Page 3 of Taken By Sin

Something annoys me that she wasn't downstairs waitingon me like the others. But she doesn't look like a child, she's older. "Good afternoon." I nod her way.

She fumbles with the book in her hand, surely unused to a man being in her space. This place is located in the countryside of New York, miles away from any other housing or businesses. Are the only men she's ever met priests?

Her long, flowing hair cascades down her back in soft waves, catching the light and shimmering with every subtle movement. Her delicate profile gradually comes into view as she looks right, revealing high cheekbones and a gentle curve of her lips. It’s as if the sunlight in this closed off space is coming in only for her. Her eyelashes flutter slightly as she seems to sense my gaze, and when she fully faces me, her eyes meet mine with an intensity that makes my heart putter to life. So long has it been since I’ve felt that sensation.

I step towards her and she gazes at me with curiosity, showing no fear. "Do you have contacts?" she asks, adjusting the glasses on her button nose. Still holding the book, I take it from her and casually flip through the pages.

I choose not to comment on her failure to greet me once more. "No, I have Ghost eyes," I reply, pointing out my left blue eye and the solid grey of my right.

With my eyes facing downward as I stroll the pages, she dips her head up to get a better look. "What?" she asks, her raven hair blanketing the pages and blocking my view of the dreadfully boring book. Why would they deprive these girls of proper sleeping quarters and instead offer them pages filled with useless ink?

I nod, looking at her curious face. "The medicalterm is Heterochromia, but the myth is people with different colored eyes can see both Heaven and Hell." I grin, showcasing my white teeth.

She takes a step back, like I'm going to bite.

Smart.

Because I do.

FOUR

SIN

Iput the book back on her cart. "Are you going to thank me for my donation? Your library will be stocked full."

"Oh!" Realization floods her; she must have heard of my impending arrival. I know this must be different than their norm, exciting even. "Sorry!”

I cross my arms, having to look nearly all the way down to speak to her. "Why weren't you downstairs?"

She straightens up slightly, attempting to match my height, and I can’t help but chuckle at her playful effort. She would need to grow at least two feet to really be at my level. Perhaps that wouldn’t be ideal, given that her eyes keep drifting from one eye to the other—blue to grey, then grey to blue.

"I... I needed to organize the books,” she finally says, diverting her gaze from me to the shelves.

The blue in her eyes sparkles as she catalogs each title. This is probably the most exciting part of her day; surrounded byboring stories about other worlds, nonetheless. Anything to escape years of being trapped like Rapunzel in this mansion.

"I do thank you, though." Her face turns downward, and I have a powerful feeling that I need to cup her dainty chin with my hand, forcing her to look at me. "But I won’t be able to enjoy anything. I age out soon."

I pull up my sleeves, and her gaze juts to the swirling black ink. "Age out?" I ask.

She quietly traces the ink on my forearm with her eyes as she completes her thought. "Well, I already aged out technically. I turned eighteen two months ago, so I'll be kicked out." She directs her attention to her task, but I notice the concern etched on her face. The way she bites her lip and doesn't bother to tuck a fallen strand of raven hair from her face.

Will she be kicked onto the streets? Unwanted by catholic families because of her age no doubt; why would they want to adopt an adult when there are giggling toddlers downstairs? The thought makes me curious… who will she spend Christmas with? Who will celebrate her nineteenth birthday?

A life forgotten, tucked away into a library and soon to be kicked out of the only home she's probably ever known.

"What's your favorite?"

She tilts her head inquisitively. "My favorite what?"

I extend my hand and say, "Book."

"Oh, umm..." She tenses, mulling over the different titles. "The Bible, of course," she decides, but I can tell by the way she says it she is full of shit.

I step a little closer to her. "Don't lie to me," I nearly sneer.If there's one thing I don't tolerate, it's dishonesty. Men have been killed for less than the lie she just told.

"I have too many," she admits.

I nod. "Genre?"

---