Our Lady Of Desire

on November 19, 2009 in Horror

Is there something that you want? Something that you need? Something that you can’t get but cannot live without?

There is a statue in the park of a woman… some people call her an angel, although the statue has no wings. Her hands are cupped in front of her in a gesture that’s vaguely prayer-like. She’s made of bronze, tarnished black. There is a plaque set in a concrete plinth in front of her with the sculpture’s original name, but the rusty plate is impossible to read.

People who know call her “Our Lady of Desire”.

Pilgrims go to the park to tell the Lady what they want. They whisper their desires in her ear. Some write them on a piece of paper and leave it in her hands, or under the slightly raised heel of her left foot. Some people leave gifts when they do this: bits of food, a libation poured on the ground, a personal momento.

A lock of hair.

A bit of blood.

They tell her their desires, and ask for her help.

Not everyone who speaks to the Lady receives an answer. She does not deal with simple wants or passing fancies, only all-consuming desires. Those who bear such an affliction and who approach her earnestly will always receive relief. In most cases, a desire that was previously unflagging will begin to wane, and even disappear.

Addicts have been cured by Our Lady of Desire. Hearts have been mended. Shattered lives reclaimed from the brink of despair.

In most cases, that’s what happens. But the Lady is capricious and fickle. In some cases, she is not so kind. In some cases, she does not look with mercy upon a supplicant. To these unfortunate few, the Lady does the worst thing she can think of: she gives them what they desire. Addictions are fed. Hearts are broken. Orderly lives disrupted beyond the point of repair.

Is there something that you want? Something that you need? Something that you can’t get but can’t live without?

Our Lady of Desire might help you… if you’re willing to risk the price.

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4 Responses to “Our Lady Of Desire”

  1. Andy says:

    This reminds me of the Lucky Old Lady statue in Oblivion.

  2. Heh. It reads like a really weird, twisted ad.

  3. Lysaea says:

    I love the parallelism between this and The Man on Monticello Street. It would be awesome if these two were released together in a fiction compilation, with one starting the compilation and the other ending it.

  4. zeel says:

    yes, it start/ends almost the same. quite well done.

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