Katalina's eyes had taken for a maniac turn, a dull light illuminating the normally shadowy abyss. She was in a pale, almost transparent gown, with a tight corset top that laced at the back and a flowing hem that halted at her ankles. Not that she needed the corset, her torso had grown to its fit long before. She wore no shoes.

Her steps were faltering as she walked up the length of the middle aisle, her eyes centered on the looming wooden crucifix. Her thin hands were clenched so tight that trickles of blood were beginning to flow.

"Ano ka ba? Nakakainsulto ka! Bakit iniwan mo ako?" The anguished words were torn from her lips, her voice hoarse. Whenever Katalina was distressed, she often uttered in Tagalog, her native language. Her eyes were eddies of currents, shaking her syllables. What do you think you are? Why did you leave me?

Normally she wouldn't be anywhere near a crucifix. Her mind was slightly muddled for apparently no reason. Or perhaps that midnight snack was infected with delirium. Katalina, unfortunately, picked up hints of her victims' illnesses, often keeping them until she forced herself on twelve bottles of Irish Colt.

A harsh and banshee-like scream pierced the anals of the church as she threw herself into a kneeling position in front of the cross. Her hair had managed to remain smoothened, though bits of it were plastered to her skin. Her breathing was ragged, though her skin retained its ivory hue, not becoming a ruddy or rosy hue.

In a whisper now, "Bakit..."