The horror of the life that was lead began.
The foundational discovery of Vincent’s passionate desire for euphoric dissonance drove
his decision to become Jesus, and after that point, after the cards and friends and the nothingness,he left his soul, and danced, and ran forward.Awkwardly pacing in his study, Mr. DiaCenzo ran forward without consternation. Hewas a young man then, without regard, without honor, and his laced buttons were conceptualmore than actual. His pace was lazy, and his manner unrefined and diffident, but ultimately, painfully, polite.The parties were a discovery, they were long and well-lit, like the ancient halls of shipssince drowned, and Mr. DiaCenzo, or Hec, as he was called by those who admired his mysticalworldview, wandered aimlessly, flirtatiously making eyes with those angels more willing.The pain of it all was evident, the lass, the lack, the ultimate rejection that stained his being, not one person in this room could possibly be his. Not one person in this room was burieddeep in his blood. After all, not one person in this room had the strength, virtue, and affectionateglances of Lancia Wornol.And with that, a character was born.Lancia was even, she thought and dressed exquisitely, she lived a life without mistake,she lived
a life unburdened by expectation or daydreams. She countered Hec’s belligerent
distance, she countered with elegance and trapped sexuality. Of course, the finer moments of
Hec’s romance involved the beginning of their courtship.
He would follow her around the room with his eyes, staring into her, bleeding her of attention, and then he would walk through the main hallway, past paintings of lastingconsequence, into the courtyard where he would hunch over and feel the blades of grass with hisfingers, until she came out.