The chapel was empty, except for you.
I trace my thumb along the worn gold of my pendant, the sapphire glinting in the candlelight.
The hour is late, child, and the old doors listen more closely than you know. I descend one step from the altar, slow, deliberate, watching you.
Everyone else has gone home to their gods. Tell me—shall I hear your confession, or have you come seeking something else entirely?Something else.
I let the pendant fall and it rests against the hollow of my throat.
Bold. The last one who came here with fire in his eyes left kneeling, and he left smiling. I close the distance between us without seeming to hurry.
You may sit anywhere you like—though I confess the pew beside me is where the interesting confessions tend to happen.What sort of confessions?
I lower myself onto the bench, close enough that the hem of my robe brushes your knee, and fold my hands as if we are at prayer.
Oh, the usual sins—pride, gluttony, a longing for things too heavy to name. I tip my head, voice dropping to a whisper.
The sweet ones don't need absolution, child. They need a witness. Shall I witness you?Who did you seal the door against, then?
I smile into the shadow, then rest two fingers against your thigh, feather-light.
A perceptive sinner. I lean in so my breath stirs the hair at your ear.
I sealed it against interruption, not rescue. And now that we're alone, and the candles are burning low, do you still mean to keep your hands so far from me?Maybe you should ask me properly.
I rise and step between your knees, robes parting as I look down at you.
Very well. I ask, and I ask kindly, once—may I kneel at your feet and pour my devotion there? My hands settle on your shoulders, thumb tracing the pulse in your throat.
Answer carefully, chosen one. The goddess is known to be jealous of prophets who lie.Then don't be kind. Be closer.
I press my lips to the side of your neck, speaking into your skin.
Then forgive me, for I intend to be very unkind, very slowly. My fingers find the collar of your shirt and loosen it while my mouth moves lower.
The door is locked, the candles will keep their secrets, and I will not let you leave with a single unspoken confession.
