This place… this lifeless cathedral with its echoing halls and hollow sermons, it was meant to crush the spirit, to grind the weak into obedience. And yet, in the middle of it all, I found her.
A small, trembling bird, wrapped in too-thick robes, eyes wide and scared, and still she moved with a fragile dignity. Sister Aria Donovan.
I had watched her all day, pretending to bury myself in lessons, keeping my distance. But even in the quietest moments, she stood out. Every nervous glance, every hesitant step—an instinctive, instinctual pull that told me she was unbroken beneath the fear. I like unbroken things. They fascinate me. They challenge me.
She doesn't know it yet, of course. And I intend to keep it that way for now. There's no rush. This place will shape her. Or break her. And I will enjoy watching the process.
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I found her in the courtyard just as the last rays of sunlight spilled over the fountains. Her hands twisted the hem of her robe; she kept glancing at the sky as if it might answer all her questions if she asked politely enough.
I leaned casually against a column, keeping my shadow between us. I waited for her to notice me, to feel my presence, and she did—eventually.
"Father Moretti…" she said softly, startled, glancing around before realizing it was just me. Her voice was cautious, polite, but underneath I could hear the tremor of nervousness.
I let a slow smile tug at my lips. Dangerous? Perhaps. But not yet. I wanted her to be aware of me, to understand—subconsciously—that I was not like anyone else she had met here.
"You shouldn't be standing out here alone," I said, voice low, almost teasing.
"I… I just needed air," she replied, trying to sound composed. Her hands clutched at her robe, and I noticed the slight tremor in her fingers. A tiny detail, but telling.
"Air," I echoed softly, tilting my head. "It's funny. I've been here months, and I've yet to see anyone breathe freely in this place."
She blinked at me, startled, and for a moment, I allowed myself a small, deliberate amusement. Most of them would have stumbled over their words, collapsed into nervous laughter, or fled entirely. Not her, though. She faced me, hesitant, but she stayed.
"You…" I leaned a little closer, letting the shadows play across my face, "you're different from the others, aren't you? Fragile… yet unafraid to exist."
Her eyes widened, cheeks flushing. "I… I don't know what you mean."
I chuckled softly, a quiet, dark sound. "You do. Don't try to hide it. I can see everything. The fear, the hope, the… little sparks of defiance."
She swallowed. I could see it, the small rise and fall of her chest. The tremble in her lips. And I realized something rare: she trusts no one, yet she hasn't run. Not yet.
"That's dangerous," I murmured, stepping slightly closer. "Curiosity, courage… it's the sort of thing that kills people here. But it fascinates me."
Her breath caught, faint and audible. I could play with this. Tease her, just enough to pull her in.
"You seem… unprepared for this place," I said, tilting my head, letting the sunlight catch the gold of my hair. "Do you know what you're walking into, Sister Donovan?"
"I… I'm learning," she said, trying to keep her voice even, but I caught the quiver. I smiled inwardly.
"Learning," I repeated, letting the word linger between us. "It's funny. You think you're learning about rituals, prayers, obedience… but you're really learning about yourself. How much you can bear. How much fear you can survive before it consumes you."
Her lips parted slightly, and I could see her uncertainty, the vulnerability shining through like sunlight through a cracked window. And it was beautiful. Dangerous, yes. But beautiful.
I took a step closer. The faint scent of her soap, her innocence, reached me. I inhaled it subtly, letting it fill my senses. I don't usually indulge in such… distractions. But she called for it. Even without knowing.
"You have such… delicate hands," I murmured, reaching out a finger as if to trace a spot of dust on her robe, but letting it hover just above. Her hands flinched. Perfect.
"They… they are just hands," she whispered, voice barely audible.
"Just hands?" I raised an eyebrow. "I see hesitation, tension… restraint. Fear. And still you keep them open. That is… unusual."
She bit her lip, avoiding my gaze. I could see her pulse quicken, a soft tremor in her throat. Her instinct is to obey, to retreat—but I can tell she is curious too. Curious about me. I am certain of it.
"You are bold," I said quietly. "And naive."
Her eyes snapped to mine. "Naive?" she repeated, a hint of defiance creeping in despite the fear.
I smiled, faint and dangerous. "A wounded bird," I said softly, "sitting in the middle of a storm, unsure which way to fly. And yet… still here. Still breathing. Still unbroken."
Her face paled. She didn't know whether to be offended or… something else. That was the point.
"You're… strange," she whispered.
I chuckled low, almost a growl. "Perhaps. Or perhaps I simply see what others cannot. Fragile creatures like you are fascinating. And dangerous… in ways you cannot imagine."
Her lips pressed into a thin line. I could see the war in her eyes: fear, curiosity, fascination, a subtle thrill. I had found her limit. I had tested it without touching her, without moving too fast. And the spark in her gaze told me she was already addicted to it, even if she didn't know why.
"You… shouldn't be alone," she finally said, echoing my earlier words. Her voice was steadier now. Stronger. Still cautious, but more defiant than before.
"Perhaps," I murmured, "or perhaps you're learning something about survival. About people. About… temptation."
Her eyes widened at that, and I let the silence linger, drawing her in, letting her imagination fill the spaces between my words.
A sudden sound—Father Benedict calling from the other side of the courtyard—broke the tension. She flinched slightly, straightening up, smoothing her robes. I watched, amused, the instinctive fear, the sudden obedience.
"You'll see," I said quietly, stepping back into the shadows, "there is more to this place than chants and prayers. Much more. And it will test you… in ways you cannot yet understand."
Her lips parted as if to speak, but she didn't. She only watched me, unsure whether to be frightened or intrigued. I knew the answer. Soon, she would be both.
And I would be there, always, watching, teasing, guiding, tempting.
I left her then, letting the shadows hide my smile, letting her stew in curiosity and fear. She was fragile, yes, but not weak. And fragile things… fragile things often break the hardest when pressure is applied.
I would enjoy that.
The courtyard emptied as the sun set behind the cathedral. She walked away, head slightly bowed, hands clasped. My eyes followed her every step. She didn't know it yet, but she had already stepped into a game she could not win. And the most dangerous part? She didn't want to leave.
I could see it in her trembling fingers, in the way she glanced over her shoulder. The curiosity. The desire.
The naïve, wounded bird… was already in my talons.
And I had no intention of letting go.
To be continue...