Topiary animals craned their necks at the sound of her feet on the cobblestoned path. Green shoots shot up from the rich soil on either side of her, delicate flowers budding and blooming into existence just for her. Up a gentle slope there was an orchard of trees, their low-hanging boughs laden with brightly-wrapped presents and cakes. A silver stream that sparkled like diamonds wound its way up the hill and among the trees. Fluttering faeries sang, giggled, and danced in air was full of delicate floral scents carried on a cool, soft breeze.

Just ahead, the path split and circled around a tall white statue of a winged angel, its arms spread out in a gesture of welcome. As the young girl’s face lifted up to see its own, it looked down at her.

“Welcome,” the angel said to the girl. “Welcome, to the Garden of Earthly Delights. All that you see here is yours to enjoy.”

“Why would there be an angel in a garden of earthly delights?” the girl asked.

“Um, er…” the angel said.

“You’re Satan, aren’t you?” she asked. It stared down at her impassively, saying nothing. “Come on, you might as well admit it… it’s pretty obvious.”

“…I might not be,” it said.

“Yes, you are,” she said. “Look, your horns are even showing.”

“What?” it said, slapping at its head to try to feel.

“Yeah, and they look like this,” the girl said, putting her thumb and forefinger up to her own forehead in the shape of an “L”.

“I am not a loser!” the angel said.

“Whatever,” she said, turning and walking back towards the gates. “It’s like you’re not even trying anymore.”

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.