Tough Night

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✝ But without the dark,

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But without the dark,

we'd never see

 the stars.


--- *** ---

Shortly after the exorcism which could be rather interpreted as gruesome, naked fiasco, smoothly gliding through the sequence of the young man's demise due to an abrupt heart attack and the pious clergyman's faint and his direct transportation to the infirmary, the sole visitors which he earned through his senseless condition were Sister Mary Eunice and Sister Jude.

The progression of the nocturnal's daily episode was more obvious in the agitatedly inwardly ticking indication of the time, Sister Mary Eunice ventured to flee the infirmary within a quarter an hour later unlike her mentor.

The exceeding compassionate sides of the both pious women of the cloth haphazardly engulfed their time to supervise and yet disappointment inking their facial attributes roughly, factly, Timothy hasn't even moved a single muscle, nor his tongue forging opulent noises.

Little did the former promiscuous jazz nightclub singer know what awaited her in every elapsing moment. What she was fearing of was losing one of the most outstandingly dearest person whom she shared a pearly close relationship even developing intensifying romantic feelings for him coalescing with impure thoughts, populating her stormy tempest of thoughts which was an exquisitely abstract sanctuary, incessantly functioning and gearing each thought which she was swimming through.

The Bostonian has almost no one whom she could dedicate her uniquely celestial trust which was solely remarkable and meant pearly to the closest people of her inner circle, shrunk to minimalistic scale such as Frank, Mother Claudia, Sister Mary Eunice and Timothy.

If one of her compact inner circle plummets with one more significantly precious person especially the love of her life, on the contrary the Bostonian would scarcely imagine the fresh death of her one of a kind friend even love interest to be suffocated by the insurmountable demise, succumbed in sore pain and agony.

The former sleazy nightclub singer was seating comfortably on the edge of the hospital bed, her fidgety, elvish hands viciously tugging in claws her conservatively rigid, dark wool habit's hem, attempting to compose her own seating posture, suffocated in disquietude.

"Mmm!" Humming the soft, velvety tunes in an indiscernible, quiet groan, dripping from the British compatriot's lusciously dry mouth caught off guard the older lady. Her heart leaped and skipped a beat in a dancing tandem. In the interval, his brittle eyelids blinked frequently in a humdrum choir until they registered wrenched widely opened, fixated on the vulnerability, roughly graining the former licentious nightclub singer's facial attributes. A vaguely prim, kind-hearted smile flashed sheepishly, boyishly upon his naturally nude pink, plumpish lips.

Hypodermic Transgression ✝Monsignor Timothy Howard x FEM! Reader✝Where stories live. Discover now