to be equipped with a vinyl recorder and the vinyl disk playing on a loop in a foreign language which lyrics spoke volumes with its achromatic tones.
When your impending destination was the couch, managing your rear to perch on the sufficiently comfortable area to relax and recline, all of a sudden one of patients which was rather a pinhead, donner in similar tiresomely obnoxious attires hugging your figure, she opened her mouth in a soft, vibrantly amicable grin, glimmering across her lips with pure innocence and amiability, wearing thousand patterns of mirth that vibrantly contrasted the ocean of low spirited facial expressions. Far from vulnerable to be broken with a soft, vague grin.
"Dominique, nique, nique! S'en allait tout simplement! Routier pauvre et chantant! En tous chemins, en tous lieux,! Il ne parle que du bon Dieu Il ne parle que du bon Dieu!"
"Play with me!" Pepper's inviting insistence drew your attention promptly, startling you as your facial expression broke in a hesitant sheepishly girlish smile, curling upon your roseate lips. In the interval, the pinhead spiralled in the spin, stretching her pudgy, asymmetric arms in the thin air.
"Who are you?" Too reluctant to get your rear from the sofa, what it was obvious for you that a young woman of the cloth entered in the common room. You posed seriously your question, begging for an exceeding response in a jiffy, quirking a perky eyebrow nimbly.
