Lovely Wicked Things by Trisha Wolfe EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Trisha Wolfe
- Language: English
- Genre: Mystery Romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
SIGIL
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KALLUM: SIX MONTHS AGO
Media vita in morte sumus.
In the midst of life we are in death.
The Latin antiphon composed by Notker was conceived by the Benedictine
monk amid a chasm, where the erection of a bridge over a yawning abyss
stirred his soul in such a way, the product of which was his immortalized art
born the same year he died.
The chorus of the hymn became a medieval battle cry as it branched out
beyond its Catholic roots. It became more than a philosophical question,
Notker’s vision evoked to move us in its melancholic embrace through
every new rendition.
His moment of enlightenment, a voice through the ages.
As for me, standing at the precipice of my abyss, my moment feels like a
heart attack.
The muscle squeezed in a ruthless, unforgiving vise. Breath hung on a
searing ache that sets my damned soul aflame. Arteries constricting. Pulse
slamming vein walls. A slice of white-hot pain through the sternum.
A pain so euphoric I’m nearly brought to my knees.
But I’m not dying.
I’m being brought to life.
The moment I see her, I’m strangled by melancholy steeped in honeysuckle
and clove. I’m ensnared by the Grim Reaper’s clutch while angels intone
the heavenly chorus, my acute existential crisis all but expelled from the
bowels of despair.
It’s impossible to describe something so ineffable.
For the desensitized, to feel alive, we perpetually balance on the brink of
death. That dare to take a step off the edge an electric chord zipping through
our veins, the taunt whispered in our ears and prickling our skin with the
challenge.
Yet it’s only ever a weak simulation of what lies just beyond our reach.
Then without warning, she crashes into me—this exquisitely beautiful
creature—and I’m not simply inspired to take a step, I leap right off the
edge.
She’s the mirror flame of my own, yet it’s her fire that makes me feel.
Bringing my hand to my chest, I touch the mark carved into my pectoral as
it flares with renewed heat, the rough edges of the sigil felt beneath the
fabric of my shirt.
Because we harbor even a kernel of the infinite within us, we are painfully
aware of our limitation, of the absence of divinity. We are temporary. This
is our great existential wound. By slicing my flesh, I have merely scraped
mine open to expose where she has always belonged.
A bruised night hangs over the campus, and I move from under the shelter
of the eaves. I am suddenly symptomatic, made acutely aware of my gaping
hole, my torn flesh, of my missing half rend from my being.
I summoned her. I brought her here. I follow her now, tethered to her like an
echo of her movements, a shadow stalking her like a demon across the
university grounds.
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