Miraculum exalts the exquisite representation of two souls fused into a deep devotion that defies the darkest offices. It is a love story that bleeds into the masculinity of the iconic hitman and his universe transformed by a miraculous woman. Fresh...
The blue ones were the most exquisite and saddest dawns. It is as if God soaked the clouds in watercolor and carefully stretched them across the sky, drying the tears of the birds. Maple walked gracefully between the wet train tracks, his whiskers were splashed with tender dew drops, and his legs had finally kissed the mud of the forest. He was happy to get home from the cold; he jumped through the window, planning to land gracefully in the night-drift, but his movement was not certain and he then stumbled upon various objects on the table.
Helen felt her heart reconnect to her body and woke up drowning out a shuddering scream. confused and surprised by the din. She was soon reassured to discover the cause of her shock. He greeted her with a muffled meow and she responded with an intrigued chuckle, panting with fright.
-You are the noisiest mute cat on the planet- she sighed as she stretched her body.
As she was embraced by the breeze of the early hours she felt a pleasant shudder. The way every pore of her skin was altered, and her spine carried waves of heat as she watched with her eyes the dawn of her most precious colour, gave her a feeling that this would be a lucky day. He turned his gaze slightly to the right to extend his panorama. But she soon froze, sweat drops poured down her brow, and her breathing took a back seat. Her jaw tensed and she said goodbye to the crescent formed by her teeth a few seconds before. Her heartbeat stopped at that pair of dark, almond-shaped eyes, inexpressive, almost empty.
-No way...- she whispered trying to hide her happiness at the sight of a deer in her backyard sharing with her the same sense of bewilderment and shrinkage.
But the watercolour of the sky snapped its fingers in front of Helen and spilled a quick reaction on the crown of her head, melting the ice that covered her bones.
Soon she jumped up and ran barefoot across the carpet of her small room to reach her hunting tool. She was forced to capture it. She smiled at the shelf and just after she had unloaded her weight on her tiptoes, she reached for it with nervous fingers and took it with devotion. It was heavy. At fifteen she managed to raise enough money to buy it. She had managed to sell drawings of comic book characters and Saturday morning cartoons to her schoolmates. One dollar without color, two dollars with crayon technique, four dollars with watercolor.
A real businesswoman, she thought proudly.
She had to hurry. Deer are impatient creatures. She knelt and unloaded her elbows into the window frame while her right index finger touched the trigger and her left hand held the device securely. She closed her left eye automatically, giving the right one the honor of focusing on the target through tactics. Helen compressed her lips into a single line, swallowed dry and fired.
She got a wonderful picture.
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Soon after, the deer went on its way, disappearing into the fog. Satisfied by her feat, the young lady improvised a little dance while taking one last look at her work of art.
