Memories

For the past fifty years Lydia had sat in the same pew, at the same time, in the same thirteenth century cathedral. Everyday she came and prayed. And everyday she came and cried. 1

Lydia had the look of a once beautiful woman. She was tall and her figure was neat, if thin. Her Hazel eyes were hidden by then glasses, and her once rich golden hair had fade to a pale white.Lydia sat praying and crying in the third row on the left side, just as she had everyday for fifty years. 2

And as she prayed she clutched a white piece of fabric to her heart.      3

From afar it look like an ordinary white handkerchief, but it was really a fine linen napkin, neatly pressed, and monogrammed in one corner with a beautiful scrolling design.4

Lydia sighed, crossed herself and stood up, only to stumble over the feet of a young girl dressed solidly in black. The girl stood up and reverently followed Lydia out of the cathedral. They, working together,pushed open the heavy doors and stepped outside. The girl sighed and looked at Lydia, understanding filled her clear grey eyes. The girl, though young was plain. Her brownish hair was frizzy and uncombed, her skin was pale and her nose was crooked. Her lips were small and pale and she was just a very normal looking person.5

And then Lydia looked into her young, unnaturally wise eyes and realized this girl was no ordinary girl. She crossed herself, remembering the trouble her mother had with The Craft back home.6

The girl's lips twitched into a slightly sardonic smile as she fingered the silver pentacle she wore around her neck.7

"What do you want" Lydia asks with a frown. She pockets the napkin and looks at the girl. 8

"I want you, Lydia," she started in a breathy whisper, "To remember." The girl reaches out, with her right hand, and Lydia's napkin appears in her pale, outstretched hand.9

"What?" Lydia asks paling considerably.10

"I want you to remember why you come here and suffer everyday." The girls eyes betray the emotion her voice conceals as she glares daggers at the smaller woman.11

"Excuse me." Lydia queries, a hint of her Irish brogue escapes as her calm, dignified aura evaporates.12

"You know exactly what I mean." she fingers the handkerchief and Lydia moves a step or two closer. "I want you to," the girl continues on in that same icily calm voice, "I want you to remember that night. I want you to remember every detail. I want you to remember every broken plate, every dress, every conversation you had. I want you to remember that you could have, should have been Lady Gray. I want you to remember everything about that night, everything about the night you sold your soul."13

"Pardon me?" Lydia asks, losing all pretenses of calm.14

"That's right Lydia, you sold your soul," she steps closer to the slightly scared, mostly angry older woman, "You sold your soul. Not to Satan, but to God. Your lifetime of hell is on this world, not in the next."15

"But...I...I...I loved him." A single tear slides downs Lydia's wrinkled cheek.16

"Yes, you loved him, you loved him for one night. That was all God could give you. You got one night in heaven, for a lifetime in hell." Lydia doesn't hear any of this though. She is back with her lord, dancing in his arms, smelling the rosemary bushes that line his lovely garden. She remembered his kisses and his feather light touches. She remembered the desperation of their last kiss and the passion of their embrace. She had loved him and he had loved her, but it wasn't meant to be. Lydia was a peasant, an Irish peasant, the daughter of factory workers. He was the son of noble Lords and lovely Ladies. She crumpled and fell, crying bitter salt tears as she tasted his mouth on hers.17

The girl gently tougched Lydia's head and whispered a few comforting words. She whistled for her dog, a mongrel mutt she had found in a dumpster, and was quickly on her way.18

But Lydia was left to cry on the cathedral steps,in the phantom embrace of her one true love. Lydia was left to remember Love and to remember joy. Lydia was left to die inside herself, left to die when she was at last truly happy.    19