Desires & Heresy

The chapel was empty at this hour. The candles burned low, their soft glow stretching long shadows across the cold stone floor. Outside, the wind howled through the stained-glass windows, making the candlelight waver—like something unseen had slipped into the room.

Zane sat in the pews, one arm draped over the wooden backrest, fingers lazily tracing the grooves in the aged wood. He wasn't praying. He was waiting.

And soon enough—she arrived.

Sister Celeste.

She stepped inside hesitantly, her silver braid trailing over her shoulder, the white of her robe nearly glowing in the dim light. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, as if holding onto an invisible anchor. The fabric of her robe pressed gently against her curves—her slightly thick hips and soft thighs shaping the folds just enough to hint at what lay beneath.

Zane didn't turn to face her immediately. Instead, he let her watch him—let the tension settle between them.

Finally, he spoke, voice low. "Couldn't sleep?"

Celeste stiffened. "I—" She hesitated. "I wanted to speak with you."

Zane shifted, tilting his head slightly. "About?"

She swallowed, fingers tightening around the fabric of her robe. "Father Aldric spoke to me."

Ah. So the dog had made his move.

Zane exhaled through his nose, a slow, deliberate breath. "And what did he say?"

Celeste hesitated again. "That I should keep my distance from you."

Zane smiled, finally turning to look at her. "And yet… you came anyway."

Her lips parted, but she had no response.

Zane didn't need Insight (Lv. 1) to see the war raging inside her—the guilt, the doubt, the quiet, growing need she couldn't name. But as the ability pulsed in the back of his mind, he felt it more clearly. Her conflict wasn't just emotional anymore. It was physical.

Good.

He pushed off the pew and stood, walking toward her in slow, measured steps.

Celeste inhaled sharply, her fingers clenching before instinctively pressing against her chest—clutching at the fabric of her robe. The motion subtly framed the soft curves beneath, the rise and fall of her breath betraying just how unsteady she felt. But she didn't step back.

"You trust me, don't you?" Zane asked, his voice smooth, coaxing.

Celeste's throat bobbed as she swallowed. "…Yes."

His smile deepened. "Then let me show you something."

Before she could protest, he reached for her wrist—gentle, firm. Not pulling. Just guiding.

She followed.

He led her to the small library tucked behind the chapel, where the scent of aged parchment mixed with the faint trace of burning wax. The air here was warmer, quieter, isolated from the outside world.

Zane stopped in front of a tall bookshelf, his grip on her wrist loosening but not releasing. "Tell me, Sister Celeste," he murmured. "Do you ever question what you're taught?"

Her blue eyes widened. "I—I shouldn't."

Zane, "But you do."

A sharp breath. She looked away. "That's why I pray."

Zane hummed, amused. "Does it help?"

She didn't answer.

His hand trailed lower, fingers brushing the edge of her sleeve. Her pulse quickened beneath his touch.

"Doubt is natural, Celeste," he murmured, stepping closer—just enough that the warmth of his body seeped through the space between them. "Even the most devoted struggle."

She shivered. Not from the cold.

"I…" She exhaled shakily. "I don't want to struggle."

Zane tilted his head. "Then let me take it away."

He raised a hand, cupping her jaw lightly, tilting her face toward him. His thumb brushed her skin, lingering just beneath her chin, the faintest pressure making her lips part instinctively.

Celeste's breath hitched. Her fingers curled against the bookshelf behind her, knuckles white. In her flustered movement, she barely noticed the way she shifted forward—just enough for her chest to brush against him. A fleeting touch, the softest press of fabric against fabric, but Zane felt it. Perky, firm… just enough to make him wonder.

C-cup? 

The thought flickered through his mind, amusement curling at the edges of his thoughts.

"I—I shouldn't be here," she whispered.

Zane's gaze flicked downward—just for a second, just enough to let the moment stretch. Then, his lips curled.

"But you are."

Her lips parted, but she had no words.

Zane leaned in—not touching, not yet—just close enough for her to feel the heat of his breath against her cheek. "Say the word, and I'll stop."

Silence.

A long, agonizing silence.

Then—

"…I don't know what to say," she whispered.

Zane smirked.

That was enough.

He shifted closer, pressing his palm flat against the shelf beside her, caging her in. Not forcing, not demanding—just there.

Celeste tensed, trapped between him and the bookshelf, her every breath shaky and uneven. With each rise and fall of her chest, her soft breasts brushed against him—subtle, fleeting, but there.

Beneath her robes, her thick thighs pressed together, shifting slightly as if trying to find relief. The fabric stretched, bunching just a little where they met, outlining the soft squeeze. Each nervous shift only made it worse—made her more aware. 

Zane noticed.

He leaned in, his lips barely an inch from her ear. "You want to understand, don't you?"

Celeste's nails dug into the wood behind her. "I—I shouldn't want this."

"But you do."

Her breath caught.

Zane let the moment stretch, let her body betray her, let Insight (Lv. 1) whisper her emotions into his mind.

Need. Fear. Longing. Confusion.

He exhaled slowly, letting his breath ghost over the side of her neck, the warmth teasing the delicate skin just beneath her ear. A spot untouched—sensitive. "Do you want me to leave?"

Another pause.

Celeste didn't answer.

Zane smiled, shifting back just slightly, forcing her to meet his gaze. Her lips were parted, her pupils blown wide.

She doesn't even realize how much she's sinking.

He brushed a loose strand of hair from her cheek. "You don't have to fight yourself, Celeste."

She shuddered.

But then—

Footsteps.

Her entire body jerked. She gasped, eyes snapping toward the door.

Someone was coming.

Panic flickered across her face. "I—I have to go," she breathed.

Zane didn't stop her. But as she turned, he caught her wrist again—gently, barely holding on.

She froze.

Slowly, he lifted her hand, bringing it between them. Her fingers trembled.

Then, he pressed his lips to her knuckles—slow, deliberate, burning.

Celeste gasped—soft, barely audible, but unmistakable.

Her knees almost buckled.

Zane smiled against her skin.

"I'll be waiting," he murmured.

Then he let go.

Celeste pulled back as if burned, her face flushed, her breath shallow.

She turned and fled.

But just before she disappeared through the chapel doors—

She glanced back.

[HOLY CORRUPTION SYSTEM]

[Celeste Corruption: 50%] – Emotionally attached. Trusts you more than herself.

[Progression Reward: New Skill ~Gentle Persuasion] – Lowers resistance through gentle touch.

Zane exhaled, leaning back against the bookshelf, watching the empty doorway.

His smirk widened.

She wouldn't resist much longer.