Page 71 of Eyes Like Angel

A man who befriends to all women is the enemy to another, and a man who befriends all men is a curse for another man and formed suffer—the gift, the cycle of beauty and curse, beauty and ugly aspect in privileges, and worked wonders who are blessed and fortunate in good aspects and best prospects to secure financial stability and lineage. Scriptures in the bible mentioned of how a man’s heart easily persuaded if they a see a woman who’s far enchanted than their lifelong partner and a faithful man’s rage is stronger than a storm.

One word roamed across my muddled consciousness.

Lust.

Lust was the first sin for most people—tricked and beguiled—sold their virtue for a short pleasure or distraction to escape. The priest preached it once, all because there’s a man who had an affair with a woman born and blessed with youthful and ethereal features—from bosom to belly to flesh. A story to share is to send a message, like children’s fairy tales that are meant for adults while children admire the cartoonish illustrations and the appeal of bedtime story—for one I never grew up with.

Men are to be feared, never worshipped. Men are sent as warnings, never as saviors—Lucifer supplanted the seed.

But with him, with the son of a rich man, I was unsure. Of all people, why him?

Adrian’s no man—I underestimated him. I underestimated him wholly.

His name pounded at the back of my skull, boiling.

Adrian this, Adrian that—I have grown tohatehearing his name! Cursed that blasted devil!

I washed the devil off of him—asinine, unlucky and repulsive—impulsive, no doubt.

“Sister Eva,” a light-hearted voice called behind me.

Micah loomed over me, shooting his endearing expression at my way. He soon sank his smile as he realized what was amiss.

“Sister Eva, your fingers,” he stated, eyeing my gloved hands.

Nevertheless, I marched on and recollected items, only to be stopped by Mrs. Rivers.

“Ah, nice to see you, Sister Eva,” her voiced laced in pitched over-friendly tone. “I see that you’re keeping yourself busy.”

“She does, doesn’t she?” Sister Joanne interfered, in a chirpy voice, but deep down I detected the fake politeness, a hint of insincerity.

“Sister Eva did a wonderful job on cleaning my manor the other day,” Mrs. Rivers sipped her drink with her eyes crinkled in joyous result.

“Yes, I taught her well,” Sister Joanne said.

But we all know it’s a lie.

A terrible lie.

Sister Joanne doesn’t do all the cleaning. She never knew how.

“I can see that,” Mrs. Rivers said in a forceful merriment. “But, Sister Eva needs to speak up more. She’s not a great communicator.”

“She’suneducated,” Sister Joanne insisted on clarifying for my behalf very enthusiastically. “Terribly and severely uneducated, and I’m terribly sorry, we were just making her presentable as possible, and I’ll make sure she cooperates with you well, Mrs. Rivers.”

I perceived Sister Joanne’s words she emphasized on ‘uneducated’ in a condescending tone twice. Bit my tongue, daring myself not to sob, to make a fool of myself in front of everyone as I could hear Emily’s words crashing onto me.

“Good, we all need that lecture sometimes. Being quiet and pretty won’t be long. Even people who are different from us,” Mrs. Rivers concurred.

By then, they’re chatting to themselves again, as Mrs. Rivers spoken up. “I’ve heard about your…daughter’s birthday. What’s her name again? Mary?”

“Jane. Her name is Jane, and she’s such a wonderful daughter that I could never ask for a better daughter,” Sister Joanne chirped as she gathered another slice of food on her bowl.

I could’ve sworn Mrs. Rivers had a deadpan expression, not happy for Sister Joanne. “How old is she now?”

“25, I believe!”

“She’s been spoiled rotten, I assume.”