All your life so far has been revolved about the religion that your father "practiced" and dragged your mother into.

You’d been a good girl, prayers before meals but that was it. You didn't understand why you had to go to church every Sunday. Nor the morning prayer everyday of St. Aquinas Catholic academy. In all honesty you tire from the constant purity rhetoric and beratements that you'll go to hell just for a tight fitted shirt or tank top.

The one upside to church was the community. You were loved and adored. For some reason, constantly used as the example of what a good girl should be compared to the other church goers kids. You just had manners and some maturity. Could people your age be That bad?

You had sin in your heart nonetheless.

The source of your sin had a name. Matthew Murdock. Father matthew.

He was so handsome. Better looking than even some of your celebrity crushes. More radiant than Michael Angelo's 'David' or 'Le génie du mal' by t Guillaume Geefs. And He was real in your life. You mourn his blindness, but then again, You never have to worry about him judging your gaze on him. Well you thought he wouldn't judge, yet somehow he always knew when you were staring, or lying.

"That's not very righteous sweet girl. Tell me. Why did you feel the urge to lie? I'm not mad." He had this way of talking that made you feel like the only girl in the world, and also a witness at a court stand. He had studied law, you learned that quickly after all the afternoons you spent in his company.

Your lust for him was one of your biggest problems. And his was a secret life as the devil of hell's kitchen.

Today was not a sorrowful day in Hell's Kitchen. you had been tending to the community garden, planting carrots for the summer. The sun was hot and sweat ran down your face like a dripping faucet. Humming softly to the music playing in your headphones, you had been unaware of the sound of footsteps behind you. You only turned around and saw Father Matthew behind you when you went to grab more soil to bury the seeds deeper into the warm fertile soil.

"Good morning sweet girl. I'm glad to see one of our younger congregates putting effort into the community." His smooth voice had a cadence of impishness. His seeing eye cane hit your ankle. "Pun intended of course."