On her knees she crawled slowly towards the bloodied altar. Covered in plush velvet, the drapes hanging like lazy fingers over a steaming bath, they mocked her, the twisted gold threads frayed and singed at the end, the debauchery of its wealth.
She knelt before it, head raised, mouth slightly open, palms splayed upwards asking, begging. Which God did she worship? She could hardly remember as the sound of leather cracking through the air stroked her shoulder. Was this tenderness? The crass neon lights glimmered, laughing, an ugly harsh laugh in the depths of darkness. Which God did she worship?
Copyright: Victoria. O