Alle Kapitel von Kiss me 2.1: Kapitel 81 – Kapitel 90

GABRIELDawn broke, but I did not see it come. All night, I lay motionless, eyes wide open, hands crossed on my chest like a corpse watched over by itself. Each tick of the clock struck me like a hammer blow. The night seemed endless, interminable, as if time had sworn to strangle me before delivering me to the morning.On the desk, the letter still rests. Its seal, cold, dry, seems to watch over me with mute judgment. It is only a rectangle of paper, and yet it weighs on my chest like a tombstone. I tried to flee it by closing my eyes, but it always imposed itself, there, burning, calling me.When I finally hear the first sounds of the city—a cart grinding on the cobblestones, a merchant opening his shutters, the heavy step of a labourer—I rise like a condemned man torn from his cell to be led to the scaffold.I take the envelope. It burns in my hand. For an instant, temptation overwhelms me: to tear it up, reduce it to ashes, erase the confession before it finds a reader. But alread

GABRIELI knew this step would be necessary.After the letter, after the secret blessing, after the betrothal in the shadow of the candles… we had to face the light of day. No longer the intimate light of God, but the harsh light of men.All week, I carried this certainty like a stone at the bottom of my pocket. I felt it, heavy and smooth, each time I celebrated mass, each time I raised my eyes to the chancel. I knew: I had to speak. To tell. To hide no longer.So this Sunday, when the church fills with whispers, shuffling steps, rustling coats, I feel my legs tremble.Families settle in, children fidget, the elderly kneel. All the faces I know, all those who have seen me pray, preach, bless. Those who have entrusted me with their secrets, their dead, their births. They wait for me, confident, certain that my voice will be clear and steady as always.But today, my voice must tremble.The mass first unfolds like a familiar river: hymns, prayers, readings. My mouth articulates, my hand

CLÉMENCEThe house sleeps.But within me, nothing sleeps.I lie down, I close my eyes, and already my temples beat like procession drums. The crumpled sheets become altar cloths, the shadows on the wall twist into silhouettes of angels or demons.Each time I think I am sinking, I start awake.I dream without sleeping: a nave flooded with light, but still empty; a veil that lifts, a silence so heavy it weighs more than a thousand cries.I rise, barefoot, and wander through the house. My fingers glide over the whitewashed walls, over the closed doors, as if to gather the secret blessings of this place. I open the window: outside, the night is vast, pricked with stars.They seem to look at me, too. As if the heavens had taken their place in the front row.Then I whisper:— Lord, I come to you without adornment. Do not reject me.And a breath passes through my hair, like an invisible caress.---GABRIELThe bell fell silent long ago, but its echo still resonates in my bones.I am alone in

CLÉMENCEEach step towards the church is a vertigo. The white of my dress blazes in the rising sun, but each reflection seems to dance on my skin with an intensity I had never known. The wind slightly lifts the panels of the fabric, as if to remind me that nothing is immutable, that everything can tip over. My heart beats at a cadence I no longer control. It is no longer my heart: it is the very rhythm of this day, that of a world in suspense, ready to explode.The village women still surround me, adjusting each fold, each ribbon. Their fingers are precise, their gestures measured to the millimetre, but behind each smile, I sense a shiver, an expectation. Their voices are a choir intertwining with my own breath:— Stand straight.— Breathe in.— Do not forget who you are.And I strive to remember. But a shiver runs down the back of my neck. Something lurks. No tangible threat, just an awareness of the fragility of this moment. Like a breath passing through crystal, which could shatter

GabrielSilence has retaken possession of the room. The candles have almost all gone out, leaving only a few flickering flames, ready to dissolve into the dawn already filtering through the narrow window. The air is still warm, charged with our sweat, our gasps, the cries and sighs of the night past. The sheets stick to our still-damp skins, but we do not seek to free ourselves. We remain entangled, one against the other, as if the slightest movement could break the spell that holds us.Clémence is curled up against me, her breath caressing my chest, her heart beating in rhythm with mine. Her dark, damp hair spreads like a wave over my skin, sometimes tickling my lips, sometimes hiding her face which I reveal with a tender gesture. I gaze at her, incapable of looking away. Her eyelids half-open, heavy with fatigue and ecstasy, and her gaze comes to rest on me with an intensity that pierces me.— Gabriel… she murmurs, in a hoarse and fragile voice.I answer with a kiss on her forehead,