(Lucy) Cornered by a lost soul

The daughter of a thousand doorsteps found she took to this inner labyrinth of winding passages and countless unmarked rooms as… well as any other general street rat might… She was used to scuttling along dingy alleyways, ever on the lookout for new doorways of interest or opportunity, mapping it all out on the interior of her skull. The lack of a sky over this particular maze didn’t particularly bother her. Not when there were so many interesting sights to see, whispers to overhear… and seemingly significantly less chances of being assaulted by random thugs and creeps.

Lucy found herself already attaching a sort of inner pride to her new role as ad-hoc cleaner of chambers used most luridly. She had delved herself out a little patch of rooms that seemed quite regularly in use, and would jump to work as soon as whichever satisfied-looking patron emerged buckling themselves up from the entrance. Earning an exhausted-looking smile from the male or female acolytes who had put the spring back in that client’s step.

The girl had begun to recognise a few of the other angels by now, each with their own distinct angles upon perfection. She had watched them at work, timidly, from around corners. The doors to each room of open lusts were seldom bothered to be closed, after all… hence the seemingly endless travel the echoes of their cries achieved. Lucy would return to Sister Diane’s room every night, cuddling back up into the embrace of those softly-plying hands. Listening to more stories of the angel’s darkly exciting past and getting them muddled with all the new forms of love she’d witnessed today. It all seemed so different… from the goddawful braying of the office-ladies and workman she’d been ever parley-to outside. From the billboard-blasted masturbation of popstars and cam-whores. From the fumbled offerings she herself had granted strangers… in the streets, back in school… or at home… It all seemed so different… and yet the same…

One morning, a few days in to her second week within the underground cathedral, Lucy was nearly finished cleaning a new room. This one was dressed up to look like some outlandishly grand master bedroom: All darkly-polished oak furniture and deep red leather. The kind of place the men and women who secretly ruled the world might pace at night… never actually sleeping due to the sheer number of cunning and nefarious plots they had running all at once. The amount of discretely-added places where ropes and restraints might be attached to any of the bed, desk, chairs or walls told the orphan all she needed to know about the kind of clients who asked for this room. She was getting quite good at spotting those subtle modifications and hints that were offered by every inch of this place… just to encourage the guest's imaginations along.

The girl was just putting away the last of a matching set of thick, leather belts. Checking each one for any signs of fraying... When she noticed a shadow had appeared in the doorway behind her. Turning quickly, she scooped up her nearby broom on instinct alone, the heavy wooden shaft calming nerves still always set to immediate fight or flight. This wasn't the city above anymore, however, and the silhouette that emerged wasn't exactly a threatening one…

It was a young man… or boy, probably only about the same age as herself. Tousle-haired and pale, her streetwise instincts instantly tagged him as 'soft', an easy mark, someone she could steal from or mislead for easy gains. Thoughts that she actually felt quite guilty about, now that she wasn't too cold and hungry to care. Still, she'd never actually encountered a client of the church on her own before: always rushing past carrying her cleaning-equipment camouflage if she passed them in the corridors.

Considering what she knew they all came for… Lucy suddenly became acutely aware of her own nakedness once again. Something she had grown so used to as to almost forget about, up to this moment. Still, the arrival seemed about as unsure what to make of her as she was of him; hovering timidly on the doorstep trying to squint through the low, flickering candle light that seemed to be considered part of this room's integral ambience.

The only thing he offered, in a tentative voice, was a single name and question:

"...Marie?"