Page 16 of Unholy Fate

Evelyn’s brow furrowed. She glanced around, obviously confused to be back here again. Even in the dream state, she would feel the deja vu of this. No matter, it would help me bend her will to my needs, shattering her righteous persona and sending her down the path of depravity I wanted. I could practically taste her hesitation, her instinct to bottle up her less-than-holy feelings. But like any skilled manipulator, I’d created an environment that compelled her to let her guard down.

“I’ve been having...unkind thoughts,” she said finally, unable to meet my patient gaze. “Wrath. Envy. I try to fight them, but?—”

“It’s natural to feel those things, Evelyn,” I said sympathetically. “You’re only human. You don’t have to fight your emotions so hard.”

Guilt flickered across her face, a conditioned response. “But I must. It’s my duty to resist sin.”

Despite the sympathy on my face, inside, I was laughing. This girl, this poor, repressed creature, had no idea what real sin was. The depths of depravity the human soul could sink to. But she would learn.

I would be her teacher.

Hiding my vicious glee behind a mask of compassion, I prepared to lead sweet, naive Evelyn down the path of temptation. With me as her guide, she would soon discover the ecstasy of embracing her true nature.

By the time I was done with her, Evelyn’s devotion to purity and piety would be nothing more than a distant memory.

I leaned in closer. “Sometimes, fighting too hard against what comes naturally can cause even greater suffering. What if, just for a moment, you allowed yourself to feel? To simplybe?”

Evelyn’s dream-self looked conflicted, but I noted the way her body language softened ever so slightly. Intrigued, despite herself.

Perfect.

I let my voice drop an octave, taking on a more intimate tone. “Let’s explore what you’re holding back, Evelyn. You deserve peace. Comfort.” I paused, letting the word linger. “Pleasure.”

The room shifted subtly around us, the warm lighting dimming to a more sensual ambiance. The very air seemed to grow heavier, laden with an unspoken tension.

Evelyn’s chair transformed into a plush chaise lounge, and she reclined into it without even realizing, her limbs relaxing as if under a spell.

I reached out, brushing a hand along the delicate skin of her arm. Evelyn shivered at my touch, her lashes fluttering, her lips parting on a soft exhalation.

Confusion and awakening desire warred in her expression, a captivating portrait of innocence on the cusp of corruption.

I reined in the temptation to push hard and fast. The intense urge to tear away that thin veneer of purity rode me, but I knew that patience would yield a far more satisfying result.

Like a master artist with his brush, I would tease out Evelyn’s repressed desires, shade by tantalizing shade. Coax that glorious darkness to the surface, until it colored her every thought, her every breath.

Only then, when she was trembling on the precipice, aching for the release only I could provide, would I claim my victory.

I sensed her vulnerability, her defenses lowered by the intimate atmosphere I had so carefully crafted. The time was ripe to press my advantage.

With a subtle shift of power, I change my appearance. Dark hair lightened to gray, sharp features softened and aged. The nondescript psychiatrist’s suit morphed into the familiar black cassock of a priest ready to say Mass, for that extra enticement of the forbidden.

Evelyn’s eyes widened as she took in the visage of Father Hudson now sitting before her.

“Father?” she whispered.

I gave her the gentle, compassionate expression that Hudson might use to soothe a troubled parishioner. “It’s all right, Evelyn. You’re safe. I’m here to guide you.”

I took her hand in mine, relishing the tremor that ran through her at the contact. Such an innocent, to be so deeply affected by a mere clasping of hands. Her dream-self’s breath quickened, a becoming rosy color blooming her cheeks.

Stroking my thumb across her palm in a hypnotic caress, I said, “You’ve been so strong, Evelyn. So devoted. But even the strongest need comfort.”

I let my touch linger, savoring the purity of her reactions, every hitched breath and fluttering pulse. There was an art to corruption, and I was a master of my craft.

The dream shifted around us once more, the chaise lounge transforming into a luxurious bed draped in silken sheets. Evelyn reclined against the pillows, her golden hair fanning out in a halo.

I moved to sit beside her, admiring how her body responded to my presence despite the protests I could practically hear running through her mind. Cupping her cheek, I traced the delicate line of her jaw with my thumb.

“Let me take this burden from you,” I leaned down until my mouth hovered a hair’s breadth from hers.

---