A teenage girl, maybe 17, in a black hoodie with a black bandana with white flowers covering her dark hair, sits on the crumbling sea wall on a cold and grey November day.
She holds a snow white lamb in her arms that is without blemish, and it nuzzles in close to her, tries to bury it’s head in her hoodie to keep warm.
A silver crucifix hangs from her neck, still shining, as storms threaten out in the sea, threatens to blow this whole city down.
She whispers into the lamb’s ears, unquiet and fearful prayers of what has become known, that the God she loves looked the other way.
The lamb burrows farther into her arms, and the first drops of rain smack her face an start to dampen the lambs wool, beyond swallowing.
The girl watches the dark clouds, though there were already storms in her heart, and she tries to hold onto the glory and the hope of grace.
The sea churns up, and the girl continues to whisper those fearful prayers into the lambs ears, and the lamb is as unquiet and fearful as she.
The silver is untarnished, and is hurtful to demons but not the Fae. The Fae the girl saw in the woods are still above reproach, even in wildness.
Hurtful to demons, but a demon, wearing holiness like a mask, placed it around her neck at confirmation, after trying to tell her she was nothing at all.
The girl picks up the lamb, and carries it close to her down the gaudy and commercial streets, without succor for her fears.
The storm is coming in, and she doesn’t want to lose this lamb, her guardian and her soul, all that she ever put beyond this world.
She makes it too her doorstep, but home is not home when you are lost inside. She kisses the lambs head. Can it’s wool remain unblemished? Can she remain whole?