The Passion of Agnes Part 2 - Sex Stories

The Passion of Agnes Part 2

... move. Had I even shifted in my sleep? I felt so many times during the long nightmare of that night that I was running from demons and spectres. Oppressed by fantasies of damnation, I awoke to early morning Lauds unable to function. The sister of the infirmary, seeing my swollen face and hearing the distress in my voice, excused me from devotions. I remember little of that dreary day in bed, severe faces in starched white frowning over me. I longed to see my beloved ghost again. I pined for her to come, even speaking in death-rattles, even with the crimson tears of remorse pouring from her dead eyes. At night she came again. The wind shifted the willow outside my cell. Rain battered for a furious instant and died. And she came, tinted the blue of cold and death. She does not speak, only beckons, and I follow. The old oaken door of my cell does not creak as she opens it and guides me through. The tarred branches in their sconces alight one by one as we pass through the dim halls, down to the convent's deepest cell where, so I have heard, naughty nuns are punished. As the heavy door came into view, Cordelias wraith turned to me and vanished. The torches we had passed blew out leaving me in darkness but for a spot of light issuing from the keyhole. I knelt.