Sitting before the altar with her fingers clasped to each other resting on her chest; her head bowed with a few streaks of loosened hair veil her eyes. She shed a single drop of tear. She spoke the most silent prayer.
A demure, frail woman as she wants the world to picture her but images could be deceptive. She wasn’t meant to be a skylark or a doe; nestling in a broken elevator and look at the weather change. With her ambitious wings spread, she can eclipse the sunny sky with thickened darkness where calm-bloodied moon shines.
The immortal Maria! It all changed when the ambitious-bee dunks her so deep that she didn’t mind walking down the memory lane, as one of the most notorious femme-fatale of crime of passion. Two of her victims – a naval officer and a media-man battled for her till one of them lie down in his grave while other languish in the jail.
Lovelorn Maria as she reclaims. None of them loved her soul but the body; and this enraged both to struggle till one of them pulls the dragger and the body fall. Poor girl, Maria! Grievously, she witnessed him bludgeoning and hackneying the body of second consort to pieces before they were exhumed in a deserted place. Maria stood by the survivor, like the Lady Macbeth, compassionately. A passionate crime or crime of passion that she witnessed, designed, and executed with ambitious grandeur; ironically exonerated by one compassionate judgment.
For three years…she watched the weather change in the sky from her pigeonhole…now, the sky remains prostrated but her fangs clipped. (Betrayed Maria!)
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