Chapter 62 Confession No. 44: To Touch the Beast: My Sacred Fall in the Temple of Dust
Chapter 62 Confession No. 44: To Touch the Beast: My Sacred Fall in the Temple of Dust
Confession recovered from the lost Temple of Aeyra. Bound in crimson silk and sealed with sacred wax.
They say the desert never forgets. But the dunes of Arkenash buried my shame under layers of scorched sand, swallowing the echo of my moans where no goddess dared listen.
His name was Daryth Vorn. The Beast of Istavar. The man who would unmake me.
The first time I saw him, I was in a trance, draped in sheer ceremonial veils, preparing a sacred oil bath for the goddess's blessing. The temple's dome was wide open to the heavens, letting the scent of saffron, myrrh, and anticipation fill the sacred chamber. I had not known a man's gaze until then. The acolytes whispered of lust. I knew only prophecy until he arrived.
He did not speak when he entered. He didn't have to. The temple guards fell silent. Even the wind seemed to hush in deference to his presence. I knew who he was by the iron in his stare and the heat crawling between my thighs. I knelt, head bowed, hiding the way my nipples betrayed me beneath the translucent fabric.
"You are the seer," he said, voice like crushed obsidian.
I nodded. To speak would be to sin. The Oracle takes a vow of silence until the Goddess breaks it.
He circled me like a predator. Then he stopped behind me.
"Do you see me in your visions, little flame?"
I clenched. My breath stilled. I had seen him. Night after night. Pinning me to the altar. Drowning me in the river beyond the dunes only to resuscitate me with his mouth. Riding me until I forgot the names of my ancestors.
I nodded once. Shamefully. Truthfully.
He crouched beside me and whispered, "Then tell me what you saw."
I broke.
"I saw you, with your hands around my throat and your cock inside me."
Gasps escaped the surrounding temple sisters, but Daryth’s smile was cruel and knowing.
"Good. Then you know what comes next."
The ritual chamber was still. Saffron scented oil shimmered in the golden basin. He lifted me effortlessly, setting me inside like I was his offering to the goddess I had once served.
"I want to see you beg, priestess. Not for mercy. For corruption."
He stripped me layer by layer, pressing me against marble. His fingers traced the runes on my spine, lighting up the sacred script with each touch. My back arched. My thighs parted. My breath shattered into whimpers.
When he entered me, it was not a violation. It was the fulfillment of every blasphemous whisper I had choked on for years. I screamed his name like a sacred chant, letting the temple tremble with each thrust.
"You are no longer hers," he growled. "You are mine."
He made me confess with my body. He made me weep with pleasure. And when the sun rose over the scorched dunes, the Oracle was no more.
Only Amavari remained. His priestess. His whore. His prophecy.