Page 20 of Daddy's Sinner

I step up to the altar, and as I open the Bible, I feel the weight of every word, every verse.“For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.”Romans 6:23. I let the verse echo in my mind, a reminder of my true purpose here.Death,I think, as I glance at the congregation.Death is the only way to cleanse this town, to rid it of its corruption.

I speak the words of the Mass, the sacred verses and prayers rolling off my tongue, but underneath, my thoughts are consumed by the darkness within me.“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for His name's sake.”Psalm 23:1-3.Righteousness,I repeat in my mind, feeling the hunger for it, the hunger to see sinners like Victor brought to justice, no matter the cost.

The Mass concludes, and I retreat to my quarters in the church, a small, sparsely furnished room that serves as both my sanctuary and my prison. I retrieve the books I’ve brought for Marisol from my desk, their weight heavy in my hands. I have to see her again, to feel that connection, that pull. Even if it means risking everything.

Making my way back to the bookstore, I hope to find her there, but the shop is empty. Disappointment gnaws at me, but I’m not deterred.I know where to find you,I think, the idea of her in her own space, alone, fills me with a dark thrill. I know Victor will be away—his “business” taking him out of town for the evening. I walk to her house, a charming 'casita' on the outskirts of the town square, nestled beside a tranquil pond. The sight of her there, painting by the water’s edge in the soft afternoon light, seems almost too perfect, too serene. I think ofGod's creation, but the thought feels hollow. I’m not here for God. I’m here for her.

She looks up as I approach, her eyes widening in surprise before narrowing with amusement. “Stalking me now? How’d you know where I live?” she teases, her voice light but with an underlying edge, something darker lurking beneath the surface.

“Stalking? No,” I reply, a smile tugging at my lips. “But you’re not exactly hard to find.” Her lips curve into a smile, and I hold up the brown bag filled with books. “I did bring you something.” Her gaze shifts to the bag, curiosity piqued.

“Books?” she asks, setting down her brush and wiping her hands on a cloth. “You’ve been thinking of me, I see?”

“More than I should,” I admit, stepping closer. The tension between us crackles in the air, electric and undeniable. “What can I say, you left an impression on me, Marisol. One I couldn’t ignore.”

She tilts her head, studying me with those intense, knowing eyes. “And what impression is that? That I’m some sort of sinner you need to save?”

I smile, though the words strike closer to the truth than she realizes. “Perhaps. Or maybe I’m the one who needs saving.”

She laughs softly, a sound that sends a shiver down my spine. “I doubt that. You seem far too in control for that.”

“Control is an illusion,” I reply, taking another step closer. “One that can easily be shattered.”

“And what would it take to shatter yours?” she asks, her voice low, almost a whisper. The challenge in her tone is unmistakable, and it stirs something deep within me, something dark and dangerous.

“More than you can imagine,” I say, though the words feel like a lie. She’s already chipping away at my resolve, already making me question everything I believe in. But I can’t let her see that, not yet.

She smiles, a slow, wicked smile that sends my heart racing. “We’ll see about that.”

We stand there, the tension between us thick, almost suffocating. The urge to reach out, to touch her, to claim her, is almost overwhelming. My fingers twitch with desire, but I hold back, knowing that once that line is crossed, there will be no going back.

“I should go,” I finally say, though the words taste bitter in my mouth. I don’t want to leave. I want to stay here, with her, in this moment that feels like a dangerous secret we both share.

“Of course,” she says, her smile not faltering, but I see something else in her eyes—something almost sad, a flicker of regret. “But don’t come back here. It will be frowned upon. My father wouldn’t like it.” She gives me a sad smile, and it hits me harder than I expect. I nod, trying to swallow the disappointment that rises in my throat, and turn to leave.

But then she adds, “Don’t stop going to the bookstore. I might start thinking you’re avoiding me.”

I pause, my heart pounding in my chest. “Never,” I reply, as if I could ever avoid her. When she's all I want and think about. I’m already caught in her web, already feeling the pull of her, the need to be near her, to know her in ways I shouldn’t even think about.

I turn to leave, but her voice stops me again.

“And Alex?” She calls her tone playful, yet laced with something deeper, something that makes my pulse quicken. “Thank you for the books. I’ll be sure to read them... thoroughly.”

I glance back at her, our eyes locking once more. There’s something in her gaze, a challenge, a promise, that makes my breath catch. She knows exactly what she’s doing, exactly how she’s unraveling me. And I let her.

This is far from over. This is just the beginning of a dark, twisted dance that will lead us both to the edge of ruin. The rational part of me knows I should run, that I should put as much distance between us as possible, but the rest of me... the rest of me can’t wait to see where it will take us. The need, the longing to be close to her, to feel her presence, is already consuming me, and I know I’m helpless against it.

Dove

Once we arrive at the compound, everything happens in a blur. I'm bathed quickly and dressed in a maiden’s robe, the fabric soft and familiar against my skin. The weight of the task ahead presses down on me, but there's no time to dwell on it. It's not like I could stop it. Tonight, I’m meant to guide the maidens in their sacred duty. I must teach them how to please the seedlings, how to surrender completely to the ritual meant for conception. Most of them are virgins, unsure and unpracticed. But it's my responsibility to show them what’s expected.

As unsettling as this all is, there’s a strange relief that my partner today is Gabriel. I once cared for him deeply, even though my feelings are now twisted and complicated. Resentment and frustration churn inside me. Beneath my anger, a hint of nostalgia lingers.

I steal a glance at him from the corner of my eye. He stands tall in his robe, his face locked in that same stern expression he always wears. It’s unsettling how calm he remains, especially knowing how possessive Gabriel is. But here, we’re nothing but puppets. To him, we’re nothing.

My mind races as I finish preparing for the ritual. We've trained for this. We know the Prophet's expectations. Yet, I can't suppress the urge to rebel against everything I've been taught. My thoughts always drift back to him—back to my need for freedom. I’m so sick of this idea of “sacred duty.” Every movement, every word, it’s all part of maintaining the act.

Gabriel catches my eye, and for a brief moment, the mask slips. I see it: the possession, the hunger. But it vanishes as quickly as it appeared, leaving only cold indifference. We've done this before. So many times, I've grown used to the motions. Yet, I can't shake the gnawing dread tightening its grip on me. The idea of leading the maidens through this twisted ritual makes my stomach turn. I must guide them as they surrender to something so warped. To them, it’s a great honor to serve the Church of Eden. There’s no higher privilege than being chosen as a maiden. Yet, all I want is to run.

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