Desires & Heresy

The air in the cathedral was suffocating.

Eleanor barely had time to process before Zane stepped forward, closing the space between them with slow, measured steps.

"You spoke with Lady Viviana," he said, his tone unreadable.

Eleanor hesitated. "Y—Yes."

Zane sighed—a deep, slow breath, as if the words physically pained him. His fingers curled slightly at his side, his amber eyes darkening with something unreadable.

"I told her not to tell you…"

The way he said it—not with anger, but with regret.

That hesitation. That flicker of uncertainty in Eleanor's golden eyes—he saw it. Felt it.

She had come here expecting answers. Instead, she was getting something far more dangerous.

She just didn't realize it yet.

Zane turned slightly, exhaling as if fighting an internal battle. His posture stiffened, tense, like he was holding something back.

"Eleanor… I have committed a sin."

[Conviction (Activated)]

Her breath hitched. "What?"

His jaw clenched, his head tilting downward, voice thick with emotion.

"A sin of loving you. A sin of cherishing our time together. A sin of…" His voice faltered, just slightly. "Maybe I didn't kill Gregor for justice. Maybe I did it… for you."

Eleanor's body went still.

Her mind stopped.

She had spent days, weeks, drowning in guilt over what had happened that night. But never—not once—had she thought of it that way.

He was lying.

…Wasn't he?

Zane lifted his gaze to hers, and for the first time, his carefully crafted mask cracked.

Or at least, that's what he made her believe.

"You were suffering," he murmured. "He was in the way. And I…" His breath came out shaky, as if the confession pained him. "I let my emotions take over. I let myself be selfish."

The way he said it—so raw, so heavy, so burdened—made Eleanor's chest tighten.

It was wrong. All of it was wrong.

She should be angry. She should deny it, should tell him he was twisting the truth.

But she couldn't.

Because deep down, a part of her—a part she had buried beneath duty and prayer—wanted to believe it.

She wanted to believe someone would do something like that… for her.

"I am the true sinner, Eleanor," Zane whispered, stepping closer. "And sinners must be punished."

His hand disappeared into his robes.

A dagger.

Eleanor's stomach dropped.

Zane pulled the blade out slowly, deliberately, as if the very act itself was excruciating.

Her lips parted, but no sound came out.

His amber eyes softened, filled with something tragic. Broken. His grip on the dagger tightened, white-knuckled.

"I shall pay with my death."

The blade turned inward—toward his own chest.

Eleanor's pulse slammed against her ribs.

Her vision blurred at the edges.

The dagger inched closer.

A single moment.

A single second.

Then—

"No!"

She moved before she even realized it.

Her hands flew to his wrist, gripping him tightly.

Zane froze.

Not because she had stopped him.

But because she was touching him. Holding him back.

Her body was closer now, trembling, her golden eyes wide, panicked.

"Don't," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Please… don't."

She wasn't just stopping him.

She was saving him.

And that was all he needed.

Zane's lips curled into the faintest of smirks.

She was his now.

Completely.

The dagger clattered to the floor, forgotten.

Zane's fingers ghosted over Eleanor's trembling hands, still clutching his wrist. He could feel the pulse beneath her skin—rapid, erratic, proof of how deeply she had unraveled.

"You stopped me," he murmured.

Eleanor swallowed, struggling for words.

"You… you didn't mean it," she whispered.

Zane tilted his head slightly, his smirk barely there. "Didn't I?"

His other hand lifted, brushing away a stray strand of golden hair that had fallen across her cheek. His touch was slow, deliberate—light as a feather, but heavy with intent.

Eleanor didn't pull away.

Not this time.

Not anymore.

"You saved me, Eleanor," Zane murmured, his voice thick with something intimate. "But what about you?"

Her breath hitched.

Zane's hand drifted lower, trailing from her cheek, down the curve of her neck. His fingers pressed lightly against the pulse at her throat, feeling the way it fluttered beneath his touch.

"You're still suffering," he whispered, dipping his head slightly, his lips just a breath away from her skin.

Eleanor shivered.

She should step back.

She should leave.

But she stayed.

Zane's hand drifted lower, over the smooth expanse of her robe, pressing just lightly against the curve of her waist. The fabric was thick, meant to shield, to protect.

Yet right now, it felt paper-thin.

"Eleanor," he whispered again, his lips brushing the shell of her ear.

A shuddering exhale left her lips.

"Let me take your suffering away."

She clenched her hands into fists, trembling. "This is… This isn't right."

Zane smiled softly.

"Then why are you still here?"

Silence.

Because she had no answer.

Because she knew.

Because despite everything—despite the weight of the gods, the faith she had carried, the righteousness she had clung to—she wanted this.

Zane exhaled slowly, his hand drifting higher, resting just beneath her chest. His fingers curled slightly, pressing through the fabric, as if testing.

"You don't have to fight anymore," he murmured.

She shuddered.

And then—

She let go.

Her hands, which had been clenched tightly, slowly relaxed.

Her shoulders, once stiff with resistance, softened.

And when Zane leaned in, brushing his lips against the sensitive spot just beneath her ear—

She didn't stop him.

Her head tilted slightly, a silent invitation.

A silent surrender.

Zane pulled back just enough to look at her.

Her golden eyes were hazy now, her lips parted, her breath uneven.

But more than that—she looked lost.

Not in doubt.

Not in hesitation.

But in him.

Zane lifted a hand, wiping away the single tear that had slipped down her cheek.

The last remnant of the faith she had abandoned.

Then, he leaned down, his voice nothing more than a sinful whisper.

"Now, let me show you how sinful I am."

[Eleanor Corruption: 98%]

[Progression Reward: "Rhythm"] – The host's movements sync perfectly with the partner's body, heightening pleasure and making resistance impossible.

[Time Left: 2 months, 9 days]