Part 5: Prontera

It was time for the morning mass. He looked at his reflection in the mirror the bishop had had placed in the vestry. It was widely known that the bishop was a very vain man, and had ordered the clergy to bring in one of his large mirrors so that he'd always be able to look at himself before starting mass and making sure that he looked his best. While the priest believed that the sons of God appear before their Maker in their best, he also believed that they ought to care about their insides as well. After all, if God was particular enough to look at Man's external array, what stops Him from looking inside us and seeing the evil within? But of course, him being what he was, just a priest, returned from his search of Good, and concerned with a business that was labeled as Evil, he couldn't very well voice his opinions. And he didn't care. We would all meet in hell, anyway.

There were dark circles under his eyes, and those, combined with his pale complexion made him look ill. He lacked sleep, and he was hungry. Over zealousness should never be partnered with greed. As it were, the priests of the lower levels barely get to eat anything but the proverbial loaf of bread. Considering the state of matters, he just wanted to die. And if he didn't get nourishment to eat, he just might do that anyway. But not fast enough.

She used to kid him about fasting then. He had stopped doing so when he reached his twentieth year, when he suddenly realized the futility of it all and just let go. Of course, she had warned him about that. She knew what the world was like. She had taken the lives of too many people, had tricked out too many things, had lain with so many men… for of course he knew. He probably wasn't enough. But it never bothered him. Until now. He wanted to know if she had ever loved him. It was probably too late, but it didn't matter. It was just a matter of knowing.

And that was when he realized that he missed her. He was probably dying, anyway, what was stopping him from seeking her out? It would be the last thing he'll see, her elusive smile. She was too beautiful for her own good, but no one had ever lain out the law that evil people should be ugly. And he must admit, she wasn't that heartless, either. That was what he realized as he went about his journey with her. Realized and loved. No one could be totally evil. It was possibly why God hadn't ended it all.

And she possessed that weird motherly personality, something that he knew she had that made her want to protect him. Her love could probably be no more than that, but it didn't matter. He loved her. And he wanted to believe it was good enough for two. But he wouldn't really know, would he? And what right had he to love, when he had declared his vows so long ago? Vows he never did keep. Because he loved her. And it was that strong.

" Father, are you ready yet?" the sacristan's voice was a mere explosion of sound, for all the meaning he derived from it, but he nodded, following the poor boy out of the vestry without another word. Another mass to be said in front of people he knew were there to show off. Or to sleep. Or maybe even to make love.

He went through the motions absently, filling in the deepest recesses of the Sanctuary with his clear, almost soprano voice that made others wonder if he was a castrati or just abnormal. He was hungry enough to know that the wine could intoxicate him, at this state, anything would. If only there were miracles still. It didn't matter if he was as sinful as the rest of them. God doesn't need excuses.

And then he heard her voice.

Impossible, his tortured mind screamed. Isn't it funny? You break down and get crazy right in the middle of mass. But the voice was calling his name, Father, Father Elusa… she never called him that. For her, he was a man. Her lover, maybe. But a priest? Probably not. The sacristan was looking at him with a funny expression on his face. Mad. Mad. Mad. Do you see I'm mad?

And then he saw her. And he knew he wasn't dreaming, wasn't seeing visions, wasn't even drunk. How else could she seem too real?

" Let go of me! Hey, watch it!" she snapped, with remarkable show of human violence.

" Assassin!" someone with penchant for melodrama cried. But they couldn't hang on to their quarry, she was protesting too much.

" I just want to confess! Let me go. Please, Father, let me confess before I…"

He caught her cue. " Let her go. Don't you see she's dying?" not more than I am. But who would say that? " Is not God's mercy open to all those who seek for him? Let her go, I say. Woman, I would hear your sins after the conclusion of this mass." And then I'd realize I was mistaken. That it wasn't her at all. He would die and would not see her. But God, was he hungry!

He entered the confessional slowly. His heart was pounding so loudly he thought surely he would die now. But he didn't. and he wanted it so to be her.

She was not there, kneeling in the traditional way of humility and reverence, but something told him she had gone inside. A lingering scent of lavender, maybe. But she had gone where only a priest should have gone and that alone signified something. Meant nothing. " Alissa?" he couldn't stop himself from saying her name. He wanted to hear it out loud. Just for the sake of making sure it ever existed. " Are you there?"

She was looking at him saucily, with a decidedly lascivious glint to her violet eyes. He had forgotten that. He felt himself harden. So long since he'd had her. " Elusa, did you miss me?"

" Alissa? But why?" he asked, helplessly. He was at her mercy. And he suddenly felt so free. " Why have you come here?"

" Later, love. I came here to confess, didn't I?" she was wearing nothing beneath her cloak, and that small impediment was cast aside with characteristic lack of modesty. He caught his breath, feeling the blood rush to his pale cheeks and the parts that declared him male. " Forgive me, for I have sinned."

So have I. So will I. But then again, this is what I wanted, wasn't it? Better die happy before going to hell. " Tell me your sins then." He whispered. She was already at his clothes, tearing at the frayed black cloth to revel in his nakedness. He shivered pleasantly, remembering her touch, loving the way she kissed him, tasted him. " Alissa…"

" Hm, what's wrong? Don't you want this?" she murmured against him, her lips moving against his, her hands touching the proof his desire tentatively, not because she was unsure but because that was how she always teased him. He clutched at the door of the confessional in a certain desperation. " Elusa, touch me, touch me…" she was moaning it like a litany, placing his free hand on her breasts. " Goddammit, El, touch me, kiss me. Please."

He obeyed, albeit in a manner that was unsure, and because it had been so long, he felt that he couldn't hold back any longer. " Alissa, please." He hissed, sharply. He was intoxicated with her lavender scent, in love with her every motion, dying a thousand deaths.

" Do it, El. Come on, do it." She was challenging him, looking at him with smoky violet eyes. She pushed him against the seat roughly, half dragging him along when he stepped on his skirt and almost fell. Shoving the last article of his clothing upwards so that it bunched in tortured folds by his narrow waist, she taunted him, rubbing the gates of her womanhood at his tip so that he thought he was going crazy of desire for her.

" Damn it, Alissa, claim me. Ali…ssa!" he got hold of her in a desire roughened embrace and pulled her close. Close enough, straddling him, he entered her, reveling in her warm sticky opening. Her love juice trickled down his thighs, maddening him further. Coupled with the near desperate and aggressive rhythmical movement of her hips, her moans and her own warmth, the wet, the stickiness, he wondered if he was indeed, dead.

If he wasn't, he certainly was dying now. Alissa could feel the priest throb inside of her, signaling his nearing climax. And she doubled her efforts, clutching at his long silver hair in her passion. " Elusa."

" I… I'm coming, Alissa… I…" he felt her contract around him, and knew he was lost. It was as warm as hell inside the confessional, but he was past caring. Breathing even then seemed unimportant. He released his load inside of her, moaning her name. " Alissa, Alissa, Alissa."

" I missed you, Father."

She was still straddling him, but was still, savoring the feel of him inside her in her after glow. He looked at her vaguely, his mind registering the fact that they had just made love in the acrobatic confines of the confessional… inside Church, for the love of all God's creatures, no less! But she was real. Or he had just created the best illusionary prelude to masturbating ever. Considering that he never did that, it had to be the former. " Hm."

" Does that count as a sin? I want you now, and we just finished." She whispered at his ear, and he felt the hairs at the back of his neck rise. " I love you, El."

He wanted to curl up on the hard seat and sleep. " Do you know that God is love?"

" Duh."

" Then how could love be a sin?" he toyed with her hair absently, cherishing her weight on top of him. " Why are you here, then?"

" The Master had vanished. We need you."

" And they sent you to me…. That was wise of them." There was a pause. And then, " Alissa, I'm hungry. Let's go."

Author's note: I based the Priesthood on Catholicism, by far the best and most oppressive religion in terms of their clergy. So, this little affair with Alissa, even if the priest doesn't think of it that way, is actually a sin, and a breach on his vow of celibacy and chastity. His build is the Magnus Exorcismus.