The sanctum beneath the palace was an ancient place—once a temple to a forgotten moon goddess, now a black chamber repurposed for sin.
Candles flickered with unnatural blue flame. Perfumed incense drifted lazily in the air, its sweetness clinging to the skin like fingers. A mirror—framed in ivory and laced with corruption runes—loomed at the far end, reflecting not light but desire.
Damien waited, alone in the center of the room.
He adjusted the collar of his black tunic, brushing imaginary dust from the front. His fingers tapped his thigh with casual anticipation. She's coming, he thought. And she doesn't even realize she wants this.
Right on cue, the door creaked open.
Celeste stepped inside.
She was as radiant as ever: white robes of the Inquisition embroidered with gold scripture, hugging her taut frame. Her bare feet pressed against the cold marble tiles without hesitation. Her braided silver hair shimmered in the light, and her violet eyes—so sharp and judgmental—immediately locked onto him.
"You," she said, voice cold as steel. "What is the meaning of this?"
Damien smiled. "Just a conversation. No need for the blade, Inquisitor."
Her hand hovered near her ceremonial dagger anyway. "Rosalind told me she uncovered heresy in the palace depths. Was that a lie?"
"She told the truth. The heresy," he said, stepping closer, "is you."
Celeste's nostrils flared. "You dare—"
"I dare everything," he interrupted, voice low and silky. "Because I see what you are beneath that armor of virtue. You're not here to save souls. You're here to test yours."
---
The door slammed shut behind her, locked from the outside. She whirled, fists clenched. "What is this trickery?"
"No trickery. Just honesty," Damien said, walking past her. "This room reveals the truth."
As he passed, the warmth of his body brushed against her robes. The scent on him—earthy musk, with something darker underneath—lingered. Her body reacted before her mind did. A flutter in her stomach. A tightening in her thighs.
She shook it off. "You'll pay for this. The Light sees—"
"Then let It watch," he said simply.
He raised his hand. The candles pulsed.
A magic circle beneath them flickered to life—subtle, invisible to most, but she felt it at once. Her divine aura stuttered, then dimmed. Her connection to the holy plane… muffled.
"What did you do?" she hissed, backing away.
"Just removed your armor," he said. "The one you wear around your soul."
---
He circled her slowly, like a wolf appraising wounded prey.
"You preach purity. Chastity. Restraint. But your body… your body is already betraying you."
"Lies—" she began.
"Look."
He gestured to the mirror. She turned—and gasped.
The mirror didn't show her standing tall and defiant. It showed her trembling, face flushed, lip bitten, legs quivering. A ghostly version of herself—kneeling, panting, aroused. Collar around her throat. Her holy robes pooled at her knees like spilled milk.
"Blasphemy," she said, stepping back.
"No. Fantasy."
He was closer now. His breath tickled her ear. "Tell me, Celeste. When you close your eyes at night… do you ever imagine being forced to kneel?"
Her hand lashed out—but he caught her wrist with almost lazy ease. Their bodies pressed together.
Her heartbeat thundered.
"Your pupils dilated. Your thighs clenched. Your breath hitched." He whispered each word into her neck. "The body doesn't lie."
"Get away from me," she growled, but it lacked force. Her voice shook.
Damien's free hand slid down her side—just above the curve of her hip. He didn't grope. He caressed. Teased. Claimed.
"Do you know what purity seals do when exposed to real pleasure?" he murmured.
His fingers brushed a glowing rune beneath the sheer white silk. It was carved into the inside of her thigh—etched in holy light since she was fifteen. A sign of unbroken virginity. A symbol of discipline.
It flared, flickered… then cracked.
Celeste gasped. "No—!"
Too late.
The glow burst in a soft blue spark, and suddenly her legs buckled. Her body trembled.
Her first orgasm hit her like a stolen kiss—brief, shattering, humiliating.
She sank to her knees, eyes wide, mouth open.
Damien crouched before her.
"You fought it for years," he said gently. "But your body remembered what it's meant for."
---
He didn't fuck her.
Not yet.
He ran his hands over her trembling form, untying her robe with ceremonial slowness. Every inch of revealed skin brought a fresh wave of heat to her face. Her body glowed with holy light, then flickered again—waning like a dying candle.
"You're… evil," she whimpered, but her hips bucked as his fingers ghosted up her inner thigh.
"Evil is just truth you're afraid to admit."
Her breasts spilled free—round, pale, each nipple pierced with a holy ring, still untouched… until now.
He leaned in and kissed one—softly. Reverently.
She moaned.
Her arms stayed limp. Her eyes locked on the mirror. Her reflection no longer resisted. It smiled, licking its own fingers.
"No more," she whispered.
Damien's hand slid lower—between her legs, where she was soaked, despite everything.
"No more," she moaned again, louder now.
And then he stopped.
Her eyes snapped open. "Wh—why did you—?"
He smiled.
"Because you don't get to finish. Not until you beg me. Not until you say it."
Her fists clenched against the marble.
"Say what?" she demanded, voice hoarse.
"That you want to fall."
Her silence was deafening.
He rose, turned, and began to walk away.
"No—!" she lunged, grabbing his cloak. Her face was flushed, her body aching, her thighs slick. She was breathing in ragged gasps.
"I… I want…"
He leaned down. "Louder."
She bit her lip so hard it bled. Her voice shook.
"I want… to fall."
And then—just before he touched her again—she screamed.
Light burst from her palms in a blinding wave. The magic circle cracked. Candles blew out.
Damien shielded his eyes as Celeste staggered to her feet, robe half-hanging, face streaked with tears and shame and want.
She looked at him one last time—torn, humiliated… aroused.
Then she ran.
---
From a hidden scrying mirror, Seraphina moaned.
Her legs were spread wide. Her golden crown sat askew on her forehead as her fingers moved in frantic circles between her thighs.
"She fell," she gasped. "She almost fell—"
Rosalind knelt beside her, smirking. "She's trembling already. Another touch, and she'll beg to wear your chains."
Seraphina came with a shudder, the divine pulse in her womb echoing the Inquisitor's unraveling.
Damien entered the chamber moments later, wiping his hands with a silk cloth.
"She ran," he said, amused.
"For now," Rosalind replied, licking her lips. "But she left a trail."