Screams filled the corridor of the Vatican. As the walls shook, tiny crumbles of ancient marble fell onto the tiled floor. In the middle of the hall, Sister Mary Grace, heavy with child, fell to her knees, and the blood poured from beneath her gown. She in labor with the bastard child of the local Priest. At the age of sixteen, the young sister found herself pregnant after being brutally raped nine months earlier. Once nuns found out about her condition, the church forced her to live in solitude as they prepared for the bastard child’s birth.
“Help me,” Sister Mary screamed, her voice echoing down the halls. The Pope was made aware of the impending birth, and officials took him to a safe waiting spot. Tonight the first live birth at the cherished church would change the world forever. Father Johnathan sat in his office, his nails scraping the old walnut desk at the fear of the unknown ate away at his soul. He was the one who raped the sister, and as told, he was a male descendent of Lucifer and Lilith. This child, the abomination as they called it, would wreak havoc on all the days to come. As his anger grew, the nails on his fingers resembling talons, though the man wore the cloth, there was nothing holy about Father Johnathan. He was sent to earth to produce a child so deadly that she would cleanse the surface and rid the world of the ill and downtrodden.
Held down, Sister Mary Grace felt every rip inside of her body as the child clawed her way from the womb to the earth. Screaming, but not from the mother, the young sisters who held the nun down had never experienced something so evil.
On the hand-polished marble floor, the blood of the mother poured out in a river of death. In the middle laid the child. The evil they called her the moment she was born. The dark-haired child, stunning in beauty, laid silent as the world around her prepared for her death. She was to drown in a bucket of bleach and burned until the bones were ash. The mother, only a child herself, had already succumbed to her injuries, the quiet child now an orphan for the first and last few moments of her life.
“Mother, call him/ Please, we can’t kill a baby. Please, Mother Superior, call the man to take it away,” a young nun, the best friend of the mother, cried.
A look that could kill was cast upon the younger nuns, one of them using her gown to cradle the child and protect her from the bitter cold that suddenly arrived.
“I will call him, but if that thing hurts any more of you, I will burn you along with the mother,” said the elderly nun.
Minutes passed as they waited for the man to arrive and collect the Devils due, each one of the sisters holding the child, blessing her with prayers of safe travels. Down the dark hall, the shadow of a man inched closer to the young women, never speaking, only demanding the child. His arms stretched, he took the newborn from the young girl, his eyes on the mother as she lay on the floor in a pool of her blood.
“Burn the body and forget this night ever happened,” was all he said, gone as quick as he arrived.
“Wrap her body in sheets and carry her to the back. A car is waiting to take her for cremation. We will not speak of this ever again, and when that is gone,” she pointed to the dead nun, “scrub the floors until ever remnant of her is gone as well.”
The elderly nun reached down, ripping the cross and rosary from the mother, her disgust apparent as she walked off, preparing to update the Pope on the disappearance of one of the nuns. He would not need to hear the details. The Pope is a busy man who should never hear of such evil.
The death of Sister Mary Grace began the harvest of souls. Her daughter, born of death, would grow in silence until the day she would like her mother, care for a child of evil until it was safe to walk the world alone.
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