Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Following the directions to a T, you find yourself standing outside an ultimately underwhelming door nestled in the old wing of the church. Much unlike the grandiose manner of the official papal chambers located in the rectory, there were no intricate carvings of saints purging in hell flames and definitely no sign of a brightly polished golden handle. The door that stood before you was utterly plain and particularly hidden away; hence the need for directions. The only distinguishing feature was the snake, similar to the one on the key, engraved into the metal base around the door knob—chasing itself in ouroboros. His room was situated on a sidewall just at the mouth of a short dead end that hadn’t seen the business side of a broom in what seemed like a few decades.

“Papa Nihil wasn’t joking when he said ‘in pectore’, this guy’s as off grid as you can get in this place,” you mumble to yourself and to the vacant dark hallway that surrounds you. Being a less populated section of the church, the halls were somewhat unkempt with peeling wallpaper and torn or otherwise obscured old paintings of who knows what lost to time. Vague human figures appear blackened out by some dark substance that did not come away easily from the portraits; rubbing at the surface with your finger has no effect. Even the ceiling had been covered by some blank drapery that had been collecting dust for some unspecified number of years. Is this really where the current successor is staying? Some old unused storage room in the old wing of the church? 

You poke your head around the corner that leads to a similarly remote hall and hear distant echoes, probably coming from somewhere better traveled. 

You clench your palm into a fist and bring it to the face of the door, but freeze at the thought of meeting those eyes again. The image of burning depth in his white eye, and the soft tenderness in the green made apparent its place in your psyche—granting a lukewarm chill to seize your spine. A strange sense of fight or flight burrowed into you, you couldn’t tell whether you were frightened by the strange man or intrigued by him; perhaps a little bit of both? There is a fine line that separates the two, and he’s perched you atop that tightrope almost completely against your will. Although it seemed to be by some will unbeknownst to you, you weren’t completely free of blame; you did look back after all. You looked back as your brothers and sisters fled without a second thought, and perhaps that is where your fault lies. Perhaps if you left with the masses, if you’d given the Cardinal no second thought, then you wouldn’t be affected by him. Wouldn’t be thinking much of your current situation in the way that you are now; nothing to cause you pause in any way. It might even have been easy with your experience of serving the Papas before him. If he’d been anyone else this would have been as easy as breathing. Your perplexing feelings whir within you as you ready yourself to confront those eyes again.

The spiraling sconce that accompanied the door closely, the only real source of light besides that from the waning sunbeams muffled and shrouded by thin cloth coverings pinned to the windows, flickered tiresomely with a slight buzzing sound. The combination of the two was particularly obnoxious, having the potential to cause a headache if one were to dawdle in its presence. Snapping out of your haze of restless intangible thought, and coming back to your senses, you strike the door three times with the crest of your knuckles… No answer. You were certain to have knocked hard and distinctly enough that if anyone were inside they would have heard you, but rather than immediately opening the door you give another sequence of knocks just to be sure. Again, you’re met with no response; none at all. 

While the location isn’t much like the Papas’, his attitude about guests seems similar so far, you can’t help but compare. Because you received no answer from the Cardinal it’s now up to you to intrude on his peace—enter his domain. With the other Papas this would be nothing to me, but the Cardinal is… you’re hesitant to proceed. Taking a deep breath to steel your nerves and shutting your eyes, you linger with your fist still curled as if to strike the door for a minute before turning the key over in your hand a few times.

With a wavering hand you slide the key into the lock and turn it, receiving a click in response. You grip the handle of the door and twist it all the way to the side, ensuring that the latch has been drawn back far enough to minimize the sound of your reluctant entry. As the door gave way to your force on it the hinges creaked with submission of intrusion. The door had only been halfway ajar before you spotted him. He sat lax in an armchair across from a moderate fire cooking in a mid-sized hearth, his nose in an old looking leather bound book. Much alike to his predecessors, he either didn’t hear you knock, or couldn’t be bothered to let you in. He had rid himself of his vestments, instead wearing the clothes beneath his red cassock—red slacks with a black, partially buttoned, dress shirt. The hand that gripped the book and the other that slouched across the arm rest were similarly wrapped in leather—off black—embroidered with the symbol of the grucifix. He muttered somewhere under his breath to himself about the contents of the text inches out from his face. He had a handsome manner in his posture, easy in his chair yet studying his literature with such fervor. It was apparent that you found yourself immediately attracted to him. He was too far when you noticed him in the foyer and too frightening when he held you in his gaze, but now at this distance you can truly appreciate his looks.

“Good evening, Cardinal,” you greet him as you would any member of the clergy, doing your best to tame the trembling in your limbs. He hasn’t even set you ablaze yet and you’re already cowering in anticipation or some treacherous thrill; you can’t be sure which.

“Ay!” Half falling out of his chair, he exclaims in surprise, dropping his partner in deliberation to the floor. His eyes widen at you in astonishment, lacking that certain intensity he had when he first set them upon you. “Sister!? Please knock before you enter.”

“I did… twice.”

“Oh,” he puffs while grabbing at the book below, and standing to receive your presence. “My apologies Sister, I was deep in thought,” he lets out a sigh while smoothing his hair back. 

“I could tell,” you chuckle lightly at his mannerisms, soothed by his awkward maneuvers. Not something you’d expect of the man in front of you, but you really didn’t know what to expect. He’d been awkward before when you saw him in the foyer, and again when he introduced himself to the clergy at large, but you had been fixating on that brief moment of concern and heat you felt before scurrying off with the crowd. At this moment he was absolutely sheepish in his approach and you couldn’t help but find that somewhat charming in itself.

Copia’s expression shifts from one of surprise to a relaxed smile when he hears your laugh. He looks at you for some time, studying your face with a pinched brow. “So,” he clasps his gloved hands at his front with a creak in the leather. “What brings you to my room tonight, Sister, perhaps a spiritual counseling session?” he propositioned you earnestly, lacking any innuendo that might have been misconstrued in the manner of his question. It seems he was already looking forward to guiding his flock, but you weren’t here for that.

“Actually, Cardinal, I’m here at your service as your chambermaid,” the same spiel you’ve used before for the previous Papas, but it has a different feeling when it’s just you and the Cardinal; no team of five or ten others to act as a buffer. Such a team wouldn’t be needed to service such an intimate, humble dwelling. “Sister Imperator has instructed me to do so. She gave me the key to your room and insisted I introduce myself tonight. When you didn’t answer I let myself in,” you flash an apologetic smile to punctuate your words. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”

“Ha!” he scoffs. “I’ve never needed one before, and now all of a sudden here you are. Must be the perks of being next in line, no?” He places the book on a nearby side table and approaches you. “Unfortunately you’ve come so late in the day, little one, and more than a maid servant I need a, uh,” he pauses, searching for the right thing to say, “study buddy,” he smiles, satisfied that he found the correct term in English. Once again, he inspects your face, now at a much shorter distance. Is it possible that he recognized you from this morning?

“Study buddy?” you ask, a little confused.

“Sì, I’ve been given the opportunity to lead tomorrow’s Mass as my proper introduction, and after today… Oy,” he shoots a glance to the side briefly as he recalls the rather brutal reception of the congregation.

You can’t help but smile at his humble display, “I’d be honored to help you with this, Cardinal.”

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” he gestures you to enter. 

Was this a trick, a trap? Inviting you into his room like this? Studying his face, he seemed expectant in a similar way to a child. 

With some kind of resolve you oblige, entering and pulling the short footstool close to the chair he’d been making use of to sit, patting the seat beside you as to invite him to do the same. Shutting the door with a somewhat ominous click, he makes his way over after you and reclines in his seat once more. It’s strange how at ease you feel now, as opposed to just this morning, was this really the same Cardinal? This Cardinal seemed safe and sweet, someone you felt perfectly comfortable with at your side. As he took his seat he reopened his book, searching for the right passage to perform. 

“Sister, at this moment you’re my window into the hearts of those in the congregation, how do you suggest I go about this?” He asks, before flipping the page he’d been reading before your arrival. Casting his eyes on you, waiting for your instruction. You avert your gaze out of some molecule of fear still nestled in your stomach.

“The clergy,” you start, giving it some thought before you answer. “The people of the clergy like to be commanded, if you can’t command the room they’ll have apprehensions about this new change. They just lost three Papas all in one day; they need someone to command them—to ensure them that it’ll all be okay,” you explain, having watched sisters and brothers alike anguish over the abruptness of losing their much beloved Papas.

He leaned to his side to rest his elbow on the arm of the chair, placing his chin on his thumb, and tapped his tightly closed lips with his gloved index finger. “I understand, they’re feeling lost.” He pauses, processing what you said. “I don’t exactly have the confidence in myself to fill these shoes,” he sinks his brow into the cupped palm of his hand.

Fuck, I made it worse! You need to reassure him, to ease his stress regarding the situation, and fast. Inadvertently, you caused more tension in the freshly christened man which can be studied in his stiff posture. You move to get a little closer, hoping to build his confidence with some encouraging words.

What you said next wasn’t exactly thought out, feeling a sense of urgency, you say the most comforting thing you can muster.

“I may not know you well, Cardinal,” your voice low, comforting, “but I know the clergy, Papa Nihil, and Sister Imperator, and I believe you were appointed for a purpose; I have full confidence in you.” You pat his shoulder and a gentle warmness envelopes your hand. You recoil almost immediately, gripping the warmth with your other; maybe it was best not to touch him. This gentle warmth caught you off guard, such a delicateness to it yet still suggesting something devious. 

If his eyes have the power to overtake you then his body must be the path to your downfall. You push the worry of ‘what have I gotten myself into’ to the back of your mind. The Cardinal seemed subdued now, and what happened this morning could have just been a fluke, right? Above all you feel a need to assist him, not like how you felt obligated toward the Papas; something much more esoteric that pulled you in.

“You are,” he rubs his palm down his face a little before recovering himself, “too kind, Sister.” He fixes himself in his chair, crossing a leg over his knee. “I truly appreciate those words,” he smiles at you, small but soothed.

You feel something soar in your chest at his soft expression. Something that you thought you gave up on many years ago, yet somehow still had a small hope of feeling again. You couldn’t help but come to trust that genuine look and lose to his easy demeanor. You looked into his eyes and he into yours, lost in some warm staring contest neither of you wanted to lose.

“Well then,” you, once again, avert your eyes, worried that anymore would dispel the resolve you just built before you even started what he invited you in for. “Should we begin?” You crack open your book to initiate the study session and he does the same.

The two of you poured over the old books he kept tableside, reading straight from scripture and similar supplemental apocryphal texts. Contrary to your initial impression of his deep oppressive gaze—he looks upon you kindly—a relaxed reassurance that fills one with the want to trust him, the need to trust him. This strange man. This unknown man. He’s endearing himself to you now, but inflicted some alien power over you only hours ago. Now you seemed to forget that power, that ensnarement that impaired you, practically writing it off as just your imagination; focused more on the gentle Cardinal at your side.

This study session allowed you some insight into this strange, unknown man; something you wouldn’t have been privy to had you not visited him this very night. You come to understand his serious nature about his duties and dedication to the doctrine, yet find that he has some good humors about him. He cracked some jokes, you laughed even if they were a little unfunny, and you fell into an eased state during your time together. His personality was rather shy and a little unsure, but that was what you liked about him. No pompous attitudes or self righteous behavior as you’d been so accustomed to.

“How about this,” you point to a passage on the page you were reading. “It’s old, but dedication to the old ways is always well received.” You show him your book, both of you leaning close to give it a read.

“That does seem to be the case more often than not,” he taps the cover of the book he’s holding. “In my experience, fortune favors the old,” he snickers at his joke and you do as well.

“‘In my experience’ makes you sound very well practiced, Cardinal, I can’t imagine this is the first church you’ve been assigned to,” you posit, interested in his reply.

“No, but I was just recently transplanted from our branch in Italy,” he says as he smooths the hair on his lip.

“Oh, how romantic, I’ve always wanted to see the grand cathedral of the Italian branch!” You gush, mystified by the old elaborate architecture of the far-flung past.

“The cathedral truly is a sight to behold—as for romance—feh, there was none to be had in it,” he explains, waving away the notion you proposed with his ever emotive hand. “I was too busy with my studies and training; everyone was busy.”

“I see… were you there for very long?” Your intrigue grows deeper. The Italian branch is the head church’s sister location, even still, not a lot is known about it unless one has been there personally. This branch was secretive in its practice, but the Italian branch was ten times that. Even Sister Imperator expressed her frustration with the ever covert goings on of the Italian branch.

He looks into the fire and watches the flames dance in their shelter before answering. “Sì, in fact, I was raised in that church, that was my home until I was called upon to serve here a few years ago.” Sighing, he adds, “One can never truly feel at ease when they’re far from home.”

You notice his quiet shift in tone, maybe he was more wistful than before. You decide not to pry any further in fear of crossing some unknown boundary. “I’m sorry for getting off track, let’s continue where we left off, alright?” You move to change the subject, yet still his words stick in your mind. Why did he come to this location, was it even his choice to be here? You wonder about a few things like this as you move onto the next page to occupy yourself.

“No need for apologies, Sister, I appreciate your help,” he says, comforting smile present on his lips.

The study session eventually progressed into independent reading time for the both of you. The only sound exchanged between the two of you could be heard as the odd mutter or eventual page turn. The muttering seems to be a habit of his, possibly unbeknownst to the man himself. It was a little incomprehensible, but you’d catch the occasional ‘Satanas’ here and there as he took in the information of whatever text he had in hand at the time.

The glow of the flames painted his dark features in the ill lit room, catching your attention. Warm heart beating hues outlined the pronounced traits of his face and defined them well. With your book in your lap and head bowed in near mockery of prayer, you can’t help but steal glances at the Cardinal. His fingers ran down the length of the pages in deep prolonged thought, caressing the uneven yellowed parchment. His face, in quiet debate once more, possessed less of that friendly demeanor he’d endeared to you during your brief study session and now conveying a much firmer character about it. He moved very rarely but to clench his jaw every once in a while, and with his slow studied movements—that you watched so intensely—his finger dropped down the thin line of the aged paper and gave the page a turn. Once the page had progressed he replaced his fingers, stroking at the jutting edges yet again. The gloves he had been wearing were removed some time ago for an easier grip on the pages, exposing his hands blessed with beautiful structure and sculpted by his years. His palm boasted a thick scar, not uncommon to those in the clergy as it’s expected to partake in a ritual here and there, but you found it odd to be in the right. Only very specific rituals called for blood of the right hand; those that require a symbolic gesture of the mark of the beast. 

You figure that he’s been a member of the clergy for long enough, he’s probably performed or participated in his fair share of rituals; including the sacred ones. You continue to study him, somehow mesmerized by his every move.

This guy, he’s really hard to gauge, you thought.

Earlier today he was a little scary, but now. 

“Sister,” his abrupt voice caused your body to bolt upright.

“Yes?”

“Your eyes, they tickle my face,” without turning away from his book, he peers at you with his white eye.

“Ah, I’m sorry, Cardinal,” you feel a heat enveloping your cheeks.

“What is going on in your head, hm?” closing the tome with his index finger as the bookmark, you receive his full attention. 

Wait, this is… something had changed, the white eye became intense in an unexplainable way.

You couldn’t find any good response. Your thoughts and reasoning were in utter disarray, and you found it difficult to sift through your incomprehensible muddled feelings of horror and desire. It’s happening again.

Now he was much less Cardinal Copia and more—something you didn’t quite know yet; perhaps that something from this morning.

the Cardinal had cast his wicked spell over you once again. You shivered, not from any unruly wind that may have found its way into his living quarters, but from that anxiety from within—he seized at it with flames in his wretchedly enchanting eyes. 

You feel yourself transfixed by those eyes, enthralled by the frightful flame that inhabits them deep within. You’re almost completely ready to succumb, to give into any temptation he might offer. 

Looking down to his exposed collarbone, an unknown stirring fills you, and you’re reminded of your oath—your binding. The events of the ceremony were nearly all lost to you, only known in fragments of recollection, but you couldn’t forget your promise to Satan. As tempting as the Cardinal’s unknown magic might be, you’re determined to hold fast in your sacred pact.

You exhaled a hot shaky breath, “I think I should be heading back to the nunnery now.” Your body began a low tremor while your heart thrummed in the confines of its rib cage. 

The feeling in your chest was that of severe pressure, as if to rid you of the beating that plagued your bosom. At the same time it ached in the most pleasant way—such an ache that persuaded you that you wouldn’t mind if the whole thing were squashed flat completely. With buckling knees you somehow manage to rise from your seat, book expelling itself from your lap as you paid it no mind. The thought of his enjoyment of your company earlier had caused an easement to the edge you’d felt initially, but this time was different; you were overcome with the overwhelming urge to flee from him, from your desires. You move across the room from him, bidding a quiet and rushed adieu as you go.

You must seem out of your wits to him now, hastily leaving for no known reason. 

“Please, allow me to escort you back, Sister,” he reached for your hand, but with the odd state of your body you retracted from his touch. A kind gesture, or maybe something more akin to a predator courting its prey into accepting an early fate? You couldn’t afford to find out, or why he made you burn in such a way, with such heat; not tonight anyway. As he followed closely at your back you hastened your steps to escape the hold of his inexplicable influence. The room wasn’t a long trek, but each step trudged heavier and more incumbered than the last, making the whole ordeal feel somewhere between now and forever. Your mind fought for fear, yet it seemed your body worked against it.

You couldn’t bear to feel his skin against yours, the temperature of his body would be maddening. You feared something so simple as direct contact, yet you craved it all the same and with a depth that gave you more reason to fear it. With a quickness, you managed to slip through a small crack in the door, and from the other side you met him face to face—between hunger and putrid flighty fear—you enchanted each other through hurried breath and sliver of wood. “This is goodnight, Cardinal, I had a very nice time studying with you,” chest heaving.

He seemed exasperated, in need of something, hungry for something. He came to meet you just on the other side of the door, having followed your fleeing steps. “Perhaps it is better you leave me here tonight. For the trouble, I apologize and—well… sorry,” the embers in his eyes smoldered as he apologized. You couldn’t be sure if he was feeling the same as you, this yearning, but you couldn’t bring yourself to find out. His face was a little disappointed at your hurried escape; perhaps more so than when the siblings left him hanging.

“Have a good night,” and with that the door shut tightly. You couldn’t help but soak up the remnants of his warmth that he’d pressed to the door before taking your leave into the dark. As soon as that something appeared, it resigned itself just as quickly. Surely it was the Cardinal who had bid you goodnight just now.

The light that had clung to life outside the Cardinal’s room snuffed itself out with a harsh buzz that sizzled for some time. The hall was now completely immersed in void like shadows, windows covered up in a way that wouldn’t betray the pitch black to the light of the still rising moon. The paintings draped with now ghostlike linens became something more haunting, and the ones soiled with some unknown blackness became doorways to a still deepening dark. Sounds still trailed in from who knows where, and followed after the echo of your footsteps. Your heart beat did not come to rest nearly as fast as it did after your first encounter with the strange new Cardinal; his enchanting spell.

As you mooned about the halls of the old wing, you traced your finger along the dusty walls and thought deeply about the events that had just transpired.

Why do I react like that with him, to the heat in his gaze? A question you can’t seem to find the answer to, yet it and many others like it erode all other thoughts from your mind.

Does he know what he’s doing? Does he know he’s doing it to me? 

It was as if he switched halfway through—his presence had-, you trail off, afraid that the very idea of him would cause your situation to worsen; heart still pounding dizzyingly. You don’t understand exactly why you become afflicted with intermittent bouts of searing anxiety and curious attraction, but you decide to not let it sway you. It can’t be like this every time you’re supposed to be near the Cardinal; running away from him isn’t the answer. You wouldn’t be performing your duties wholly if you continue to flee at the slightest titillation of your sensitive nerves.

How am I supposed to deal with this? As you question yourself the ornamental moulding you’d been following with your finger had come to its limit; It seemed you were at the end of the old wing. 

The chattering from before had been drowned out by your busy mind, but became more apparent as you came back to your senses. You stood in place, squinting down the long dark corridor preceding the old wing. Windows before you now dapple the ground in light. No light, besides that of the moon, to suggest anyone is near enough to be heard. Distant at first, the indistinct babble seemed to approach nearer and nearer, you quickened your pace in response. Down the hall, across the grand foyer, and down another hall; it seemed like some impending nightmare clung to your heels. Looking back over your shoulder and peeking around corners, you couldn’t find anything or anyone that could be causing the sound; it was likely that everyone had retired to bed. You were alone, nearly running through the church in almost complete darkness. The assorted sounds of shrieking, laughing, incoherent speech, and indecipherable whispers chased you from one end of the cathedral to the other. Louder and louder the voices grew and so too they grew ever demented, rambling after you as if to accost you for entering their realm. 

Though they had no face or body to them, you could hear the sneer in the growing sound. 

Hands still shaking, you press them over your ears to shield yourself from the intensities that follow you; the sound seemingly invaded your head. You’re frantic now and running short of your breath when you finally reach the stairs that lead you to your floor of the nunnery. 

The voices, once so close you could almost tell what they were saying, now faded with each advance toward your room. You didn’t find any reason to halt your pace, still running with your hands flat over your ears in case the sounds were to ambush you when you turn on the first landing to precede up to the second floor.

You managed your way back to your room in spite of the untrustworthiness of your wobbling legs. The night sunk deeper and darker than it had before which was made evident by the otherworldly quiet you experienced on the other side of your door. The insistent voices and cacophony of unknown noises from before had lost you in your race back to the nunnery. Your body wilted in relief as you held the door shut tightly, assumedly safe from harm.

Your cheeks flushed as you relieve yourself of your habit and veil, still burning from the thought of the Cardinal’s eyes—still puffing from the chase. The beating in your chest had become dizzying, and as you removed your bra you felt it even more. Some kind of acute sensation that had been boiling within you nearly made you vomit, but by sinking into your bed that feeling faded. You shut your eyes tight and held still to maybe feign sleep. In time your pretending turned into reality and you slipped into a deep sleep, free of that nauseating feeling and the menial day-to-day. The Cardinal remained in the corner of your fading lucidity as you drifted out of consciousness.

***

An odd numbness tickled you, a buzzing whirred, and something held you fast to the mattress. You weren’t nearly conscious enough to register what was going on, having been in a deep sleep only moments ago. You were forced into a claustrophobic limbo; between sleep and wake. A paralysis overtook your being and the only thing you could do was open your eyes, but why would you want to? The hazy black figure standing at the end of your bed deterred you from doing so again. It lurked, unmoving and amorphous; likely the progenitor of that static sound that commanded you cast aside your veil like sleep. Your pulse burst, nearly audible as you labored against the invisible force that had affixed you to the sheets. With gritting teeth you struggled, but to no avail, you were stuck in place at the mercy of your dark companion.

Though you tried, no amount of effort provided any semblance of movement; you were perfectly still despite your best efforts. You could feel the sweat bead—cold—against your skin as the buzzing became a deafening whine in your ear. Perfect prey can’t run.

A voice emerged from the nauseating sound. “Sister,” it was him, “are you unwell?” His voice found you through the dreadful whirring static.

Did he know you were feeling sick, or perhaps he was the cause of your illness—the cause of the awful noise—the cause of it all.

“Sister,” his voice was so soft. “Open your eyes.” A tender coercion clear in his soft beckonings tempted you so. 

The incessant droning in your ear had subsided to a low vibration that made it difficult to think cohesively. You had no idea why he was in your room, how you hadn’t noticed him coming in after you, or if it was some evil trick being played on you. There was one thing you knew for sure, and that was his presence—in spite of it all—calmed you at this moment. 

Hearing his voice washed you with relief. You felt the cold sweat fall away and were warm again. Only a garbled hum could be heard as your reply, still rendered all but immobile. Heeding his instructions, you pried your eyes open to sneak a peek at the figure that waited across from you. He stood there, right where the strange intruder had been, at the foot of your bed. Indeed it was him—all dressed in abyss—wearing the thick black shadows as his cloak. His face was cast in obscurity by the weak light of the moon, you could hardly see him, but you were certain that it was him. Knowing it was the Cardinal, you discontinued your struggle for control and opted to relax into your stubborn stone like prison of sleep. 

“Good,” he cooed his satisfaction of your surrender. 

The numbness spread its way about your body and tempted your tense muscles into a roused posture, legs inching their way apart.

The humming tingle caressed the edges of your body, like the Cardinal did the pages of his book and you succumbed to the pleasure you received. Sweet, faint bubbles pop and fizz at your limbs, kissing your tension into submission. 

“Sister,” he called for you again as the tingling spread all over your body. “Show me,” his tone was hushed and so intimate, as if he was whispering right in your ear, yet he was so far away.

You wanted to close your legs out of embarrassment of the growing wetness in your panties, but they remained spread with knees taut at an angle. The feeling was as though you were being bathed in a pool of eclectic pleasures, like your entire being had been vibrating at a different frequency. The quaking of your muscles were boundless as your consciousness floated between wake and sleep. Suddenly, you felt a pressure form at the end of the bed and, slowly, it crept its way up to you. The strange mass felt like it was at your ankles now, encroaching on your restless slumber. It skirted light motions against you all the way as it passed your knees, traced across your stomach, and mounded itself atop your chest. You found it difficult to breathe against the phantom body weight and winced at the density of its illusory being. Your breath did not come easy and your chest rose and fell violently, shallowly, but that didn’t dissuade you from receiving his pleasure.

You want to tremble with the sweet sensation stimulating your poorly defended body, but it’s apparent the paralysis is too strong. Something deep within aches for some kind of release, some kind of outlet for your pleasures. It’s frustrating as it is now, having no way to soothe those excited nerves that quiver at the ever sweet, and airy, vibrations that overlap and mingle about your body. Sweet as they may be, they weren’t nearly enough to coax your elusive orgasm out of hiding. No, what you were experiencing now was a form of pleasurable torture; so minuscule in magnitude.

Each lick of those vibrations across your sprawl, another denied expression of your edged lust. 

Suddenly, it felt as though something were touching you through your underwear; a slow pressure. The weight against you, the ticklish trail advancing up your body, and now this—it was as though he was the one on top of you. The Cardinal, however, remained unmoved at the foot of the bed. You gasped at the sudden contact, so different from the abstract sensation the rest of your body had been experiencing. As the Cardinal watched, you noticed his white eye was the only discernible feature you could observe besides his subtle silhouette outlined in the weak hue of the degraded light received from your room’s only window. His eye glowers at you, observing you as you groan at the pleasure he imparts upon you. You knew in your clouded mind that he was doing it for you, giving it to you, this odd sensation. Knowing he was watching enhanced your hidden excitement causing more sounds to escape your throat. 

The pressure between your legs had deepened in intensity and explored you through your underwear. Frustratingly, the only sounds that came out of your mouth were muted at best. You couldn’t beg for more no matter how hard you tried; you could only shiver motionlessly. The feeling of the mass—or him—sliding down the length of your slit caused you to shudder. The feeling in your knees suggested their readiness to give out from their perched position, but you didn’t have the authority to let them go; they weren’t yours to move anymore. He advanced back up, slowly, to toy at the nub that had made itself apparent through the fabric that clung to you. Your mouth gapes and you inhale sharply at the sensation, exhaling a slow quaking shuddering breath as the feeling circled your bud ever so gently.

“Dolce sorella, already so wet,” he spoke sweetly with the hint of a smile in his breathy voice. A whisper in your ear, a puff of warm breath on your cheek, yet he remained at his position across from you. 

A frustrated groan slips out of you as the pressure increases its pace, chasing you into ecstasy. Your brows knit as your urgency heightens, breath hard and fast against the weight on your breast. 

Your skin piqued at each movement that insisted itself upon you, the buzzing that eclipsed your entire body tickled you with a gossamer ache of sweet debilitation. Soon enough, the static that had occupied your flesh followed too between your legs, adding to the sensation that worked you up.

“Ah!” an actual sound you couldn’t control.

The Cardinal’s blinding white gazed upon your face as you ached for more. He knew you were somewhat conscious of his actions, and spurred you on more with the devilish pace he’d set for you. He, or the mass—whichever—was stroking your clit in smooth motions that swirled and slithered across the wet barrier of your underwear. Your breath continuously labored against the weight on your chest and your fingers managed to twist into the sheets as he brought you to your weakest point. Orgasm erupting from your writhing body, no longer incapacitated by the will of the strange visitor. 

“Copia,” you murmur a breathless whisper into the dry air.

He hushes you, “Good, Sister, you did so well for me.” He sounded pleased by your release, becoming more distant than he had before.

You had your freedom from his hold, but freedom from his influence was not so attainable. You visit him in your wake, and he haunts you in your sleep; coming for you at your most vulnerable. You gripped harder at the sheets as you were left in vestigial ecstasy, no longer held down by some invisible force or choked by some unknown weight. You glance back at him, still gasping heavy breaths. With the shadows growing across the room he’d been swallowed up, leaving you to rest in your fading consciousness. Dream, or nightmare, fading into the depths of the night.