Warnings: English is not my language, likely incorrect use of outdated words. Not reviewed, sexual tension with a "man of God", religious themes
Obs: He's evil, but too hot to be forgotten. I saw an edit of his on ttk and I got kind of inspired. I wanted to do something inspired by Frollo from The Hunchback of Notre Dame, but it didn't turn out quite as I wanted.
The church is empty when he commands you to enter.
The wooden doors close behind you with a sound too dry for a place that should signify salvation. The air smells of melted wax and old dampness. Candles cast long shadows on the wooden walls, making your stomach churn.
Carver stands with his back to you, before the altar.
The silence stretches. He turns slowly, his face rigid, his dark eyes gleaming with something that doesn't seem like faith.
"You know why you're here."
He smiles. A restrained smile, almost malicious. As if you were an inevitable disappointment he savored.
"That's what everyone says.”
He descends the altar steps, step by step, like a judge approaching the defendant. Each step echoes louder than it should.
“There are rumors,” he continues. “Whispers. Sin circulating through the village. Corrupting influence. Desires that don’t belong to God.”
You feel the weight of the words accumulating on your shoulders.
“That’s not true,” you insist. “They’re lying.”
“They are?” he tilts his head. “Or do you just not understand the gravity of what you carry within you?”
He stops too close. His light breath on your face, his body too close to be innocent. His presence invades your space, and you take a deep breath as he leans in to smell your neck.
“I heard,” he says softly. “I saw.”
He’s incisive, but you know he’s lying, you both know.
“There are things that awaken… weaknesses,” he murmured. “Even in men of God.”
There was a heavy silence. Not the silence of faith—the silence of acknowledged temptation.
“Tomorrow,” he continues, as if reading a passage from the Bible, “The council will meet. Witchcraft. Corruption of the soul, exemplary punishment.
"The women of the village came to me," he says, his voice heavy with calculated reproach. "They say you provoke the men, that you're arousing desires where there should only be decency."
"That's a lie! You can't prove anything."
He leans close to your ear, wetting his lips along the way.
"I don't need to prove it. I just need to say it."
The real terror isn't in the threat.
He steps back, adjusting his clothes like a virtuous man.
"There is, however, an alternative."
“I can protect you,” he says. “I can silence rumors. Redirect the blame. Guide your redemption… under my supervision.”
“Supervision?” your voice falters.
“You will live under my eyes. My rules. My word.” He pauses. “Far from the influence of the world.”
It’s control, possession.
His gaze darkens. Not with anger—with something worse: twisted devotion.
“Then nothing will remain of you but ashes and dirty memories,” he says. “And I will weep for you before everyone, like a righteous man.”
He leans closer again, finally touching your chin, forcing you to look at him. His dark eyes descending from your eyes to your lips.
“Be mine…” his voice trembles for a moment, as if fighting something inside him, “…or belong to no one.”
He releases your chin as if the touch had burned his own skin.
He takes a step back, straightens his posture, dons the cloak of authority again—the reverend, the man of God, the moral pillar of the village. But his eyes… his eyes are still fixed on you, hungry, restless.
"I am not a cruel man," he says, his voice calm, measured again. "Despite what you may think."
You almost laugh. Almost.
He crosses his hands behind his back and begins to walk down the central aisle of the church, slowly, as if in deep spiritual reflection. Each step echoes as a reminder of how much that place belongs to him.
"I will grant you some time," he continues. "To pray. To reflect. To understand the mercy I am offering."
He stops before one of the candles and extinguishes the flame with his fingers, without hesitation, without showing pain.
"But think quickly," he adds, finally turning his gaze back to you. "My generosity is not infinite."
The silence weighs heavily.
"Tomorrow, at sunset, before the council meets." He approaches again, but now keeps his distance, like a predator who knows its prey has nowhere to run. "You will come to me with your answer."
You feel your heart race.
He smiles. A short, almost indulgent smile.
"Then I will." He tilts his head, as if giving sincere advice. "And believe me… that won't be good for you."
He walks past you, brushing your shoulder lightly—enough to send shivers down your spine. He opens the church door, letting in the cold night air.
Before leaving, he stops in the doorway.
"Think carefully," he says, without looking back. "Because, after tomorrow, what you are…" he pauses, "…will no longer be your choice."
You stand alone in the middle of the dark church, surrounded by shadows and crosses. The place that should protect you now seems like an open tomb.
He gave you time but not freedom.
And you know there is no real choice.
