Dante set forth into the abandoned church, and the scent of rotting wood, smoulder and loam blackened his senses, he was overwrought whilst he trudged his way into the ramshackled house of prayer, a part of him absorbed itself in shrinking away at the glimpse of salient signs of rotting construction.

He resolved to unearth his habitual hiding spot which was in the basement of the decaying church, where the burial chambers of the bygone priests still domained. He clung his palms together into another one of his heartfelt prayers, offering up his prayers to the one and only God.

“Father, art in heaven… forgive me, forgive me, forgive me.” Dante professed to God, repetitively, til his words became illegible by dint of his deadening tongue, and his lips were roughened by rallying fine powder hemmed up by the underground chambers.

“Father…” He rocked himself back and forth in a clay corner, absent of light, vainly, against the benumbing stench of the burial chambers that pulled his faint heart to pieces. Muttering in an undertone, repetitively, beseechingly, as if he were a newborn babe in a crib, afraid of everything and anything unfamiliar to what he was used to.

“Dante?” Gretel came into sight atop the stone steps that led to the chambers’ trapdoor, permitting a ray of golden sunlight to light up his darkness, wisps that fled from her scarlet plaits started to glisten under the sunshine, she hurled into the sod scented underground chambers.

She settled to perch atop the highest step, burrowing her elbows into her own lap, she clung to her flushed cheeks with mud-caked hands to be all smiles. “Dante… are you praying, again?” Her sapphires rather than eyes, danced in the blaze of the sun, so turbulently that Dante glimpsed, hither and thither, in the murkiness, up the loam walls and across the loam grounds for any wisps of rainbow reflection.

“Go away… Gretel.” Dante towed down fistfuls of his black hair, endeavouring to tremble out his shuddering words with a quaking jaw. “To God, again?” Gretel continued to chant away at her questioning, her pearly teeth ploughed down at the strawberry and lemon lollipop in between her lips, regardless of her place upon the stone steps, she battered down her rose-coloured shoes upon the steps.

“Stop it! Gretel!” Now, Dante held onto his ears with both palms to hinder the racket of her shoes atop the cobble steps, “Stop it! Gretel, please!” Rehearsingly, he pled for her to cease at her torturous behaviour. Gradually, her rumbling steps came to a standstill, and the sounds of her fracturing lollipop could be heard.

“Hmph.” She ascended up to her feet, churlishly, to flee her way out of the trapdoor. “Scaredy cat.” She soughed out with a blackly look, and disappeared out of sight. Dante started to breath, again, and the tightening of his chest had dissipated along with the tremble in his jaw, his beady eyes took a moment to rest upon the tombs in the shadows.

He bolted his way up the stone steps and into the sunlight to find Gretel.