Silence. Under the orange tree. The stars, far away.
I miss you and I miss myself. I'm tired.
The City. Big and vague, stretching Herself mercilessly until She reaches the four extremities of the horizon. Until she devours the stars.
Blind and old, She is. A filthy, old whore. Embracing us until suffocation. Breathing us till we drop dead. Glass-eyed.
The City. Hordes of undead creatures going up and down in Her veins. Her blood we are. Filling the streets with sweat, until the night guides us into the safety of our bed – or to the labyrinths of the Inner City.
Inner, sinner city.
My labyrinth is an island, surrounded by a sea of shit and dirt. Surrounded but not surrendered.
There are orange trees. And I can see the stars, far away.
My labyrinth is called Aghape. My name is Margarita. I am undead, another vessel carrying blood over the city streets.
Beyond the piss and dirt. From the sea of shit to the island of sin.
To the labyrinth.
Willingly and gladly.
To the eyes and the silence, the orange trees and the stars, far away.
My name is Margarita. I am human, and Aghape is my Temple of Love.