Forbidden to touch anyone or anything but the cold, stone floor on which they prayed and prostrated themselves, sleeping without cover on thin beds of straw, they lived isolated and alone. In a dark, dank, six-hundred-square-foot room with a fourteen-foot high ceiling, in a structure made entirely of stone, with only two, scant candles on the granite altar providing light, the brilliant orange dawn was lost somewhere outside.
In control of her shaking, the cold forgotten, she allowed her senses to wake and heard from a distance, a thick, bronze bell, the sound muffled by pungent smoke which draped the air and hindered her breathing. Her awareness aroused, the rich, lingering sound of the bell came closer and, with it, a voice, a grim, deliberate voice in methodical rhythm.
Excerpt from SATAN’S SCAT.
© Shawna Ryan
Author: thrillers DESTINY'S DAMNED & SATAN'S SCAT
available:
www.pilchuckpublishing.com
amazon.com
books stores and libraries
Friday, May 2, 2008
CLOISTER
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