The convent was silent past midnight, save for the whisper of candle flames flickering in the dimly lit chapel. Incense lingered in the air, clinging to the cold stone walls, mingling with something warmer, something metallic.
Something forbidden.
Sister Miriam knelt before the altar, hands clasped tightly, her breath shallow, uneven. Beneath the heavy folds of her habit, her thighs trembled, slick with sweat and something darker. The scent filled her lungs, hot and unmistakable, staining the white cloth beneath her knees.
Sin. It was sin.
She had tried to cleanse herself, scrubbing at her skin until it burned, whispering prayers until her throat was raw. But the shame had only deepened, curling low in her belly, a sick ache of guilt and hunger intertwined.
“You are trembling, Sister.”
Miriam gasped, her head snapping up.
Sister Catherine stood at the entrance of the chapel, watching. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across her face, turning the soft curves of her features into something almost… predatory. Her lips curled in the barest hint of a smile as she stepped closer, her presence suffocating in the vast, empty space.
Miriam’s voice wavered. “I, I was just…”
Catherine knelt before her, close enough that their robes brushed together. Her gaze flicked downward, landing on the deep red stain between Miriam’s thighs. Understanding dawned in her dark eyes, but there was no disgust. No judgment. Only curiosity.
Miriam tried to pull away, but Catherine’s fingers caught her wrist, firm and unyielding.
“You were praying,” Catherine murmured, tilting her head. “Praying to be cleansed?”
Miriam swallowed hard. “Yes. I…”
A thumb traced the inside of her palm, slow, deliberate. “But your body does not want to be cleansed, does it?”
Heat flared across Miriam’s skin, shame curling tighter around her ribs. “It is filth,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “An impurity.”
Catherine exhaled a soft chuckle. “Is it? Or is it an offering?“
Miriam’s breath caught, her pulse hammering. Catherine’s hand slid lower, pressing against the damp fabric between her thighs, fingers grazing the warmth there. A shock of pleasure pulsed through her, a betrayal of her own body.
“Tell me,” Catherine murmured, lips brushing against her ear. “If it is filth… why does it make you tremble?”
Miriam shuddered, caught between revulsion and need. The scent was dizzying, intoxicating, curling between them like incense from a burning altar.
Catherine smiled against her skin. “Perhaps,” she whispered, slipping her fingers into the stain, dragging them up, smearing crimson between them both, “we should not waste such a sacred thing.”
And as Miriam gasped, half in horror, half in unbearable want, Catherine guided her shaking hands forward. To taste.
Miriam’s lips trembled as her fingers brushed against the red-stained fabric, hesitating, the weight of her sin pressing heavy against her ribs. But Catherine did not allow hesitation. Her grip was firm, guiding, pressing Miriam’s fingers to her lips.
“You must not fear what He has given you,” Catherine whispered, her voice thick with something wicked. “If this is impure, then why does it make you ache?”
Miriam whimpered, her mouth parting, her body betraying her. She could taste it now, salt, iron, warmth, proof of her own existence, of her weakness, of her hunger.
Catherine exhaled slowly, pleased, her own fingers trailing up Miriam’s throat, tilting her chin up, forcing her to meet her gaze. “Good girl.”
Miriam’s breath came in short gasps, her mind spinning, her body burning with the weight of her shame. She should pull away. She should run. But Catherine’s touch was fire, her presence suffocating, her voice a slow, deliberate hymn of sin.
“We were taught to fear our bodies,” Catherine murmured, leaning in, her lips barely a whisper away. “But tell me, Sister… does this feel like something to fear?”
Her fingers dragged lower, smearing red against white, marking Miriam further, branding her in ways that could never be undone.
Miriam’s moan was soft, helpless, lost beneath the candlelight and the taste of ruin.
And Catherine smiled. “Then let us worship.“
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