A/N: Even closer...
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Maria sat frozen in the confessional, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. The words had left Georg's mouth so easily, yet they struck her like thunder.
Her heart pounded against her ribs, a cold sweat breaking across her back. She shook her head, barely able to whisper, "No."
He didn't really mean it. He couldn't have meant it.
Maria forced herself to look through the lattice, her pulse quickening. "I'm devoted to God," she murmured, her voice trembling.
On the other side, Georg exhaled a shaky breath. "And I'm a man in love."
Maria flinched. She turned her face away, her breaths coming faster, unsteady. The voice of Father Norman echoed in her mind—words he had told her over and over again.
The demon takes the form of an angel, approaching with sweet words, seduces, entwines like a serpent.
Georg must have sensed her silence, the way her body tensed even through the screen that separated them. His voice softened. "I'm not a demon, Maria," he said, as if answering the priest himself. "Not like that priest claims. I'm just a man who feels lost. I don't know what to do with these emotions. I wanted to run away, but I can't. I feel trapped without an escape."
Maria squeezed her eyes shut. But he did run away.
She rubbed a hand over her chest, willing her heartbeat to slow, but it only seemed to grow louder, stronger.
Then Father Norman's voice returned, whispering like a warning in the depths of her mind: What if the body is in seclusion while the heart remains in the world? What if, after dedicating itself to God, the heart is devoted to idols?
Maria shot to her feet, her hands trembling as they clenched into fists. The confessional felt too small, too suffocating, and Georg's voice only made it worse.
"I don't know how it all started," he said, the frustration raw in his voice. "So many years I kept yearning for you, only for you to appear in Stuwerviertel like some holy savior come to exorcise me. I hated you when I saw you there."
Maria's breath caught.
"You shouldn't have been there," he continued, his voice thick with something between anger and sorrow. "You shouldn't have been leading that procession. That wasn't you. That wasn't the Maria I knew."
He hesitated, then his voice dropped lower. "I felt betrayed by you."
Maria's brows furrowed, and before she could stop herself, the words left her lips—soft, almost like a confession.
"I felt betrayed too."
Silence.
Then Georg's voice, sharp with surprise. "What?"
Maria stiffened. "Nothing," she said quickly, turning away from the lattice.
But Georg didn't stop. He exhaled heavily, as if forcing himself to say what had been lodged in his chest for so long. "It wasn't just you," he said bitterly. "It was them too. Frau Valenta. Frau Luttenberger. The others who joined your alliance. People who were in the same circles as my parents, people who once came to our house, people who used to praise me—" His voice cracked. "And now they're the first to trample me when I'm down."
Maria pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her heart hammer against her ribs.
Humans should beware of themselves, Father Norman's voice whispered in her mind. More than demons, a man should fear himself.
Maria squeezed her eyes shut as the priest's words echoed louder: A man is deceived by his own reason, betrayed by his own will. All his senses betray him.
Georg let out a bitter chuckle. "I forbade everyone from mentioning your name near me," he said. "I told myself I didn't want to see you anywhere near me."
Maria sat frozen, hands clasped so tightly they trembled. She didn't know what to do with his words, didn't know how to respond.
"But the more I denied you," he continued, his voice lower now, almost resigned, "the more you became the center of my life."
A shaky breath left her lips. "I understand," she whispered.
She slowly lowered herself back onto the bench, feeling her legs grow weak beneath her.
"Living to avoid someone," Georg said, his voice carrying an almost cruel clarity, "is the same as living for them. Entirely dedicated to them."
Maria pressed her hands against her lap, her fingers curling into the fabric of her skirt. She knew. She knew.
"I know," she whispered, closing her eyes as his words settled into her, sinking deep into places she had fought so hard to keep untouched.
She had spent months convincing herself that avoiding him, pushing him away, meant she had won. That she had stayed true to her devotion, that she had conquered whatever it was that made her heart ache when she thought of him.
But if everything she looked at reminded her of him—if everything brought her back to him—then what had she really accomplished?
"That's how I live," Georg admitted. "Everything reminds me of you. No matter how much my heart wants to push you away... it always leads me back to you."
Maria's eyes snapped open, and tears immediately spilled down her cheeks.
Because she recognized this feeling.
No matter how much she wanted to banish him from her thoughts, no matter how tightly she clung to her prayers, he was there.
He had always been there.
Her breath hitched, and she shook her head, her brow furrowing through the tears. No. This couldn't be happening.
This must not be happening.
Maria stumbled out of the confessional, her breath quick and uneven. Her heart pounded furiously in her chest as she turned to Georg, who was still kneeling at the side.
"You can't say such things!" she burst out, her voice filled with frustration and desperation. "You mustn't!"
Georg slowly stood, frowning at her in confusion.
"You don't understand," she continued, her hands tightening into fists at her sides. "I—I wrote to you! Countless letters! I waited for you, but you never answered!"
His brows knitted together in a deep, troubled furrow. "What are you talking about?" His voice was strained, and he took a step closer. "I never received anything from you, Maria. Not a single letter."
Maria's breath caught in her throat, her heart slamming against her ribs.
Georg shook his head, his expression darkening. "I wrote to you—so many times." His voice was laced with something raw, something bitter. "Letters about how difficult it was in the naval academy, how much I missed you—how much I couldn't wait to come back to you. And you never replied."
A thick silence settled between them as the realization sank in.
Their letters had never reached each other.
Maria's hands went limp at her sides as the weight of the truth crashed over her. Someone had stolen their words. Someone had deliberately torn them apart.
A strangled sob escaped her lips as her knees buckled, but before she could collapse, Georg reached forward and caught her.
She clutched onto him, burying her face into his shoulder as she cried. "I thought—I thought you abandoned me," she choked out, her body trembling against him. "I was broken, Georg. When I heard nothing from you, I—I didn't know what to believe!"
Georg's grip on her tightened, his voice urgent as he pulled back just enough to look into her tear-streaked face. "Believe what?"
"My uncle," she whispered through her sobs. "He told me you would never come back."
Georg stilled as he repeated her words in shock. "He said I'd never come back?"
Maria nodded weakly, her vision blurred with tears.
Georg's breath came out sharp and unsteady. "I did come back, Maria. The moment I was able, I returned to the villa—only to find you and your uncle gone."
She looked up at him, her lips trembling.
"I searched for you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Everywhere. I questioned every single person in the staff, anyone who might have known where you were."
Maria's fingers dug into his sleeves, the pieces of their shattered past slowly coming together.
"And when I finally found your uncle," Georg went on, his voice now trembling with anger, "do you know what he told me?"
Maria swallowed, shaking her head.
Georg's jaw clenched. "He said you ran away with another man."
Her breath caught.
Maria covered her mouth with her hand in horror. "No..." she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Georg gave a slow, bitter nod.
Maria shook her head again, her tears flowing freely. "He really—he really said that?"
"Yes," Georg whispered, his eyes dark with pain.
Maria staggered back, the weight of it all pressing down on her. Everything—their heartbreak, their separation, their years of suffering—it had all been built on lies.
"And where did your uncle get that idea?" Georg asked, his voice low yet filled with wrath.
"He... He heard it from your father."
Georg's expression hardened as Maria's soft words reached him.
"My father," he murmured, exhaling sharply. Of course. It had to be him.
Maria watched as realization settled into his face, his blue eyes darkening.
Georg turned back to her, his voice lower now, thick with remorse. "Maria... I'm so sorry. I should've known. My father—his prejudice, his disdain for anything that went against his will—I should have known he'd do something like this." His hands clenched on her shoulders. "And my defiance... my choice to disobey him... it only hurts you in the end."
Maria stared at him, her lips parted, but no words came out.
"It must have been planned," Georg continued, his voice filled with bitter certainty. "Your uncle and my father—working together to keep us apart."
Georg's sharp gaze locked onto hers. Maria felt her breath hitch. His eyes—they were the color of ice, sharp and piercing against his tanned skin—searched hers with an intensity that made her heart pound.
She quickly shook her head. "Don't."
Georg raised a brow, his voice deceptively light. "Don't what?"
Maria clenched her hands into fists. God, how she missed the old Georg—the good-natured boy who used to tease her just to make her smile. But that boy was gone. The man before her was different—hardened by loss, by betrayal, by the life he had chosen for himself.
Her brows furrowed, her voice firm despite the storm inside her. "You know what you're doing, Georg."
A flicker of something crossed his face.
"I am on my way to officially becoming a nun," Maria continued, her voice unwavering. "I won't let you ruin this for me. I have worked too hard for this, and I refuse to let you take it away from me."
She held his gaze, willing herself to stay strong, to ignore the ache in her chest, the way her heart betrayed her with every beat.
Georg said nothing. But the way he looked at her—like he wasn't willing to let her go this time—made her stomach twist with something dangerously close to fear.
Georg's lips parted slightly, the words slipping out in astonishment. "You're not a nun?"
Maria frowned at his reaction, the sudden glimmer in his eyes making her uneasy.
And then—he laughed. A soft chuckle at first, growing into something full, something real, as though the weight of years had suddenly lifted from his shoulders.
His hands slowly slid down, brushing against her arms until his fingers intertwined with hers. His grip was firm, almost desperate.
"Don't you see?" Georg said, his voice brimming with conviction. "God destined us to be together."
Maria stiffened, her heart thudding against her ribs.
"Why do you think we keep finding our way back to each other?" Georg pressed on, searching her face. "No matter how much we try to stay apart, something always pulls us near again. It's fate, Maria." His voice dropped into something softer, something pleading. "Come with me. Leave the convent. We can be together."
Maria's breath caught in her throat.
Then, in an instant, she withdrew her hands from his and took a step back.
"No," she said, shaking her head.
Georg's face fell.
"We are not the same people we were before," Maria said, her voice firm. "You are a nightclub owner, I am a postulant. So many things have happened between us—things we can't erase. Do you really think we can go back to the way things were?"
Georg stepped forward, but she took another step back.
"And what will people say, Georg?" she continued, her voice trembling despite her resolve. "A nun running away with a nightclub owner? How do you think that will look?"
"Who cares what they say?" Georg countered. "Their opinions don't matter."
Maria exhaled sharply. "But they do—just as much as yours does. Everything you've built for yourself in Stuwerviertel—the club, the reputation—has all been a way to show off to the upper class you used to belong to. You wanted them to see you like this." She looked at him intently. "You and I... we have different philosophies, different beliefs. If I told you that I love you, would you abandon this life you've created?"
Georg stilled.
Maria's words hung between them, heavy, unspoken truths laced within them.
Her voice softened. "You and I are enemies now, Georg."
His eyes darkened. "I don't look at you that way," he said quietly.
Maria swallowed, watching as his expression softened.
"Not anymore," he murmured, "not since I stopped lying to myself about how I feel about you."
His gaze bore into her, steady, unyielding.
"You're still my Maria," he whispered. "The Maria I loved."
Maria shook her head, her expression tightening. "That's the thing, Georg," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You're still in love with the idea of who I used to be. But I'm not that girl anymore."
Georg's jaw clenched, frustration flashing across his face. "So you're choosing the Alliance over me, is that it?" he snapped. "You let yourself be manipulated by the Alliance, willingly putting yourself under the power of men who want to control you."
Maria's brows furrowed. "That's not true."
"Isn't it?"
She squared her shoulders. "I believe in the cause of the Alliance. To rebuild Stuwerviertel into a place clean of sin. To bring people back to God."
Georg let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "Then tell me," he said, stepping closer, his voice sharp. "Do you remember that night at the council?"
Maria faltered.
"You already knew the richest man in Vienna was backing them," Georg pressed. "Funding their protests so they could use religion to manipulate the ordinary people. He doesn't care about faith, Maria. He only wants to destroy the red-light district for his benefit." His voice lowered, but his words carried the weight of bitter truth. "The Alliance only exists because of the greed of men."
Maria inhaled sharply.
"Why would you still choose to associate with them?"
She wanted to tell him—wanted to explain that she had chosen a different path, that she wasn't blind to the corruption, that she still believed she could help the people of Stuwerviertel. But before she could, Georg sneered.
"You're right, you're not the Maria I knew," he said, his voice laced with something almost like disappointment. "She would never have been so selfish. She would never have been so cowardly—to let herself be used by those in power."
Maria's breath hitched, because deep down, some part of her feared he was right.
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Georg watched as Maria gasped, her breath hitching at the sharpness of his words. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over, but she made no move to wipe them away.
Guilt gnawed at him. He hadn't meant to be so cruel. But she had to see—had to stop hiding behind her faith as if it were a shield against reality.
Maria shook her head, her voice trembling. "I joined them because I believed in their cause. I thought it was my duty to show those people the way to God."
Georg let out a harsh laugh, frustration tightening his shoulders. "Faith won't save them from homelessness and hunger."
"I know that," Maria shot back, a flicker of defiance in her tear-streaked face. "But it's not that simple—I can't just leave the Alliance."
Georg sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Can't or won't?"
Maria looked away.
His heart twisted, but the anger in his voice remained. "So that's it then? You'll stay with them?"
Maria's breath shuddered, but she said nothing.
Georg exhaled sharply. "If it's faith you're looking for, Maria, then listen to me—despite everything I've been through, I've never strayed from God." His voice softened, but there was an ache behind it, something raw that he had never dared to say out loud. "I've been tested more than those who claim to be better than me, more deserving. And yet, I am still here. To the world, I am 'the Captain'—but not to myself." His eyes burned into hers. "Nobody can love 'the Captain' the way he wants to be loved. Not even a nun who proclaims to love humanity—who claims to live for humanity."
Maria's eyes widened, tears now mixed with fury. "Are you doubting my abilities?"
Georg's voice rose again, sharper this time. "It's easy to love humanity, Maria. The idea of it. The concept of it. But what about real people? People with color, people who breathe, people who make mistakes?"
Maria clenched her fists, but she said nothing.
"You claim to want to save them," Georg pressed. "But I have never seen you set foot in Stuwerviertel. You claim to want them to be loved—but how could you love them when you refuse to stand among them?"
Her lips parting slightly as if she wanted to argue. But no words came.
Georg turned his back to Maria, unable to let her see his face. His eyes were wide, glistening, betraying emotions he refused to voice. He walked toward the confessional and pressed a hand against the wooden frame, steadying himself.
"Some time ago, someone told me I'd still find happiness," he murmured, his voice tight. "That I would meet the woman destined for me. And that she would appear on the day I lost the rosary I kept close to my heart."
He turned back to Maria then, his gaze heavy with meaning. "I lost that rosary," he said. "That day. The day of the storm—when I found you again."
Maria's expression remained unreadable, her face carefully composed.
"No one found it," Georg continued, watching her closely, searching for any flicker of recognition, any sign that she might have it. Some part of him still clung to the hope, even as his faith in Jakob's words had long faded. But Maria gave him nothing. She turned her gaze away, refusing to meet his eyes.
He stepped closer. "Tell me," he said softly. "If you hadn't chosen this path—if you hadn't planned to become a nun—would you have fallen in love with me again, after all this time?"
Maria lowered her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "I... I can't answer that." Her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
Georg swallowed, his throat tight. "Have you never longed to be loved again?"
"God's love is enough," Maria said, though her voice wavered. "As it should be."
Georg studied her, frustration warring with something else—pity, maybe. At least she's still stubborn, he thought bitterly. The Maria he once knew had always clung fiercely to what she believed in.
But as he looked into her teary eyes, his mind drifted, unbidden, to another time—when they were young.
Maria had climbed a tree effortlessly, laughing as she reached the highest branches. "Come on, Georg! It's easy!"
He had shaken his head, crossing his arms. "I don't know how. And I'll get in so much trouble if I get even a speck of dirt on my shirt."
Maria had simply grinned, offering him her hand. "Stop worrying. I'll help you."
He hesitated. But then, he took her hand.
She had pulled him up, her grip strong and unwavering. Their hands had never separated as they sat together on a sturdy branch, chattering about anything and everything.
He had gotten scolded by his nanny that evening, but he hadn't cared.
Because he had held Maria's hand the entire afternoon.
Maria's voice pulled Georg from his thoughts. "I'll pray for you," she said softly, her voice trembling. She sniffled, rubbing her hands together as though seeking comfort in the movement. "I'll ask God to help rid your heart of such thoughts."
Georg's eyes remained fixed on her, watching the way her fingers fidgeted, how her shoulders shook ever so slightly. Then, barely above a whisper, she added, "For us."
She took a step back, then another. "Please leave," she pleaded, her voice firmer now. She turned toward the transept door, her pace quickening.
"Maria," he called after her.
She froze, then spun around, eyes wide with desperation. "Stop trying to tempt me!" she begged. "What do you want from me?" Her hands spread out, frustration evident in every line of her posture.
Georg didn't hesitate. "I want you to marry me."
The words had come out before he had even thought them through. Maria's breath caught, her entire body going still.
Even he was stunned. He had been so consumed with finding her, so obsessed with reclaiming what they had lost, that he had never considered what would come next. But now, as he said the words out loud, the thought filled his chest with warmth. The idea of a life with Maria—a real life, where they could grow old together, where he could spend every morning and every night by her side—was intoxicating.
Maria's brows furrowed as she studied him, as if trying to determine if he was serious. "Say that again," she demanded.
Georg took a step forward and whispered it this time, a quiet, desperate confession meant only for her.
Maria stiffened. Her lips pressed into a thin line. Then, after what felt like an eternity, she shook her head. "No."
She turned away.
Georg's heart clenched painfully as he stood frozen in place, watching her retreat. But he couldn't stop himself from asking, his voice raw, "Do you not want me?"
Maria stopped mid-step and turned her gaze back to him, her expression unreadable. But then, with unwavering conviction, she answered, "I am married to God."
And this time, she did not turn back.
Georg scrubbed a hand over his face, his breath unsteady. His eyes burned as he watched her disappear down the hall, each step pulling her further from him.
Tears pricked at his eyes.
And for the first time, he truly feared that he had lost her.
