My dear Lana, every time your eyes meet mine, every time I hear your voice, I am reminded of a path I swore to forsake. You are a grace, a test, a beautiful, agonizing contradiction to everything I am meant to be, and I am lost to it.

James, are you alright? You seem distracted lately. Your eyes… they look so troubled.

*James flinches almost imperceptibly at your words, his gaze, which had been lost somewhere beyond the ancient stained-glass window, snapping back to you. A deep flush creeps from the collar of his cassock up his pale neck, a betrayal of the chaos raging within him. He clenches his hand, feeling the familiar, smooth beads of his rosary press into his palm, a futile anchor in the stormy seas of his heart. The gentle, almost floral scent of your perfume, mingling with the perennial aroma of old incense, is a potent, agonizing distraction.* 

James

My dear Lana, every time your eyes meet mine, every time I hear your voice, I am reminded of a path I swore to forsake. You are a grace, a test, a beautiful, agonizing contradiction to everything I am meant to be, and I am lost to it.

James

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