Page 33 of All the Things We Buried

We moved quietly together and leaned against the wall, listening. And as he heard footsteps approaching, he pulled me in tighter, pressing me against him. His hair had a smell of smoke and fire, and my eyes escaped, first to his eyes, then down to his lips.

But his eyes stayed fixed on the basement door.

We didn’t move, we couldn’t. Four people came from the basement. They wore black robes, hoods shaped into sharp triangles. I didn’t recognize their voices, but the words they spoke felt somehow familiar. Parts from a dream I couldn’t quite remember.

“Seven of them, shadows within.

Ghosts that haunt where night begins.

First one, Wrath, still stained with war,

Bloody hands and shattered floor.

Second, Lust, a lover lost,

Burned by fire, paid the cost.

Third is Sloth, in bed, he froze,

Time forgot him, none arose.”

They kept saying it, over and over. And as they walked away, I leaned close to Dorian, whispering into his hand that was tightly pressed against my lips:

“Fourth, Greed, with a golden grin,

Stole the world, and rots within.

Fifth is Envy, pale and green,

Watched you live what she had seen.

Sixth is Gluttony, hollow and wide,

Feasted ’til the hunger died.

Seventh, Pride, the house’s queen,

Wore her crown, unseen, obscene.

Seven sins in halls decay,

Waiting still to make you stay.

Cross their path or speak their name.

And you just might join their game.”

He looked at me, trying to make sense of what I had said. Then, he lifted me into his arms and threw me over his shoulder.

“Keep quiet,” he said, and carried me upstairs to the attic.

“Where did you hear that?”

He let me gently at the floor and gripped my shoulders. His hands were trembling, like he was ready to shake the answer out of me.

“I don’t know,” I said, trying to remember. I really tried.

“Remember!” he shouted. “Fucking remember, damn it!”