The convent was so quiet.
Midnight had come and gone, the single toll of the bell vibrating through the stone walls like a summons from the depths. I slipped from my cell barefoot, the Eucharist chalice clutched to my chest under my robe like a stolen lover. Its gold rim pressed cold against my skin, a reminder of what I was about to defile. Guilt clawed at my throat, but the ache between my thighs pulsed hotter, slick already dampening my underlinen with every step up the winding stair to the bell tower.
I told myself I could stop. Turn back. Confess everything to Mother Superior at dawn and beg for penance, flogging, fasting, exile if needed. But my body betrayed me, n*****s tight and aching against the coarse wool, c**t throbbing like it remembered Lilith’s tongue and fingers and c**k
