Like a dove he ruffled his wings in the wind. He fluttered anxiously from one cloud to the next speeding towards Her. For good measure, he kept his sword tucked under his spacious cloak. Nothing and no one should be allowed to halt his course. In his other hand he held the lily he was to offer her. All women adore flowers. Panting and with every precaution he approached Her. He explained to her the role her immaculate body was to undertake. She nodded affirmatively. She could never bring Herself to decline when his celestial gaze delved into Her own. She was but fourteen. A child still, rather than a woman. In her eyes, the world seemed innocent and magical. Only when she wailed in front of the Cross, on that damned hill, and beat her chest with her fists, looking at her languishing child, only then did she bring his name to her dried lips:
“Gabriel! What did you make me do, Gabriel?”
Paschalia Travlou
