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Summary
To be loved by a monster meant to be devoured whole, in body and soul, until nothing remained.
I think strange things, which I dare not confess to my own soul.
How apt of a line to his own predicament. Strange things and stranger existences. The slow curl of heat in his loins as he breathed in the scent of milk mixed with blood and camellias. Confessions he feared to speak when he knelt on the pews of the church. When he saw the shadow of the Father behind the mosaic hollows of the wooden panels, willing to listen and willing to forgive his sins if only he should speak.