Desires & Heresy

The garden was quiet, save for the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze and the occasional murmur of conversation. A round stone table sat at the center, where a small gathering of priests and priestesses shared the morning meal—tea, biscuits, and a rare moment of leisure before their duties resumed.

Zane sat among them, blending in as effortlessly as ever.

Six of them were present—Father Lucian, a few other priests, and two priestesses, one of whom was Priestess Beatrice.

She was in her early forties, but time had only deepened her beauty. Her features were soft yet striking—high cheekbones, full lips, and eyes that held a quiet confidence. Age had not withered her; it had only shaped her, adding a richness to her curves.

She was sitting now, her robes doing little to hide the fullness of her figure. Wide, shapely hips that looked like they would sway with every step, a heavy chest that strained subtly against the fabric, her full breasts still firm despite the years. Her waist remained narrow, accentuating the lushness of her body, and though her attire was modest, it couldn't conceal the way her curves pressed against it. Even in stillness, she exuded an effortless sensuality, a presence that demanded to be noticed.

Zane had noticed her before, but today, she would serve a purpose.

The conversation meandered between mundane topics—recent repairs to the chapel roof, minor disputes among the clergy—but nothing that interested him. He had little patience for idle chatter, but he waited, sipping his tea, letting them grow comfortable.

It wasn't until he subtly steered the conversation toward Aldric that he met resistance.

Father Lucian merely shook his head. "The past is the past."

One of the priests coughed uncomfortably, glancing away.

Priestess Beatrice remained silent, but Zane caught the brief hesitation in her movements—the way her fingers toyed with the rim of her cup, the slight tightening of her jaw.

She knew something.

But this was neither the time nor place to press further.

One by one, the others finished their tea and biscuits, rising to return to their duties. Zane followed suit, moving to leave, when—

"Father Elias."

He turned. Lucian.

"If you're curious about Aldric's past, speak with Priestess Beatrice. She knows more than any of us."

Zane's gaze flickered to Beatrice. She stiffened, but quickly masked it behind a polite smile.

He returned it with one of his own. 

The study hall was quiet, a far cry from the open garden. Beatrice sat at one of the wooden tables, her posture composed, though there was an edge of tension in her shoulders. The soft candlelight cast shadows over her features, highlighting the curve of her cheek, the fullness of her lips pressed together in thought.

Zane took a seat beside her, resting his elbow on the table, head tilted slightly. "I appreciate you taking the time, Priestess."

She folded her hands in her lap, the movement drawing his eye—long, delicate fingers clasped together, resting against the flowing fabric of her robes. Even in stillness, the material hugged her in places, emphasizing the lushness of her figure in a way that no modest attire could fully conceal.

"If Father Lucian said I could help, then I will."

A predictable response. Obligation, not willingness. That wouldn't do.

He leaned in slightly—not close enough to alarm her, but enough to make her aware of his presence. The warmth between them was subtle, but undeniable. "But you hesitate," he observed, voice smooth. "Why?"

Beatrice exhaled slowly, the gentle rise and fall of her chest evident beneath the layered fabric of her robes. "Because it is not my place to speak of another's past."

A pause.

Then she added, softer, "Especially when it caused so much pain."

Zane hummed thoughtfully.

Pain.

He let silence stretch, watching her, waiting. Let her fill the gaps herself.

And she did.

"Aldric… was different, once," she admitted. "Before his devotion hardened into what it is now."

Her hands clenched slightly in her lap. "He loved someone."

Zane didn't move, didn't react—but inwardly, he smiled.

There it is.

"A woman?" he asked, voice just curious enough to sound harmless.

Beatrice hesitated. Then—a nod.

"She was part of the clergy, but… their relationship was never meant to be."

Zane could hear the unsaid words.

Forbidden. Doomed from the start.

Beatrice's lips pressed together. "She chose to leave. Aldric did not."

He understood immediately. She left, and Aldric buried himself in faith to cope.

But this was not enough. He needed more.

Zane reached out, brushing his fingers over the back of her hand. A fleeting touch. Soft. Measured.

[Gentle Persuasion (Activated)]

Beatrice inhaled sharply.

She didn't pull away.

"You've held this for a long time, haven't you?" Zane murmured, voice dipping lower. "The burden of knowing. The weight of silence."

Her lips parted slightly. A confession poised at the tip of her tongue.

He applied the smallest bit of pressure, thumb tracing the delicate bones of her wrist.

[Insight (Lv. 1)]

A pulse of emotion. Guilt. Longing. A quiet, aching loneliness.

Beatrice wasn't just carrying someone else's secret—she had one of her own.

Zane smiled inwardly.

He let the silence linger, let the moment stretch until the weight of it became too much.

And then—she spoke.

"She didn't just leave," Beatrice whispered. "She left because she was with child."

Zane stilled.

Then, slowly, his lips curved. 

Aldric had a child?

No—a child that never came to be.

A lover who had fled, a life that had slipped through his fingers, leaving him to drown in faith as a means of penance.

Zane couldn't have asked for a better weakness.

Beatrice exhaled shakily, as if releasing a weight she had carried for too long. Her fingers trembled slightly before she clasped them together again, as if trying to hold herself steady.

Zane gave her hand one last, lingering touch before pulling away, offering nothing but a reassuring smile. "Thank you for trusting me with this."

She nodded, swallowing hard, her gaze lingering on his.

He could push further. Take more.

But he didn't.

Not because he lacked the ability—but because she was not worth the effort.

[Corruption Target: Celeste] 

A shame.

But she had served her purpose.

Across the hall, Celeste paused at the sight before her.

Zane, leaning in close to Priestess Beatrice.

She couldn't hear their conversation, but she saw the way Beatrice looked at him. The way her hands trembled slightly in her lap.

A pang of something sharp twisted in Celeste's chest.

Her fingers curled around the edge of her robes, a quiet, uncertain tension settling in her bones.

She had come to speak to him. But now, an unfamiliar pressure settled in her chest—sharp, suffocating. She turned before she could understand why, retreating down the corridor before she could think twice.

Zane saw her.

He knew.

And he let her go.

Alone in his chambers, Zane leaned back against his chair, fingers tapping idly against the wooden desk.

Aldric's secret was more than just a past mistake.

It was a wound that had never fully healed.

And wounds were so very easy to reopen.

A slow smirk curled at his lips.

"You're already finished, Aldric. You just don't know it yet."

[Celeste Corruption: 70%]

[Progression Reward for Target Corruption: +2 Holy Influence]

[Reward for discovering Aldric's weakness: Eloquence (Lv. 1)]