Categories > Books > Phantom of the Opera
In the morning, he opened his bible and read for an hour. Then he copied scripture for another hour after lunch, then read again for an hour before bed. After he was dressed in his night shirt, he kneeled and prayed, reciting every prayer he knew in solemn order.
And he was good, ever so good. Usually. Except every once in awhile when he wasn't quite concentrating hard enough and unthinkingly carved a little castle in the table with his Mother's sewing scissors or stole one of her chocolates and shared it with Sasha. It made her sick, but for some reason she still loved it.
When he was bad, he'd be beaten, yelled at, and sent to study the book again, to internalize where he'd screwed up. He tried to read, to memorize, but then the rocks would come through the window and land in the middle of his bible, the sinless casting the first stones.
~Finished~
And he was good, ever so good. Usually. Except every once in awhile when he wasn't quite concentrating hard enough and unthinkingly carved a little castle in the table with his Mother's sewing scissors or stole one of her chocolates and shared it with Sasha. It made her sick, but for some reason she still loved it.
When he was bad, he'd be beaten, yelled at, and sent to study the book again, to internalize where he'd screwed up. He tried to read, to memorize, but then the rocks would come through the window and land in the middle of his bible, the sinless casting the first stones.
~Finished~
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