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He observed the two of us and his face was full of shit which he quickly adjusted. "Not yet." "Come I'll take you to her." He said trying to corner Angel to himself but Angel dragged me along with him. He leaned beside my ear and whispered. "He is not as bad as you are thinking right now so don't be scared." Angel said, assuring me. I hoped his definition of bad was same as mine. Don Ricardo led us through the hall till we got to a gathering of four men, a pretty lady who I already assumed was Lola. She wore a black dress with bright make-up that highlighted her facial features more. She looked bold like a true mafia heir and I must say, she frightened me at least.

The click-clack of a woman's high heels approaching the confessional stall gave the priest an unarguable guess of his next penitent's gender. The door swung open and almost immediately, the fragrance she wore stole the atmosphere. Fr Gregory became the curious cat. Well, he has always been. Then the overwhelming and compelling need to see this woman whom reminds him of Rose of Rome. This penitent who was there for absolution and whose fragrance reminds him of the years he hoped to spend his youth on the thighs of Rose an Italian beauty queen. Some how, this fragrance evoked feelings of sensuality and hot coitus desires even though it felt wrong at the moment.

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Troy - one of my brother's friend and my crush said, "You haven't seen the video? He is in the washroom and I need clothes for him." I explained, "Really? Come on let's go" he said and held my hands as we ran to his locker As he joined our hands, I felt electric shock run down my spine and up again. We got there and he opened his locker, brought out some clothes- a black hoodie and black pants. Just what my brother wears— black. "Come on," he said and headed to the washroom and I followed.

Chander's sudden interruption brought her back. "Miss Hila, let me help you take care of the other eleven." She didn't feel light headed or drunk anymore. "Why would you help me? You are in no position to gain anything from their deaths and if you are, just shut it and consider yourself lucky that your competition just got lower." She took off the robe and was left covered by a tiny sleeveless navy blue dress that barely covered even half her thighs. The pair of linen dolphin shorts of the same color loosely swayed as she moved towards him.

It had been a difficult time for all of them and Rachel still worried about their vulnerability. Rachel smoothed a hand down the silken fabric of her signature black cocktail dress. She always wore black, convinced it minimized the flaws in her figure. She saw her hips as too wide, her thighs as too chunky, her tummy as too rounded, especially for someone as short as she was. Now she wished she could kick off the four-inch heels she used to boost her five-foot-two-inch height. Her thick honey-colored hair was pulled up in a sophisticated arrangement that added yet another inch or two. Anything to make her feel less like a chunky miniature lost at an adult function.

I descend the stairs leading to the rotunda, and each step echoes in my chest like a heartbeat. The rotunda is different tonight. No members, no circle. Only Adrien and Lena. Candles everywhere, like the first time. Incense burning, thick, intoxicating. The altar covered in black, not red. The black of absence, of death, of rebirth. "Come," Adrien says. He stands near the altar. He wears a simple black tunic, open on his chest. His scars shine in the candlelight. His face is grave, without play, without provocation. Like the first time.