The morning air was cold, sharp against my skin as I walked through the cloistered corridors of Saint Maria's. My fingers clutched the edges of my robe, trying to anchor myself against the tremor in my hands. Sleep had been restless; my dreams haunted by the golden eyes—or rather, the piercing blue ones—of Leonardo Moretti. I tried to tell myself it was just imagination, that I had misread his gaze, but my chest betrayed me. My heart had recognized something in him—danger, power, temptation—and I could not forget.
"Good morning, Sister Donovan."
I froze mid-step. The voice was quiet, almost velvet, yet sharp enough to slice through the residual haze of sleep.
"I… good morning, Father Moretti," I replied, lowering my gaze. My cheeks warmed immediately.
He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, casual but deliberate. "You look… tense."
"I… I am adjusting to the schedule," I murmured, trying to sound composed. The words sounded hollow, even to me.
"Adjusting," he repeated, his tone teasing, carrying just the slightest edge of amusement. "Do you always work so hard to appear… competent?"
"I…" I faltered. Why was he questioning me? Why did his presence make my voice tremble when I had spoken to so many people before without thought? "I try."
He smiled faintly, the expression almost predatory. "Good. That's all anyone can do… for now."
I forced my legs to move past him, following the narrow hallway toward the lesson chamber. My stomach churned as I entered the small room, lit by a high window that spilled golden light across the wooden floor. The faint smell of polished wood and incense lingered, grounding me even as my nerves fluttered like trapped birds.
He followed silently, closing the door behind him with a soft click. My pulse quickened. Even the act of closing a door with him in the room felt intimate.
"You may sit," he said, gesturing toward a chair at the center of the room.
I hesitated, as if stepping into the chair might somehow give him more power over me than he already had. Finally, I sank onto the hard seat, hands folded tightly in my lap.
He circled the room slowly, eyes scanning, measuring. There was nothing overt in his movements, yet every step was deliberate, calculated, carrying an unspoken weight. I felt exposed under his gaze, as though he could see every thought, every fear, every weakness I had spent my life hiding.
"You are nervous," he stated, as though it were an observation rather than a question.
"Yes," I admitted softly. My lips trembled. "I… I am new. Everything is… overwhelming."
"Everything," he repeated, leaning slightly closer, so that his shadow brushed my arm. "And yet you remain… upright. Calm enough to listen. Alert enough to notice details. That is… impressive, Sister Donovan."
My fingers clenched in my lap, fighting a shiver that wasn't entirely from the cold. "I… I try to do my best."
He crouched slightly, tilting his head as though examining a rare, delicate bird. "Do you know why I watch you so closely?"
I shook my head, voice caught in my throat.
"Because you are… fragile," he said softly, almost reverently. "And yet there is something in you that refuses to break. That curiosity. That little spark that whispers, I can survive this."
The way he spoke made my heart hammer in my chest. His words felt like a caress and a challenge at once. I wanted to flee, yet I couldn't. Something in his presence drew me in, irresistible and terrifying.
"I… I don't understand," I admitted, feeling small, exposed.
"You will," he murmured, straightening and moving slowly around the room. "Everything here is a lesson. Not just in prayers or rituals… but in understanding yourself. Knowing what frightens you… what excites you… what tempts you."
My cheeks flamed. My stomach twisted in unfamiliar ways. Temptation. He had used that word deliberately, and it carried a weight I could not ignore.
"I… I am here to learn," I said, though my voice wavered. "Not… not to…"
"To falter?" he suggested quietly, stepping close enough that I could feel the faint brush of his coat against my shoulder. "Do you think temptation only exists in sinless books? That it doesn't reach into places like this?"
I swallowed hard, my lips dry. "I… I… I don't know."
He crouched slightly, lowering his voice so that only I could hear, every word deliberate. "You are curious, aren't you? About me. About this place. About the things you are not allowed to feel."
I wanted to deny it, to assert that I was strong, disciplined, faithful—but the truth was a whisper I could not contain. Yes. I was curious. More than that, I was drawn to him in ways I could not yet comprehend. My chest tightened. My pulse raced. And just being near him made the words I wanted to speak vanish.
"Look at me," he commanded softly.
I hesitated. My instincts screamed caution. But something in the depths of me—some desperate, reckless part—forced my eyes to meet his.
"Good," he said quietly, a slow, approving smile tugging at his lips. "You cannot hide from me. That is… fortunate."
I shivered again. There was an edge to him, a danger I could not name. And yet, there was something intoxicating in the way he looked at me. Something that made me ache to be seen, to be understood… even if it terrified me.
He circled me slowly, eyes flicking to the small details: the way my fingers twitched, the slight tremor in my knees, the faint blush on my cheeks. Each movement was measured, teasing, deliberate.
"You are careful," he noted, voice low. "Polite, proper. But I see the hesitation… the struggle inside you. You want to obey… but there is a part of you that wants more. To test boundaries. To step into danger."
I couldn't speak. The truth hung between us like a fragile glass ornament, easily shattered. My heart raced, my mind whirring with questions I did not dare ask.
"Do you know what that is?" he whispered, leaning just slightly closer. "That little spark inside you… the one that refuses to be contained? That is desire. Curiosity. Fear. All of it tangled together. And it is beautiful."
I swallowed hard, suddenly aware of the closeness, of the warmth radiating from him. My pulse thrummed in my ears. I wanted to flee… yet I could not. I wanted to speak… yet the words lodged in my throat.
"Do you always… speak like that?" I managed finally, voice trembling.
"Sometimes," he said softly, a faint smile playing on his lips. "But mostly, I watch. And I wait. Let people reveal themselves at their own pace. Especially delicate creatures like you."
Delicate. The word made me flinch, though I did not step back. Instead, I lowered my gaze, hands clenching in my lap. Delicate, fragile… I was all of those things. And yet, here he was, seeing right through me.
"You are bold," he continued, almost teasing, "even when you don't realize it. You've survived more than most, and yet you still trust. You still hope. That is… remarkable. And foolish."
"Foolish?" I echoed softly.
"Yes," he said, tilting his head, the sunlight catching his hair. "Because trust and hope make you vulnerable. And vulnerable things… are fun to watch."
I felt my cheeks burn. His words were deliberate, teasing, dangerous. Every sentence was a test, a subtle push, a way of seeing how far I could be stretched without breaking.
"I… I don't understand you," I admitted, voice trembling slightly. "You… you frighten me. And yet… I cannot look away."
He chuckled softly, a dark, low sound that made my chest tighten. "That is exactly what I intended, Sister Donovan. Fear… fascination… desire. All intertwined. That is how lessons are learned here. By understanding what you cannot yet name… by feeling what you are not yet ready to accept."
I wanted to flee, to hide, to pretend I was strong and faithful. But the words, the warmth, the presence… I could not. My heart betrayed me, hammering in my chest, and I felt myself lean forward slightly, drawn in by forces I barely understood.
"You will learn," he whispered, almost to himself, as he stepped back into the shadows. "You will learn how dangerous you can be… and how dangerous I can be… for you."
The weight of his words lingered long after he left the room. I sat there, trembling, my hands clasped tightly, my mind whirling. My heart screamed, my soul trembled, and I realized something terrifying: I was already caught in his orbit.
And there was no escape.
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