The pain he'd inflict with his own hands upon his body, he liked it. The cruel lashing, the cilice around his thighs. He liked it. Maybe if he knew more about the nature of sexual perversions, he'd understand this was perversion as well. Not a way to cleanse himself, not punishment for his sins. There was nothing divine about it, nothing purifying or noble. He enjoyed it, and this turned pain to pleasure; pure, twisted pleasure. An addiction to pain, unintentional, but inevitable.
His victims were usually too easy. They were feeble, held little resistance to him. They were hardly a challenge for his strength. And they'd die so very easily, proving how delicate human life really was. Proving that he was led to believe, day by day, that he was indeed an angel of God… Blessed, sent to do His will. He was a strong man and this vigor was given to him for a purpose. To let nothing stand in his way.
And so the only way to receive the pain he needed, was to cause it himself.
But this woman had managed to make him feel vulnerable for moments. Before he gathered his composure to proudly answer her that her very existence was wrong, she'd raised herself above him. Women were sin, Mary Magdalene was a harlot. Men were tempted away from God's path because of the female temptation. Eve had offered Adam the forbidden fruit, causing God's wrath. The whole Bible was filled with examples, with proof that they were a dangerous kind, women. And this one, Sophie Neveu, was no exception.
Silas suspected that her victory over him had little to do with the fact that he was tied. She was a woman and he was a man. This made her stronger by default.
He did not close his eyes before her form. He shouldn't turn his glance away from sin; he should stand up to it, fight it and win. And so he stared at her, blatantly, until he saw more than he'd hoped for. The details of her face, the corners of lips, their full shape, their color. Red, scarlet red. Her skin, also flushed, her eyes angry. Long brown hair, faded perfume, lipstick. He looked over her face more than once, his eyes always returning to the lips. He didn't listen to anything she said, not caring what came out of this mouth. But the mouth itself, it reminded him of his main flaw. That he was a son of Adam and she was a daughter of Eve and their bodies were perfectly shaped to match.
He did not speak another word; she was too powerful for him. As powerful as deceivingly fragile. He lowered his glance, retreated as the man, Langton, approached and slipped his hands around her. All Silas was left with was a hot mark still burning on his cheek, her touch, violent and painful and feminine. She'd given him pain, something no man had achieved.
Throughout the rest of the journey, he only dared to peek at her twice. By the time they reached their destination, he'd made up his mind. He had to kill the female, even if the Teacher did not request it. She was a demon luring him away from God's path with her dark methods. And he couldn't allow this to happen.