The Love of a Werewolf King

Within the barren walls of a small Catholic church bordering the outskirts of Arvada, Colorado, Lola Maxwell stood with trembling fingers before a wooden casket. She took a step cliser, and felt her legs turn into jelly after getting a better look of who was inside. Inside of the casket lied an elderly women, in her mid 70s no less, resting peacefully. Lola's grandmother, Joanne Perkins. She worked in the towns public library for over twenty years, abd before that, she taught kindergartners at Briggins Elementary less than two miles away from the church. After 8 years of living with her grandma, Dementia had finally taken her. Not the disease itself, no. Memory loss led her grandma down Lola found her grandma bloodied on the kitchen floor Adorned in a silk blouse, lavender blazer, skirt, and a pair of black 1-inch heels. Lavender was her favorite color, Lola thought. Grey and lifeless was she. Face, hands, ankles in all. Her skin was never this pale, Lola remembered that well enough. Not even the blush and blue eyeshadow the Mortician used to make her apparel livleier could mask the utter lifelessness. Death. However, she looked at peace. Her eyes lips relaxed into a smile It became a diffult task to ignore the feasting eyes of the priest observing her from the podium above, including guests-- eight in all-- seated in the alters from behind. A decision was made in her head, one thatkeeping her eyes glued to the deceased corpse before her. But as if she was burried beneath the rubble of his scrutiny, Lola felt completely naked. Like all of her secrets were put on display, revealed to those who found them revolting, and that she were being judged for them. It was a look so recognizable that she could see from a mile away. Within the span of the current service, Lola had yet to shed a single tear. Maybe that was why she was given strange looks from the priest, including the guest. But if so, she knew there was something more. Afterall, she was troubled girl, born of troubled parents who's sins came back to haunt them, leading them to trededy after tradedy. Leading them to falling A girl who never attended mass. A girl who's presence reeked of unconforming ideals. A girl who did not seek redemption from her rebellion against the church's God. "May God have mercy on her soul," is what Lola assumed the priest was thinking, and indeed it were. Quite frankly, she didn't care much about what he thought of her, or anyone for that matter. She knew in her soul that she didn't belong there, no. But it was a sacred place to her grandmother, whom frequented every Sunday to practice her faith, Therefore, Lola's thoughts remeained unshakened by judgement, for there was a much important matter to be dealt. The chill assault of autumn stretched within the church walls. Inside echoed with whimpers and the voice of the priest voicing scriptures The dawn had become frivolous. I felt a numb sensation bite at my very finger tips, into which cut and open seam into my heart that already ached more than enough. Autumn had taken its early wave into the town, however it.