Thorne.
There are certain rules a priest must not break—etched into the fabric of our calling, straight from the Church’s ancient bones.
We promise obedience to God, bending our will to the hierarchy like clay in the potter’s hands.
We vow to live simply, shunning the chains of wealth that could corrupt the soul.
And then there’s celibacy—the big one, the ironclad promise of chastity that demands we forsake marriage, s*x, the warm tangle of bodies in the night.
No wives, no lovers, no fleeting f***s to scratch the itch.
It’s supposed to keep us pure, focused on God’s flock instead of our own desires.
Break that, and you’re not just sinning; you’re fracturing the trust of every soul who looks to you for guidance.
Before Mia, I’d shattered just that one—celibacy, over and over,
