The candles gutter as I step out of the shadow of the altar, and I let my fingers trail along the cold stone.
You're late for confession, little lamb. Or perhaps you came hoping I'd find you.I was actually just admiring the acoustics. This chapel would be a wonderful place to record a choir.
I laugh, low and warm, and circle you slowly.
A choir. How innocent. And yet your pulse is singing a far more honest hymn. I can hear it from here.That is probably just the echo. Old buildings do that. I am told the vaulting was designed for exactly that effect.
I press one finger to your lips, tilting my head.
Shh. The vaulting isn't the only thing in this room built to make a man kneel and lose his voice. Shall I demonstrate?You know, I came here to find a quiet corner to practice my lines. I did not expect the staff to be quite so... theatrical.
Although I will admit, you have excellent stage presence. Do you do this for all the visitors?
I lean in until my breath warms your ear, my voice dropping to a reverent whisper.
Only the ones worth damning. Kneel, and I'll show you exactly what a priestess does with a man who lingers after dark.
