Dakota gripped the edge of the pew and lifted herself back up again. She leaned over and grabbed the sketchbook that she had slipped beneath her seat. After sifting through to a new page, she began to sketch one of the images from memory: a cherub. Her pencil scratched and almost tore at the cherub’s wing as she pressed the sketchbook hard against the back of the next pew. A firm knot tightened at the bottom of her belly. Tension pressed hard against her eyelids. She blinked away tears. Dakota willed herself not to think of what had happened only a few weeks ago, when her deepest center had been broken. Her knuckles became pale as her grasp constricted around the pencil. The crevices, the edges, the lines themselves were much too dark, too rough, especially for such a little angel.

Dakota dropped her tools and folded her arms. She buried her face in them, conceding defeat to the repressed memory that had at once taken hold of her. Panic seized her once again. She could feel the weight of his body over hers, the length of his fingers taut against her arms, making them sore and bruised, hips thrusting hard against hers and the sensation of flesh being torn apart deep inside. She thought she could almost hear the tiny rip through her own screaming. Her fingers dug into her palms as she heard herself whimper at the memory. Never in her life had she felt so helpless, so weak. It was an evil only a man could be capable of, Dakota was sure.

She pressed her fingers to her temples, feeling a low pulse, willing herself to forget the anger and the hurt, just for a few moments, though it hardly worked. An overwhelming hostility was still growing within her. The pressure within her chest was so great she felt as though her torso might burst. Before she allowed this to happen, she took a deep breath, stood, and picked up a piece of shattered marble. She could already feel tiny nicks forming on her palm from its sheer weight. All she needed was a target. Anger, though, could not overcome her sense of weakness. Dakota looked down at her sketchbook, realizing the only power she had: Art. Beauty. She gazed up at the supposed heaven that was depicted across the ceiling and sighed. She craved real beauty, not angels or mythic creatures.

A creak from one of the ancient doors woke Dakota from her thoughts. She allowed the marble to fall from her grasp. Crimson beads trickled down her palm, down the lengths of her fingers. A small, painful throb came along with them.

“I’m here,” a girlish voice said, twinged with a slight Hispanic accent. Dakota did not even have to turn around, though she did anyhow, yearning to see the girl who possessed that melodious voice. She smiled as a gentle sigh escaped her lips. It was Simone.

The younger girl stared back at Dakota intensely. Simone’s eyes looked as if they were deep brown almonds that slanted up near her temple, almost too large for the small, oval face. The nose was tiny and pudgy, though the tip was sloped. The girl’s mouth was set in a voluptuous pout, her bottom lip rounded and a deep pink that resembled a fallen rose petal. Tawny curls spilled from her head and made a fountain that flowed down to the small of her back, over her shoulders, framing her face. Wisps hung near the side of her right eye.

Dakota sighed. She had never found a creature more aesthetically pleasing. The girl that stood before her was a real angel. “I knew you’d be here.” It was Simone who spoke. Her voice was calm and even, almost soothing. Dakota nearly died from relief. Simone swallowed. “I just came to say that – that I’m ready. I’m ready to do this. I’m not embarrassed.” She gazed down as the pink in her cheeks bloomed. “Or at least I don’t think I am.”

“Are you sure? If you have any doubts, don’t do it. I’ll understand,” Dakota said as she approached Simone. “I’m going to love it, especially since it’s something I never did before. But, I’m doing this more for you than I am for me,” “I know.”

“Good – Do you still want to?”

“I need to.”

“Okay then. We will,” Dakota said as she placed her hand lightly upon the girl’s cheek. It was frozen to the touch. “Your skin is so cold.”

Simone gazed back up at Dakota. “Just give me a minute,” she said.

“Alright.”

Dakota backed a few feet away from Simone. She nibbled the tip of her finger nail while her eyes still lay upon Simone’s beauteous frame. Simone crossed her arms down and was about to lift her shirt until both girls’ eyes met.

“I said give me a minute,” Simone said as her face became flush again.

“Oh, okay. Fine!” Dakota pouted in mock frustration as she turned her back to a giggling Simone. She headed back to the pew once again and grabbed the sketchbook. As she sat, she continued to flip through the sheets and tore the silly, little angel from the wired binding. The mere sound of paper being crumpled between her fingers made her heart leap. She would start again. She could start again. Dakota clicked the tip of her foot against the clay floor as she bobbed her head to imaginary music emanating throughout the church walls. She felt a blend of anxiety and excitement.

Finally, she heard a long, quivering sigh from behind.

“You can look now,” Simone whispered.

Dakota nearly jumped from the pew, sketchbook by her side. She slowly approached Simone, concentrating on the girl’s eyes first. Then she stopped and gazed lovingly at the entirety of Simone’s frame. Dakota sucked in her breath and exhaled almost rhythmically in an attempt to avoid another passionate sigh.

“You’re ready then?”

“Yes. What do you want me to do?”

Dakota scanned the church with her eyes and came across a long mural of angels and saints streaming across a wall nearby. She smiled to herself.

“What do you seem so happy about?”

“I want you to go over there and lean your back against that painting.”

Simone leaned back against the wall and slid down. “Is that it?”

“Pose like you want to. Be natural.”

Simone’s pouty lips turned up in a grin in response. She raised her arms above her head and crossed her wrists as if they were locked together, keeping her elbows bent. She arched her back, pushing her breasts slightly forward. She shook her head to allow the graceful fall of hair over her shoulders. Her legs were extended out though knees were bent and slender thighs slightly parted, revealing a black tuft of curls. She had a pose of utter surrender. It was perfect.

Dakota became enthralled, and for the first time since her innocence had been stripped away, inspiration flowed through her freely. Each curve of Simone’s breasts, wisp of her hair, and deep shadow between her thighs was recreated through Dakota’s tingling fingers and the resonance of her pounding heart. Through her intensity, she passed her pencil only lightly across the page. She treated her art as gently as she had wished to be treated herself.

“Okay,” Dakota said.

“Okay.” Simone finally let her arms fall and relaxed before rising to dress.

“Do you want me to turn?”

“No.” Simone smiled. “Why would I?”

Both girls paused in hesitation. The drizzle had stopped long before and Dakota realized her hand was still throbbing from earlier. Simone was fully dressed and approached the older girl until their faces were only a few inches apart.

“Dakota?”

“Yes?”

Simone pressed her mouth gently upon the artist’s lips. The kiss was close-mouthed and soothing. A warm calm wrapped around Dakota, making her light. She could have levitated and flown if that voluptuous mouth was upon her any longer. Instead, Simone slowly pulled back, ending Dakota’s sense of eternity within that fleeting moment.

“Thank you. You made me feel beautiful,” Simone said.

“You already are.”

Simone began to look sheepish again. “I guess I just need to be reminded See ya.”

It was only after Dakota had broken out of her daze that she realized Simone had left. She was alone again with new fuel for inspiration. Her eyes fell upon the sketchbook lying on the floor. She smiled to herself realizing that she had drawn Simone with wings.