My Saint ELIZABETH

My Saint ELIZABETH

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My Saint ELIZABETH

In the high-stakes world of fashion and prestige, a rising model lives a meticulously curated lie. To the public, he is a man of effortless success; to himself, he is a Nietzschean "Übermensch" standing far above the common laws of morality. But when Elizabeth—a divine and toxic ghost from his past—resurfaces in a rain-slicked European bar, his carefully constructed reality begins to fracture.

What follows is a visceral descent into a double life, a psychological "duel of foils" where poetry masks carnal desire and religious rituals attempt to sanitize the stain of his choices. Moving between a sun-drenched facade of innocence and the lethal edge of a rekindled obsession, the protagonist becomes a prisoner of his own dissociation. He justifies his spiral into violence and betrayal through a lens of fatalism, believing he can resurrect a dead past that was better left buried.

From neon-lit bars to the predatory shadows of city alleys, My Saint Elizabeth is a haunting, cinematic exploration of the amoral vacuum within a fractured soul. It is a modern noir that peels back the layers of a man who prays to a God he doesn’t fear and seeks a redemption he doesn’t deserve—culminating in a brutal reckoning where his masks finally shatter, and the abyss claims its own.

 

Cerebral • Gritty • Psychological • Dark • Suspenseful • Noir

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10 CHAPTERS:

A journey of shadows and light, where the elegance of a new life clashes with the haunting echo of a past that refuses to stay buried.

2 PATHS:

The agonizing struggle between the sacred promise of a future and the profane temptation of an old flame—a duel where every choice is a cross to carry.

100% vICERAL

A soul-stirring immersion where a simple "Happy Birthday" becomes a test of faith, leading to a path of thorns, a prayer for mercy, and the weight of a final judgment.

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"...our love I planted like a tree, but I would never be the one to harvest its fruit, much less the one resting in its shade. "

Fourth Chapter

THE ROSE SELLER

FIRST CHAPTER

Oh, the Devil—sly creature, thief of naïve hearts.

This time, he didn’t show up at a crossroads, nor behind the eyes of a hound glowing red in the dark. No—he came disguised as a debt of hope: a “happy belated birthday,” followed by a voice as delicate as rose petals, yet sharp as their thorns. Words that dragged long-slumbering memories back to life. And so, the fire that had been smoldering in embers flared once again inside me.

IF THE AUTHOR’S OPINION MATTERS…

Dear reader,

This is the tale of a man—faithful and consumed—haunted by the need to relive his past, whether through a pact, a memory, or a daydream.

For the devout, it is the portrait of a worshipper unwilling to see that his goddess Elizabeth is, in truth, nothing more than clay. For archaeologists, it recalls the paradox of resurrecting mammoths while letting species on the brink of extinction slip away. For philosophers, the protagonist—an exceptional swimmer—drowns in the restless waters of the River Ephesus.

And for sports fans, his stubborn hope resembles Neymar’s return to Santos: the promise of rediscovering that fearless, joyful brand of football, the eternal lightness of the boy from Vila Belmiro. Until time demands its toll—injuries weigh heavier than bursts of brilliance, and only flashes remain of the star he once was.

Yet in the end, hope endures. For Neymar, in the dream of the next World Cup. And for our protagonist, in the stubborn fire of his love.
I can only wish that this story shines brighter in your eyes than in the words I have set on paper.

Enjoy the read.