Temple of the Four Winds; Insufflation par son insu, Revelation/Concealment/Trope/Leverage/Power.

With the release of a physical tension so long held, until the events of the preceding night...and reveille, brought into being a new burden of tension and stress.
A dual conspiracy between the two women over the manifest supernatural agency of the incubus...they had so lately mutually rejoiced in...losing all bodily restraint therein, and giving in wholeheartedly, to the overpowering over reaching pangs of their corporeal flesh.

Coupled with the distinct awareness that an all seeing eye had hovered there, privy to their atavistic rites of consummation; par son insu...dechirez, torn... as it were, into two distinct entities, wherein the cerebral interlocutors of the catholic sublime could now only surrender to the revelation of a Janus faced dichotomy glaring in two distinct lights made one. All this at the very heart and core of their existence and now challenged belief systems.

The undeniably miraculous import, of stone made flesh, and juxtaposed so, to their hitherto unshakeable beliefs as to the flesh and blood of Christ in sacrament... so central to their consumption and assumption in faith, in short, it was no symbolic fantasy, or superficial platitude... they truly believed in this purest of faiths and devotion; that they consumed his flesh , and drank his blood as a sacred covenant. A solemn ritual two thousand years old, embodying the purest of truths and profundity of communion with the almighty one lord and god.

Who was that unknown watcher in the dark of night? Who peered through the eyes of the blessed Virgin of the icon divine? Was their relish? Surprise? Disgust? Empowerment? Control? Self righteousness? Delight? In that act of concealed' voyeurism?

Would the vision once held... stay in confidence.../ close to the soul of the heart of hearts of the bearer?... or would it fly rampant, gathering a tempests ire as it flew? Hurling itself onwards into the outer ether thus colliding at random with what ever disorient casualty it encountered?

The Black habit rustling away into the darkness of the scriptorium...what tremors, what residual moistures or burgeonings of jealousy or culpability or unquenched desire...? did that moonlit scene of otherworldy congress incite, in the possessor of that burdensome darkling raiment?