Retreat of the Sacred Heart

She slept in ecstasy in hands that fanned her wildest fantasies, freed from Christ's frigid regime and rigid nails. She was first in church to lick her lips and self-debase, each waking second felt like Heaven in the scarlet one's embrace. And at last, clear memories, aghast relinquished their control, all things held dear to the wretched past coalesced within her soul. Madness crept into her sight though her sinful gait spoke of nothing to the contrary. Once-dulled eyes leapt alive with life her piece of broken mirror barely recognised. The worm was turning! For here sat grinning Victoria who, no three weeks ago was flogged red to euphoria for her dour love of God and the ardour of his crows. Cold cloisters kept the dead apart at the retreat of the sacred heart! She stepped in ecstasy 'neath skies that plied her wildest fantasies, freed into Love's reacquainted dream and sudden gales. Nights grew sultry late September, a man came from the village through the woods to help with harvest. She was burning like the fields, all her vows lay unfulfilled. His name was Isaac, silent, blessed, a mute whose tongue impressed her lately. But now red skies darken the roonks lament, windswept maelstroms harken the approach of Lilith's Nightmare Kingdom! The woman in her astral dreams became more vivid, livid, obscene. Seated on the throne of onyx blasphemies, emanating raw desire and the surging urge to scream. Darkness crept into her face, she stood erect and spoke of riches and their whereabouts. Finding in Isaac the need to place a hidden Templar necklace lest the month run out. For now stormed the vainglorious in her palace of mass delights. Her power dawned victorious, Victoria the key, her mind unfastened. By flights of morbid fancy psychomancy, rites of ancient wrong. Sweet seductions, peaked eruptions spiking through impatient song. Cold cloisters kept the dead apart at the retreat of the sacred heart! The Gate to Hell was forced apart at the retreat of the sacred heart!