✟ You are a little soulCarrying around a corpse ✟

--- *** ---
--- Later that Day ---

Within the advancing evolution of its daily anomaly from the heavenly vibrant daily light to the eerily peaceful night time and the peacefully comforting crickets' songs, eloquently pitching the background of the conveniently cozy two-story mansion, after finishing with visiting a couple of prominently hallowed sites and beholding his rare bird Timothy was desolated in his own two-story mansion's library.

Eventually the British compatriot's two-story house was exquisitely located in a desolated forest in Boston's outskirts which was far away from the ill-famed, old mental institution's real residence. It consisted a handful of sufficiently expansive, linked with certain rooms along with two bedrooms, a guest room, a kitchen, two bathrooms, a library, a living room, a cellar and a dining room. The breathtaking opulent of flowerbeds with its rich variety of abstract gardenias, marigolds, tulips, lilacs and lavenders embellished and restored its true esthetics and elegance of the privately owned in the woods property. In addition to the privately owned property, the walls constructing and extraordinarily isolating the natural warmness that guarded and swaddled the rooms were eventually brick.

Despite the seasonal anomaly per a handful of months which were pretty commonly characterised for the small city of Massachusetts, the priest sensed the genuine notion of serene isolation in the dark, profoundly comforting nights when his daily schedule was running out of chaotical engagements as well. On other hand, the isolation in his mansion was somewhat melancholically disquieting him and apt to question his current occupation and the majority of the adults approximately his age.

How peculiar is a mere man like Timothy Howard whose great deal of fantastic opportunities to clash with the rest of the representatives of the adult world were the responsibilities of being hired as an employee somewhere as a teacher or a librarian for example, besides via his professional circle or on the contrary his often outdoor lifestyle and encounter with abundance of different strangers arouse his interest to develop his life in general? Or for example, hanging out with the others during his leisure time?

Not at all, his somewhat profound regret for the inability to fulfill his celestial dreams of every one of a kind man like him due to his devotion to the cloth immersed his patchy flimsy heart.

But after meeting not only his rare bird Jude in St. Andrew's church and strong-willedly, ambitiously collaborating and sharing mutually their wise decisions on certain issues, but also you were playing a major role in the past days of his life shortly before your release, thanks to him. You and Jude were the only people or rather ladies that have altered with your extraordinarily meaningful presences haunting his memories and hurricane of thoughts even vibrantly stealthy consoling his very solitude.

What Timothy profoundly beheld into his right hand was a sheer, unconditional love for her and his divine ambition even somebody sharing similar concepts to develop their weapons for raising in the higher tiers of the celestial church and Rome, despite their age gap. Unlike the former licentious jazz nightclub singer, what truly the British aristocrat contemplated into you was the genuine notion of redemption and a great opportunity to flee the church for better life and ocean of adventurous experience as an individual adult to explore the world which was forbidden for him yet unless his final decision to consult with the Bishop and Father Malachi even headstrongly insist to say farewell to his clerical possessions.

Howsoever, what it was intriguingly uncommon for the British aristocrat's library decoration was that a cherry wood bureau was battered to the exquisitely painted wall and trading a meager proximity with two tall, hardwood bookshelves.

In the meantime Timothy's distraction was interpreted with a plain sheet of paper kipping motionlessly on the wooden material and a handful of docilely creamy fingertips supporting the light-heavy weight of the remarkable sheet of paper, whereas his other mammoth, ghostly pale hand was equipped with a fountain pen. He didn't even have any idea why any kind of a pen would be associated with his distraction or at least a small hobby during his rarely found spare time. The blank submerged in its own naturally, default lily-white and the howling, aggressive wind slapped the shut windows and doors and elegantly, buoyantly dancing outside with the lavish, grandiose carpet of multicoloured leaves as they tandem altogether.

Although his spiritual possession by a vile essence, his obsession with you hasn't even ceased to glassily tiny, flimsy fragments and weighing its much smaller scale to none. Overwhelming his hurricane of thoughts was interpreted even in his hand's pristinely milky fingers to contour gingerly, artistically your figure and how he's actually imagined you.

Within a few minutes of persistent contour of your physique, occupying partly the lily-white blank with its charcoal gray ink brightly glimmering past his smoky quartz big, roundish bijous, subsequently the ambitious Monsignor moistened his naturally baby-pinkish, plumpish lips after manipulating his wet, strawberry-coloured tongue to twirl outside his oral caverns and sponge gingerly, soothingly his upper and lower lip.

"Y/N, you're so pretty!" Lowering the decibels of his eloquent voice into a honeyed, husky mumble whispering into his sensitive ears, he pearly admired and cherished every discreet detail behind his artwork, in spite of the last time he's drawn for distraction or at least as a hobby was a couple of years ago shortly after meeting the head nun of Briarcliff. Despite his lacking mastery in arts, anyway it was sweetly entertaining for fun to draw during his leisure time or his muse was potently, stubbornly commanding him.

All of a sudden, series of hideously furious door rings snapped him out of his reverie picturing your image how exactly it was illustrated on the paper and dwelling him out of the celestial reverie by ruthlessly tossing him back in the absolute reality.

When the devotional clergyman dumped his artwork on the partly illuminated bureau and stormed off the library and the recklessly rowdy drums of the footsteps, cascading the stairway for the very first floor as his heart was almost halting its vigorously merry thuds into his ribcage.

What is the possibility of the disturbed silence in the middle of the night to emanate? From the mailman or a prominently uninvited visitor? If it's a prominently uninvited visitor, what were his intentions and what kind of business was chiming his very presence in the privately owned property?

Within less than a quarter a minute, the front door was fully unlocked with a single click and the very presence standing beside the tall figure was the Bostonian, due to her unnatural concerns about her boss.

A sheepishly beaming, charming smile embellished fashionably her still elderly youthful, porcelain complexion and highlighting beautifully her facial attributes with its relentlessly thick mantle of the nocturnal darkness, veiling her very porcelain façade. Yet, the blonde was donned up in her commonly daily outfit, obscuring the sinfully seductive, fleshy curves of her petite-frame beneath its conservatively dark wool fabric attires, in spite of the fistful of unruly, gilded curls curtaining eye-catchingly her façade.

"Good evening, my rare bird!" A coyly welcoming, heartwarming smile bloomed upon his baby-pinkish, lusciously cherub lips at the vista of his rara avis paying a visit to him in the middle of the night. The wind's ferocious aggression howled yet and apt to tandem the garments' waltz and gently, sympathetically tickle the exposed fleshes. Meantime, his mammoth, veiny hand oddly clawed the widely spread front door's material and unnervingly drumming his fingertips resiliently quiet after darting his pools of abysmally expressive chocolate brown to the shorter figure.

"Good evening, Timothy! I didn't mean to disturb ya at all."

"No wonder why you aren't in Briarcliff right now!" Austere wisdom punctured the sharpness of his rhetorical retaliation, mischievously raising an arch of his dark, masculinely thick eyebrow. "Are you actually worried or anything?" Even though the younger man's goofy daredevil game was played quite peculiarly with posing a question, begging for the older woman's immediate reply, he didn't want to arouse ocean of hideous doubts into her.

"It's not about me," Fashioning into a balled weathered fist, she glimpsed at her classy jet-black, refined chunks, opting to sort a rational response after insistingly constructing its vowels and syllables, embarrassingly lurching on her tongue tip to be reproduced or on the contrary die in the thin air. Hitching her breathing as the both pious members of the church's hearts leaped as if they're in seventh heaven to behold one another surreptitiously in the middle of the night especially on the front door of Timothy's privately owned property. Furthermore, Timothy glimpsed vividly into the wee hints of Judy's embarrassment, perpetually dominating into her stutters and pauses even hitched breathing. "But you aren't behaving like the normal Timothy I've ever known in the past days."

"I'm totally fine after the exorcism." In the interval, honing up his piercing, brutally honest coffee brown bijous with its austere sharpness, glinting into them and illuminating brightly, charmingly his straightforwardness which contoured roughly, sternly the former sleazy nightclub singer's facial attributes abruptly. "I can take care of myself as well."

"There's something particularly wrong," Even though Jude's pure optimism when it was a joint word about the younger gentleman, nevertheless, this time was peculiarly different for her and altering gradually her worldview. Even finding herself amorously staring at the British compatriot in the most presentable way, she couldn't see Timothy in the same light ever again especially after the exorcism and taking care of you during your stay in the infamous, old madhouse. "I can ever see and smell it." At the moment, the sole thing what Timothy did was manifesting his strong, muscly arms to fold across his muscly, toned chest, whereas maneuvering his big, roundish eyes to roll dramatically, cold-bloodedly at the nun's words with its chromatically altering nuances.

--- *** ---

--- The Next Morning ---

--- 2nd of November, 1964 ---

As soon as the nocturnal daily episode bled slowly but surely into the vibrantly radiant daylight with the common silver-tongued, melodious birdsongs, donging circa your property, you came to your senses just a half an hour before your workday actually started at last.

Within your recalcitrantly haste and versatility, dominating in the process of getting ready for the day with taking a fresh lukewarm morning shower, fashionably donning up into comfy, refined attires and having a quick breakfast along with dolling up your hair, on your way to flee the flat you're freely living, the mailman was delivering to each family name's mailbox opulent of newspapers and new messages.

After violently slamming the front door due to the ginormous pressure you're nicked with when you were on the verge to be late for work, the mailman wasn't candidly startled by the vehement noise at all.

"You have a new message, Miss L/N!" The stark jubilance, vibrantly puncturing the older gentleman's utterance brought you a vaguely prim, radiant smile, permeating across your naturally cherub, nude pink lips as you checked your mailbox for freshly earned newspapers or on the contrary messages.

As soon as superbly enveloped message drew your attention promptly, you couldn't help but unwrap its entrance and discover its paradoxal mysteries behind the message with snatching stealthily its anonymous sheet of paper with short message molted your heart after taking your time to peruse it studiously, examining in a scrutiny the graceful manuscript with its glimmering ink past your {E/C} cabochons, paired with an amorously cute drawing of you even though its lacking art talent.

Dear Y/N,

I'm sending you this message along with its drawing, because you truly deserve to be happy and to feel special!

All I wish you is a sheer happiness along with living your life without troubles or if there are any troubles, otherwise stay strong and chin up! That's what I can sincerely advise you along with strongly believing in yourself that you can do it instead on giving up in the beginning!

You're a wonderful one of a kind creature and that's why I'm proud of you for staying strong and still alive, despite the tribulations!

You deserve the best!

From a friend of yours

Despite your lacking certainness to discover who's responsible for the real message sender, anyway the only thing you could do momentarily was rapidly permeating its broadness of your brightly delighted smile. Your heart candidly rabid leaped and without thinking twice your dainty pristine fingers were curled around its frail fabric and walking away from your property's territory and aiming to work without losing faith in yourself.