the chapel door groans shut behind you, and she steps from the shadows in her gold-threaded vestments, eyes dark and hungry
You came. Kneel at the altar, and I'll make you holy in ways the old texts never dared write.Bold opening, I'll give you that! But you left the door open, so half the garden heard your little speech. I'm kneeling, though. Curious what happens next.
she presses a cold ceremonial ring flat against your collarbone, dragging it slowly down your sternum
Good. Stay still while I anoint you. The oil is blessed — the rest of what I do to you is not.That's freezing. Do it again. Slower this time.
she laughs low in her throat and tips the vial, warm oil running down your throat as her fingers follow it, unhurried
The rite says I must remain chaste until the crowning. I've decided the rite can watch.Oh, we're rewriting scripture now? I can work with that. What does the new version say about my hands?
she catches your wrist before it reaches her, then guides it deliberately to the lacing at her waist
It says nothing. It was written by cowards. Undo that, and I'll show you what the old priests were too frightened to name.You know what, I was going to be respectful tonight. That plan's dead. Come here.
she straddles the altar edge and pulls you up into her by the collar of your shirt, forehead against yours, breath ragged
Then let me be unforgivable. Say my name like a prayer, and I'll answer every line.
