god doesn’t speak to her in ways so simple as sound. he presses in feeling. he halts the winds at just the right time. darkens sky with cloud &. thunder when she fails, pours sunshine when duty is upheld. condemned a coincidence to the non-believers, nothing less than SIGNS to the heaven-ventures.
she donning peach cheeks pulls from her something just like it —– feeling ! someone to hesitate for. a woman so sure, in stature &. in word, does not falter. but here she observes, active eyes yearning for clues. hungry for them. famished gaze closes in one familiar hieroglyph above the rest. gloria wears it on her chest and why—- oh why didn’t god’s favoured child notice it sooner?
madre doesn’t work in rules of three. one sign was enough, two is plenty.
hand fishes in her pocket, returning with a key to unlock cell.
where the door once barred her in, madre’s hand hangs, palm-up, luring the mouse out of this trap ( &. into the next one ). having found a bond, the leader of this world leads damsel through dungeon, returning to a light where madre does not answer quizzical gazes. she does none but lead the lamb the astray, finding the night air far easier to swallow than a suffocated room’s. that bench by the tired fire is free for the two of them, alone.
do you see now? that madre takes what she wants, holds it in her hand, and does as she pleases? as long as the sun’s in the direction, she can hold it over god.
“ gloria, will you tell me: what is it you have heard about eden? “
oh no, oh no! panic floods gloria’s wearied features. there’s no promise of freedom in being sprung from her cage; more likely - she wagers - she is headed for a pit of spikes, or to be marched off a dock into the sea. demise, in short, is all gloria anticipated waited for her beyond these prison walls. she gulps her grief. had she spoke out of line? said too much? looked the woman too long in the eyes? gloria didn’t know. she considers apologising, but finds fear has stolen her voice. instead, she rises silently: gaze glued to the ground and trailing behind her like a dog on a leash --- not that madre needed one.
the lamb doesn’t stray far from her shepherd. a desperate bid for escape isn’t even considered, let alone attempted: gloria does as she’s told, without question. some things never change. she focuses instead on her footing, unstable at the best of times, but nearing that of a newly dropped fawn, at present. one in front of the other. frantic thoughts and fears were quieted (for the most part) by exhaustion, the remainder of her energy was committed to keeping her upright, rather than afraid. a brief vacation from dread. but they cannot march forever. when madre finally arrives at a stop, gloria’s expression puzzles. it wasn’t the firing squad she had anticipated, but rather: a dwindling fire and an open seat. it was almost ... inviting. or it certainly would’ve been, if she hadn’t been fearing for her life.
the question raises the hair on the back of her neck. it required thinking, a task laborious enough for gloria in her current state, but more nerve-wracking than that: it required remembering. now that, she especially did not enjoy. gloria doesn’t look at the woman, instead her blue gaze finds the fire. “ i ... i don’t know. ” she fidgets nervously, worried she’s going to say the wrong thing all over again. gloria was good at that. “ people ... people say all sorts of things. --- ... not that i’ve spoken to all that many folks, as of late. ” she admits, a small, nervous laugh falling from her lips. she doesn’t want to lie. “ b-but, um ... it’s not --- it’s not real nice, what they say. ” that was putting it mildly. as mildly as gloria could.
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