Sophia Nathanael and her Dark Angels (a story)


If you ever had the pleasure of watching her preach, you would be mesmerized by her. She had a gorgeous alto voice. A little raspy, a lilt as if she spoke with angels. You could listen to her for hours, it was so beautiful.
She was so energetic, so passionate about her topics. You just felt she communed with the divine when she spoke.
She moved like a dancer too. And her body was so svelte. So lithe. She dressed to show it off, without uncovering it too. The fabrics skimmed her body. She performed when she was on the dias.
It was no surprise that a lot of the congregation had a crush on her. She looked into their eyes and touched their arm or shoulder as they spoke with her. And to them it felt as if their arm was vibrating during the exchange.
She seemed so holy.
Yet she was a grifter.
She had gone from town to town, honing her act. Picking people’s pocket to survive. Going into the shady parts of town and hooking to keep a roof over her head. And in the main courtyard of the next towns over, you could find her preaching. With a tithing plate beside her and a very tattered Bible she had gotten out of a used book shop’s garbage. But she told anyone who asked that her grandma had put it into her blanket when she left her at the orphanage. Because she couldn’t keep her. She was the child of a young rape victim who died in child birth she said.

Her parents were Joe Boring and Jane White Bread. Nothing that made them stand apart from any other mid-western couple. They worked hard, did what was asked and kept their heads down. She and her brother were cared for, but because they should. And they were there. Nothing was expected of them but good grades and duty. It was mind-numbing. So she left as soon as she could.
But the story got her extra money, until she found a small church that would take her as a preacher. Then she built her act and her audience.

The media started paying attention. And you would think that would concern her. But she had changed so much her own mother had no clue that was her daughter when she caught the show. And she was good at making herself over. One side of her was the good preacher lady. The other was a young whore who didn’t dress or eat that well. Someone the preacher lady was trying to reform, which explained the frequent visits to the manse. Nobody looked at her twice. Nobody wanted to.

This double life made it so much easier. The preacher kept up the sham and the whore did the dirty work. The blood work. She was brilliant with a knife and used it to get rid of anyone who threatened her place in the town.; Or was standing in her way. For the next rung of her ladder to success.
The whore also had a little room where she worked her dark magic and called her guardians to her aide. She worked her way up till she was noticed by the hierarchy of hell. She started getting the rewards of her graft. And all it took was blood and sacrifice.

You have to wonder what caused this abomination of her parents’ mundane life. I don’t know. I guess you have to wonder… can a human be born evil? Or is she made? And what if anything would stop her.

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