Prayer. What could prayer do for me any longer? My bitterness was acrid, and I could taste it as I sat, staring at the statues that no longer seemed like carved effigies to me. I could see the life that the sculptors had poured into them with those working hands, bringing to these statues gentle expressions and eyes that could glance. Perhaps I was mad. Perhaps I was desperate for hope. Whatever the reasons for it, I knelt in my pew, folded my hands together and bowed my head. The momentary reverie this incited was interrupted by the soft singing of a low baritone, accompanied by a woman’s voice, from the sacristy. There was no music to guide their harmonising, nothing but their beliefs and their voices to give their glorification of Christ such fervour and swelling melody.

I knew the words. Of course I did. I had spoken them for as long as I could remember, paying lip-service to the Bible’s teachings. No longer could I do so and mean it, but somehow, I found my voice whispering the Latin as it was sung so clearly, letting the fire of their faith infuse me, however briefly.

“Ave Maria, gratia plena, dominus tecum, benedicta tu…”

The words faded on my lips, and as my eyes watched the play of light upon the windows, I knew that I could not come here and find the faith I had once believed in so wholeheartedly. I had known before, but now, it was more than certain. I felt none of my former convictions. I felt…nothing…and yet, somehow, everything. The confusion assaulted me in droves; the requested solitude which I had thought to be necessary metamorphosing into loneliness without warning.

The candles drew me, every one of them left to flicker against the intricate altar coalescing into one evanescent orb of golden light, illuminating everything that I saw, even the flowers arranged nearby. The beauty of it caused my heart to ache, the singing continuing and enfolding me in an illusion of bliss for a few moments, before I reconciled myself to the coldness of my own body, the utter emptiness that I felt that was begging to be filled once again.

How could I find peace when all I felt was that raging hunger, pulsing beneath the surface even as I denied the very existence of it? The hunger that haunted my every waking hour and dogged each step that I took? Once again, I was sickened by my own weakness, and my own inability to refuse Lestat. As I stood, ready to leave, the soft wool of my coat brushed against my skin, light enough for an evening here. My eyes strayed once again to that delicate light, mingling with starlight…to be hidden in the back of my memory like a cipher. A treasure chest of beauty, to be unlocked when I needed it the most. Momentarily, it reminded me of how I had been turned into a vampire; of how those lights had merged into one before my vision. Of how they had been, in those moments where I had seen, truly seen for the first time.

It was with these lingering thoughts and the echo of the Latin 'Hail Mary...' still resonating through my senses that I left those stone walls behind, soaked in the temporary protection that they lent me. My aura felt warmed by them, but the warmth was gone by the time that I returned to my home…if I could call it home any longer. There, all I felt was hidden behind a mask that was not my real face, a charade put up for the benefit of myself and others to keep safe those few parts of me that remained intact, untouched by pain or sorrow.

Slipping from my coat in the hallway, I left it to one side, bringing in wisps of the church’s slightly musty scent and the fresh breath of the night’s wind, left behind. I knew that I looked thoroughly tousled, but I did not care in the slightest as I walked into the small sitting room. Lestat sat, a book resting between his hands, long limbs sprawled with the leonine grace characteristic of him. His expression was intrigued, the novel obviously of some interest, and he raised his eyes to me as I entered. I greeted him briefly with a stiff “Bonne soir…” before retreating to the window seat, observing the street below as it remained silent. The tranquillity was false, unease teeming in the room as I felt the tension grow. It had been like this night after night, and it was why I had left for an hour or two; both to clear my head and to get away from this mounting dissatisfaction. It seemed that continually, I would wish myself to be elsewhere, until this broke, under strain or because Lestat and I managed to find some sort of accord in one another’s company. In those moments, the former seemed more likely to occur than the latter.