Evangeline was so quiet and still that she might have been a statue, some pagan goddess wrought of stone, had she not been so modestly attired. Her father lifted the Titulus high to the sound of prayers, but I watched Evangeline. Her gaze came to me seemingly of its own accord, perhaps because I alone knew that her small smile was less for her father’s triumph than her own.
TitulusHer smile warmed and color touched her pale cheeks anew as our gazes locked. A song of desire began within me, heating me as naught else had done in this land.
Save Evangeline.
The procession filed out but I lingered, shaken by my response. I hovered in the chapel’s shadows while countless peasants filed past the altar to brush their fingertips across the relic. I was protective, concerned that one would be so
