In the darkness of her chapel, Desdimone De la Saronno is moving in a slow dance, singing a gentle lullaby.
"By night on my bed I sought him whom my soul loveth: I sought him, but I found him not. I will rise now, and go about the city in the streets, and in the broad ways I will seek him whom my soul loveth: I sought him, but I found him not."
Her voice is metallic, haunting, like she is gently soothing a child to sleep, but there is something wrong about this all, her delicate figure slowly waltzing as she sings. Her massive skirts make a slow, swishing sound as she slowly turns, weaving a dark purple image of magic in the air around her.
"The watchmen that go about the city found me: to whom I said, Saw ye him whom my soul loveth? It was but a little that I passed from them, but I found him whom my soul loveth: I held him, and would not let him go, until I had brought him into my mother's house, and into the chamber of her that conceived me."
She stops, and closing her eyes as she moves her hands in a socking motion, her energy seeping out through the cracks in the walls.
"A garden inclosed is my brother, my spouse; a spring shut up, a fountain sealed. Thy plants are an orchard of pomegranates, with pleasant fruits; camphire, with spikenard. - I charge you, O ye daughters of shades, by the roes, and by the hinds of the field, that ye stir not up, nor awake my love, till he please."
And she opned her eyes, smiled with the frightening softness of death itself...
"Sleep well..."
((Mona's texts are from Salomon's Song of Songs, chapters 2 and 4.))