The Fall of Lordsgate Convent

The Fall of Lordsgate Convent

By Val Mcbane

Chapter One: A Desperate Arrival

Mella's cloak hung heavy on her shoulders. She'd walked for days and her whole body ached. She hadn't known hunger like this since she was a child. Yet despite the chill in the fog that covered the road, a warmth radiated through her core, a reminder of what drove her to take to the road.

She'd left in the night, her parents better off not knowing what happened to her. Penny walls lined the road she walked and she traced her hand along the rough bricks. Mella knew why she'd fled, but the sting hurt all the same. She'd left the only family she'd ever known, she'd left the village she'd grown up in. All in the hope that somewhere out there was salvation.

Why endure this cold? Why feel this hunger?

The voice, that damned voice was back. Mella closed her eyes and grabbed her red hair and pushed it against her face. "You know why!" she screamed to no one.

Little Robin, why struggle? Why deny my gifts?

Mella grimaced, it knew what her mother called her as a girl, and it used that name to get under her skin.

"Get out!" screamed Mella as she cradled her head.

I'm sorry, but I can't, I have much to teach you

As if it accentuate the point, Mella's breath caught as her unwelcome visitor stoked a sinful fire in her. Shameful fantasies crafted by her visitor flooded her mind's eye, a weary traveler crossing her path, and her submitting to provide their every desire no matter how shameful. Mella shook her head and stood up uneasily.

"I will purge you demon, I will find peace."

Devil, Little Robin, and you will find your peace, but only in awakening

Mella took another step, then another, each one demanding her full concentration. The fire within her was roaring now, she felt what her intruder wanted her to feel but she refused to indulge in the sensations.

"Lord, guide me in my hour of need," she pleaded as she held her hands together and closed her eyes tightly.

Call to your god, Little Robin, and hear his silence, you are judged, but not aided

Another step forward as her legs wavered and shook under her. She wanted to believe that if her faith was true that something would happen, instead a final crackle of the fire within her sapped the strength from her legs and she convulsed against her will as sinful sensations wracked her body. After breathing heavily for a minute Mella picked herself up and, with clarity and an absence of the fire, she could move freely.

Ahead of her was the sign she'd been waiting for.

Lordsgate Convent →

She'd heard whispers of the convent, tucked deep into the Leinster forests, a place for seclusion and peace under the watchful eye of the lord.

Hours of following a dirt path through a thick forest made Mella think she'd taken a wrong turn, it was only when she saw the convent on a hill over looking the forest that she felt her faith be rewarded. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she saw the holy building, it was refuge and the promise of peace.

Such a beautiful building, I think I'll make it ours

"This building will be your end, devil," snapped Mella as she approached the convent's heavy oaken door.

Mella swallowed hard and knocked on the door with the heavy iron ring bolted to it.

After several seconds the sound of a lock being turned echoed through the door and it opened. Behind the door was a woman in a nun's habit who looked at Mella, her face immediately softened.

"Oh you poor thing, you look positively drained, do come in." The nun opened the door fully and Mella stepped inside, hoping that she'd feel the warmth inside her subside, instead it remained steadfast, always waiting to ignite her.

"I'm sister Alvy, what's your name child?" she asked.

"Mella," answered Mella wearily.

Alvy nodded and guided Mella to sit down in the chapel. Mella felt reassured by the feeling of sitting on a pew.

"Now what brings you here child?" asked Alvy.

Mella looked at the carving of Jesus on the cross and back at Alvy. "I've come to dedicate myself, I... I feel touched by evil and I must overcome it through devotion."

"To have a touch of evil is to be a woman," said Alvy with a hint of regret, "was eve who bit the apple first."

Mella swallowed, unsure whether to press the seriousness of her condition or to keep it to herself. "Yes, I suppose that is true," she said halfheartedly.

"If you truly wish to dedicate yourself child, you're welcome to, but know what it means to be a wife of the lord."

Mella nodded, "it's a life of devotion, to choose faith over oneself, I've had time on the road to contemplate this."

Alvy smiled at her warmly, "oh it will be so nice to have someone new here," she cleared her throat and regained her composure, "if that is what you wish, I will present you to the sister superior, she will decide if you can be one of us."

The Sister Superior was in her office as she went through the year's budget. She looked up and noticed Mella.

"Sister Alvy, who do you bring before me?"

Alvy smiled and bowed her head, "a potential Novice, Sister Superior."

Sister Superior Fiona stood up and tucked her chair in as she approached Mella and examined her. "What's your education?"

"I can read and write miss."

Fiona nodded, "good, good, and your family?"

"Just farmers miss."

"I see, and what is it that brought you here?"

Mella thought back to the cursed devil that coursed through her veins, what did she say? What could she say?

"I feel touched by evil, miss, I have... terrible and powerful urges."

Fiona nodded, "and you seek the lord's mercy to subdue those urges?"

"Yes miss."

Fiona considered Mella's words. "We will welcome you, novice, but know that we do not tolerate sinful acts and they will be punished severely."

Mella nodded, "that is why I am here, miss."

"You may call me sister superior now." Fiona looked at Alvy, "Sister Alvy, introduce our novice to Sister Neve."

"Of course Sister Superior."

Sister Neve was reading from her bible in her cell when there was a knock on the door.

"Come in," she said softly as she turned a page.

Sister Alvy poked her head in, "Sister Neve, we've a new novice requiring your attention." She said in a coy sing song voice.

Neve stood up and walked to the door, dusting off her habit as she left her cell. "Sister," she said to Alvy before turning her attention to Mella. "And you must be our newest novice."

Mella nodded and wasn't sure what to do. Neve put her hands on Mella shoulders and she felt the warmth inside of her ignite. With a grunt she doubled over and quickly regained herself when Neve let go. Neve suddenly felt flush after touching Mella.

"Anyways," said sister Neve as she regained herself.

Oh, this one is delicious, if only you could feel what I do in her

"Quiet," whispered Mella.

"Pardon, novice?" asked Sister Neve.

"Nothing um... sister."

Sister Neve nodded, still blushing from touching Mella. "I will um... show you the garden first."

Sister Alvy excused herself to pray while Sister Neve guided Mella to the garden behind the convent. There other novices and lay sisters, sisters who'd taken vows but were not cloistered. They worked in the convent so that Choir nuns could focus on their theological pursuits. Sister Neve held her habit and knelt down beside some carrots growing healthily in the meticulously tilled black soil.

"We've carrots, cabbage, potatoes, we've also rhubarb, and herbs for medicine and cooking." As Neve spoke Mella felt a warmth on her palm as though she were holding her hand against bare skin.

You could claim her, make her writhe in the dirt in mutual pleasure

Sister Neve continued, "we've also sheep in the pasture, good eating when we have one of those-" the voice interrupted Neve and Mella could hear the sounds of moaning in her ears.

I can sense your thoughts, Little Robin, you wonder what their ecstatic cries would sound like

Sister Neve looked at Mella and furrowed her brow, "novice, are you paying attention?"

"Yes Sister," stammered Mella as the voice whispered in her ears.

Your certainly focusing on her child bearing hips

Mella closed her eyes and quietly as possible whispered, "begone devil," she said.

Neve stood up and looked at Mella, "my goodness girl, you're pale as death, don't worry, just nerves on your first day. I was the same way."

"Yes, nerves," said Mella as the devil continued to portray thoughts, wicked thoughts of what Neve would look like out of her habit. Mella shook her head and saw that Neve was waiting for her to follow to the pasture.

"It's a lot to learn," assured Neve as she smiled reassuringly at Mella.

She has no idea how much she will learn in return

The voice purred with excitement as Mella walked being Neve and saw the goat enclosure. A dozen sheep wandered the pasture nibbling on grass and a few ewes nursing their young.

"Fond of sheep's milk?" asked Neve as she checked on the young lambs.

"More used to cow's milk I'll be honest."

Neve paused momentarily to smile knowingly, "Goat's milk is richer, you'll get used to it."

I wonder if she's tasted the milk of a man?

Mella grimaced as the voice teased her, Neve noticed Mella's discomfort and patted her shoulder, "don't worry, it has a taste you'll learn to appreciate."

As Neve patted Mella's shoulder she blinked and had to breath deeply. Sinful thoughts coursed through her, starting in her had, the feeling of something cylindrical and moist on her hand. She gasped at the feeling and rubbed her hand against her habit.

Neve coughed and stood uneasily, "perhaps we should teach you the prayers of the convent." she said with a wavering voice.

All the nuns had gathered in the chapel for Vespers, the evening prayer. Sister Superior lead the prayers, reading from the bible and calling on sisters to reflect on their struggles of the day. As she spoke Mella listened intently, trying to remember every word spoken.

"-And now sisters," said the Sister Superior, "we have a new novice, please stand and introduce yourself."

Mella stood up hesitantly and felt two dozen eyes on her as she tried to summon words.

"Hello um... sisters, my name is Mella Smith, I come from a village near enniscorthy and I enjoy gardening."

As well as slurping on supple virgins womanhood

Mella stood and blushed as the thought coursed through her.

"You may sit, novice Mella." said the Sister superior. "Now sisters, contemplate in silence on the day's events."

Mella looked down and closed her eyes, all day she'd been tormented by the devil, and now she was left in silence as it swirled in her head.

So many virgins, so many hidden desires, if only you could smell them as I do, Little Robin, you would understand

In the silence of the chapel as her new sisters contemplated there was no room to speak, she could not confront the devil without looking insane. She closed her eyes tightly and prayed silently, each time the devil gave her temptation she started the prayer again, and again. But with each silent prayer the urges turned from warm, to fiery, to painfully urgent.

I will fill this chapel with the sounds of your sisters in crisis

Again she started praying again, and as she did, the voice preyed on her mind.

You sought salvation, but have brought ruin and liberation to these women

Mella's mind was locked fighting itself as she rubbed her thighs together to find some sort of release from the sensations that she was being tormented with. As she felt her body react to the sensations Mella heard Neve speaking beside her.

"Mella, sister are you alright?" asked Neve in a whisper.

"I am... emotional, that is all."

"The first contemplation can bring about some intense emotions, it's your time to connect with god."

Remember Little Robin, I am your god, unlike your spiritual father, I answer, even if you do not ask

Mella's face was awash with forced calm as she heard the devil whisper such blasphemous filth in her ear. When Vespers ended Mella stood up abruptly and approached the Sister Superior.

"Sister Superior," said Mella while trying to keep control of herself.

"Hm?"

Mella cleared her throat and swallowed hard, "I must learn the prayers of the convent, may I be excused to my cell to practice the words of worship?"

Sister Superior Fiona smiled with pride, "eager to begin are you? Very well, I'll expect you to be versed fully by the end of the week, now go sister."

Mella pushed her door closed and breathed heavily. She fell on the hard bed and reached for the prayer book on the night stand and hastily read through the prayers, desperate to distract herself with something pure, something holy. But the words were bouncing off her eyes as she read, the sensation between her legs was unbearable.

"I... I just need to remind myself of why I am here." She said as she put the prayer book down and reached for the bible. She cracked it open to a random page and began to read.

-There she lusted after her lovers, whose genitals were like those of donkeys and whose emission was like that of horses.

Mella slammed the bible shut and placed it back on the night stand.

Despite having no privacy, despite having a door with a window, with a sweating brow Mella reached for a candle stick and, with shaking hands, removed it from its candle stick. She looked down between her legs and at the candle stick.

light the way forward, Little Robin

With a gulp, with surrender, she lifted her habit and reached between her legs with the candle stick and surrendered to her cursed desires.

Mella's body was awash with relief as she felt what the devil wanted her to feel. The devil didn't need to feed thoughts to her anymore, she was imagining them, needing them. But when she lacked the language to express her desires, the devil put a name to them.

Lets see who you imagine when you violate yourself, Little Robin

Mella breathed hard and tried to deny the devil her mind, but she coursed through her blood and writhed in her soul, it was everywhere and no secret was safe.

My my, but a day here and you imagine your sisters? But what is this? They are equipped more like brothers, is that what you wish? A masculine tool on a feminine form?

Mella shook her head but her body and mind betrayed her again. Something welled up inside her, something she'd only experienced once before. Her toes curled, he face became flush, and her eyes were forced open by a rapturous feeling spreading through her body.

True to the devils words she was imagining what it would be like, to be bedded by a woman capable of fulfilling her desires. And then a blinding white light filled her vision as her whole body tensed up. She released her grip on the candle, feeling it pop out with force as she put her hands to her mouth to suppress the cries of ecstasy she felt rushing up her throat.

Mmm, thank you for warming up your body, you must be tired, sleep

Mella wanted to resist, to regain her composure and dignity, but her eyes fluttered, it had been a long few days on the road and her body ached fiercely. When she closed her eyes something shifted behind her eyelid, and when she opened her eyes a second later, they were slitted like a cats and glowing yellow.

"Oh that's better," purred Mella as she looked at her hands as though she'd just taken control of them.

Mella stood up and sighed happily as she opened a bible, flipped to a page near the back, tore it out, and cleaned her womanhood with it. "It's good to be in control." she said as she slipped out of her habit and admired her own body. Slowly, as she ran her hands across her breasts, her skin shifted, reddening and tightening into a material almost like polished rubber.

That which was once Mella admired herself and pouted, "no, no the others are not ready for my glory yet, but they will be."

Slowly, her skin returned to Mella's, as did her eyes. With a devious smirk she slipped her habit back on and looked to the door. "Now who will I play with?" she asked herself.

Chapter Two: The First Temptation

Mella, or at least the devil that inhabited her, stepped out of her cell and hummed to herself as she walked through the cells, looking inside to see if any sisters were finding isolation.

Disappointed that there were no cells with playmates in them, the possessed Mella walked through the Convent freely, she bowed her head and hid a knowing smirk behind her hood. She heard footsteps and walked calmly as two sisters deep in contemplation walked past her without notice.

Thoughts of who'd she'd met ran through her, Sister Superior Fiona? No such a powerful soul needed more than temptation to corrupt, Fiona required the desecration of her very place of worship, she would discover the pleasures of sin, but not yet.

Then there was Neve, innocent, trusting Neve. She would be perfect for a first acolyte of her body.

Sister Neve hadn't expected Mella to be back so quickly, Neve was on her knees tending to carrots sprouts.

"Novice Mella, I hadn't expected to see you so soon, Sister Superior Fiona said you were practicing your prayers.

"I was," said Mella, the devil within her finding bemusement in stealing Mella's voice as well as her body. "But I have always struggled to memorize on my own. Please, would you guide me? I could benefit from your expertise."

Neve smiled and looked at Mella with excitement, "I would delighted, the carrots look healthy enough." Neve stood up and dusted the dirt from her habit. Before leaving Mella smiled deviously and ran her fingers across the sprouts of the carrots and continued to follow Neve back to her cell.

As she walked with Neve the carrots twisted beneath the dirt, their form changing into something veiny and girthy, phallic and corrupt.

Oblivious to Mella's current nature Neve walked into Mella's cell and sat down on her bed as she reached for the prayer book on the night stand. "Is there any particular prayer that you're struggling with?"

Mella sat beside Neve and leaned in, letting their shoulders touch, in one deft movement she placed her hand on Neve's thigh and with her free hand turned the pages of the book, as though looking for a particular passage.

Neve sat nervously as she felt Mella's hand on her thigh. She was just bracing, she thought to herself. Mella pointed to a passage, "Lauds, I'm struggling with this one," she said as she lifted her hand from Neve's thigh but she knew she'd cast a pebble into a still pond, shattering the illusion of stability.

As Sister Neve recited the morning prayer Mella repeated after her and from the outside all was well, peaceful, but Neve was alone with a creature beyond her comprehension. She recited prayers while Mella allowed her presence to bring to the surface what god and man subdued.

Like embers on hay, her influence spread through Neve's body as buried truths and curiosities boiled to the surface of thought. Her prayers were true and earnest, but her mind was elsewhere, wandering to innocent pleasures half remembered. Mella could smell the uncertainty of Neve's psyche and it roused a hunger in her.

"Novice Mella... is... there a fire? It's terribly warm," stammered Neve as she tugged at her habit's collar.

"I've been told my presence is warming," said Mella.

Neve coughed, "now you recite, I'll guide you if you get lost," Neve focused on Mella and in doing so couldn't help but wonder, did she always look so angelic?

"Of course sister," said Mella as she recited the prayer back to Neve, she didn't have to be taught such prayers, she tempted the men who wrote them in the first place.

Neve tried to smile happily for Mella as she demonstrated she'd learned the prayer, but as she looked at Mella she was reminded of the one desire that the lord cursed her with. A curse long buried, almost forgotten, until today of all days. Now it was back at the surface of her mind and the more she fought to push back down the unclean thoughts the more tired she became.

"Sister Neve?" asked Mella cautiously while holding back a predators excitement, "are you well?"

Neve's mouth was drying out and her throat clenching as she fought to speak a desire no man could ever make her say. "Siste- Novice Mella, I... I must return to my cell for somber reflection." Neve tried to stand up but she felt anchored in place.

Mella put a hand on Neve's shoulder and smiled, "well please know you've been so kind, I feel indebted to you, should you require anything, I would be happy to oblige."

Neve's breath caught as she could only imagine what she could do with that obligation, shameful, sinful obligations. How dare she, she thought, fantasizing about someone under their guidance.

Mella awoke, truly awoke back in control of herself, as a bell chimed for Matins. She swallowed hard and wondered what foul deeds had been done while the devil held her body. "My weakness let you out, I will not falter so easily next time," she said as she rose to put on her habit and head for the chapel.

Be mindful of your sisters needs, Little Robin

At the Chapel Sister Superior Fiona had a bible on the lectern and the nuns filed in and took their places on the pews. Sister Neve hurried to sit next to Mella as she breathed hard. Mella regretted having no time to learn any of the prayers and was thankful to have Neve next to her.

"It's good to see you..." whispered Mella.

Neve smiled awkwardly as she tried to not think about the feelings that Mella roused in her during prayer. "And you as well."

"Sister, did I behave strangely today?"

Neve shook her head, "you're just nervous on your first day sister, you already know your lauds incredibly well."

"We practiced prayer together?"

Neve blinked in surprise, "you... don't remember?"

"I'm sorry," said Mella, "just nerves." Her eyes went wide as she realized what the devil had been up to in her body. Somehow, practicing prayer was so much worse, knowing what it was capable of sowing.

A rod was slapped on the lectern as Sister Superior Fiona glared at the women. "Sisters, the next one of you to speak will understand the benefit of silence," she whipped the rod against the Lectern again.

A two hour vigil of listening to the Sister Superior recite from the bible and hymns sung passed by while Mella stewed in worry over what had happened. What wickedness had the devil wrought in this sacred place?

When it did pass and they were allowed back to their cells, Mella laid down in her bed and felt thankful that the devil hadn't interfered, perhaps the convent had tempered her somehow. She detested what the devil made her feel, but if only she was burdened by this curse she could be at peace with that.

It was an hour before Lauds and Mella hadn't slept at all, filled with worry over when the devil would strike next. Mella heard foot steps on the stone floor of the convent and a creak as her door opened. Mella's breathing quickened and she lurched forward in bed. "Who's there?" she asked in a cautious whisper.

"I've come about that obligation," said Neve as she stumbled clumsily into Mella's bed.

"Sister, what has gotten into you?"

Neve quietly sobbed, "a damned curse," she said in agony, "and I must know, I have to know what I've lost.

Mella pushed herself back against the wall as Neve continued to crawl towards her.

"Please Mella, let me know," she begged in hushed tone.

Look at the poor girl, Little Robin, be her mercy

Mella knew what it was like to be cursed, and if Neve felt the same damnation then it would be a cruelty to deny her.

Mella placed her hands on Neve's shoulders to steady her but Neve shuddered under her touch. "Sister, what curse do you speak of? Do you endure devils?"

Neve quietly sobbed, "for me, every woman is a devil, a temptation, a downfall. And I must know, I have to know what I've denied myself. I can't explain it, I don't want to, but you... you-"

"-Lit a fire in you?" finished Mella as she grew certain of what her devil has done.

Neve groaned and looked at Mella with desire, "A roaring flame, let me... please, just... a kiss."

How can you deny a poor girl? She's spilling her darkest secrets to you

Mella blinked and, with hesitation, allowed Neve to approach. She was cautious, nervous, and filled with shame, but she took the plunge all the same.

When their lips touched they were hesitant at first, but as the wetness and warmth of their kiss was felt they were pulled deeper into the moment.

Neve pulled back and looked horrified, "I... I should not have, I'm sorry Mella I claimed you like a drunkard claims a woman I-"

Mella felt something as well, and as Neve stammered Mella raised her hand and put a finger on Neve's trembling lips. "it... it did not bother me."

"Then may I ask... could we... do it again?"

Mella gulped and bit her lip before nodding. Neve leaned in and this time, without hesitation, kissed Mella. They explored each other's mouths delicately at first but with growing enthusiasm. Gentle gasps and moans escaped their lips as they kissed each other, and all the while, the devil feasted on their passion.

"Oh Ajara," moaned Neve. Mella blinked and pulled away, Neve looked concerned "Mella? Did I say something?"

"You... I... all is well," Mella gave up, knowing that the devil's influence would always be felt, but a part of her died at the knowledge that her mercy damned Neve. One night here and she'd driven a woman to kiss her. What other madness could this Devil, Ajara, wreak upon her life.

Neve pulled away from Mella's lips and panted heavily, "I am damned, and yet... my heart... it feels full."

Kisses turned south as they pecked and writhed against each other, Neve kissed at Mella's neck with her eyes closed.

"Neve, we... we cannot," panted Mella as she offered no resistance to Neve's passions. She arched her back as Neve suckled on her breasts and lapped at her nipple.

"This is wrong," panted Mella as she held Neve to her chest. Prayers choked on her lips, never being uttered. She knew this was Ajara's doing yet was powerless as Neve became what she desired.

Neve pulled back, and for a moment Mella thought she'd stopped for good, but then she looked up at Mella, "may I taste of you? Your... flower?"

Mella's eyes went wide at the notion and surprised at Neve's forwardness. What magic had Ajara placed her under to make her behave in such a way? "Sister Neve... I... We can't," she whispered, "If Sister Superior catches us we'll be punished! That we haven't already is a miracle, please, let us stop."

Neve breathed heavily and blinked as though a spell were broken, she sighed, "Mella, I... I... understand. But please let this stay between us?"

"Of course."

Sister Neve collected herself and carefully crept back to her own cell before Sister Superior caught her. Mella was left breathless by the encounter and after everything that happened she felt a burning hot flame in need of stoking growing in her body. She looked to the candle stick again and sighed as she reached for it.

"Lord, please, stop me," she whispered, hoping beyond hope that Sister Superior would catch her, but the hall was empty and everyone was deep in slumber. As she exorcised her desires with the candle stick her mind remained only on Sister Neve. But something was different about her in Mella's fantasy, she was equipped like a man, able to lay her and give her child. The fantasy concluded and Mella replaced the candle stick and looked up at the ceiling.

"I needed you, and your silence damns me again."

In the silence, she heard it, the low confident tone of Ajara.

I am all you need, Little Robin

Mella's dreams were not gentle that night. She dreamed she back at home, crying into her blouse as she felt a gentle hand rub her head. She didn't know why she was crying, but she knew that she was in pain and that the hand took it away.

There, there, Little Robin, let mother take care of you

Mella jolted awake as The bell rang for Lauds. She weakly lifted herself out of bed and tucked herself into her habit, still uncertain in how she fitted it on in the dark.

The other nuns filed out of their cells to reach the chapel where the chantress was waiting at the Lectern. Neve made a point of sitting next to Mella as she recited the prayers, struggling to repeat the Latin chants spoken by the chantress.

As Latin fell clumsily from her lips, Mella was distracted by glances from Neve, she was so practiced, so poised, it made Mella believe that she too could achieve it. But there was also her lips, her smile, her... beauty.

Mella knew Neve's sudden attraction was Ajara's doing, the devil had done something to her, yet what she made Mella feel... that felt real. And it terrified her.

An hour of chanting and singing passed before they were expected to attend to their duties. Mella was thankful to be assigned to the garden, she could find peace in honest work. Neve looked at Mella as they both headed for the garden and Mella understood that she would be working beside Neve. The source of her confusion and victim of the devil, and now Mella had to work beside her.

"The carrots look about ready for harvest," said Sister Neve as she grabbed a stalk by the base of the sprout and pulled it up. Once the dirt fell and she could see the root of it she gasped, when Mella looked, she too gasped. The carrot was not tapered like it should have, it was... phallic, and tauntingly so.

"My lord, what a cruel coincidence," said Neve uneasily. She dropped the carrot and reached for another one, this one was longer and had a pronounced tip, Neve held it with two fingers and tossed it into the dirt. "This is... this is..." she looked at Mella and motioned for her to follow.

Once they were away from the other nuns Neve turned around and looked at Mella. "This has to be the lord's work, a message, a warning."

"A warning of what?"

Neve looked around again, "what I did to you!" she hissed, "what we... did," she twiddled her fingers together as she thought back to last night. "What we did, I thought it was beautiful, but I realize now it was a terrible sin." Neve hurried away leaving Mella stunned beneath an archway.

For the rest of the day Mella resumed gardening, but when Sister Superior heard of the carrots she demanded all nuns vacate the garden until an exorcism could be conducted on the grounds. And in a cell deep in the convent Neve took a deep breath and shook her sleeve, one of the corrupted carrots slid out and she looked at it, as though in thought.

"I... I shouldn't," she said as she looked at the carrot.

And yet you took it all the same

Neve blinked as she heard Ajara's voice. Her heart quickened and she looked at the carrot.

"And what you say is true?"

Of course, I never lie

"Will it hurt?"

In all the best ways

"This is what Mella wants? Truly?"

This is what you and her deserve, one miracle, two wishes

Neve swallowed hard and took a bite of the carrot, it was crisp and flavorful, but the taste was all wrong, it wasn't an earthy sweetness, it was almost sweet like a carrot cake. She chewed and swallowed, first biting the tip and eating the plant dutifully.

Make every bite count

Neve obeyed and ate the carrot down to the stems. She looked around, disappointed that nothing had happened. "I don't... feel any different."

Is patience not a virtue for you? Give magic its time

As Neve was about to respond she felt her gut and loins become a cauldron of nausea. A wet warmth radiating inside of her. She gasped as she felt something happening under her habit, it felt like her womanhood was melting.

She writhed on her back as a great and terrible pleasure coursed through her. A fullness took over her womanhood and soon she felt nothing at all, then, slowly, she felt the changes. The feeling of cloth on the tip of something, a weight tugging at her crotch. As she regained her composure Neve felt her body for changes and let out a yelp of shock when she felt something beneath her habit. And worse still, she felt her hand through the fabric on whatever it was that she had under her habit.

Carefully Neve lifted her gown and cautiously looked at her crotch, there, in defiance of man and god, was a fully formed penis and testes. She covered it again with her habit and put her hand to her mouth as she wanted to scream, but no one could hear her, not now, not when she in the midst of being cursed. She felt herself, seeing what else had changed, to her relief her breasts remained, it had only been her most intimates that had been affected by the curse.

Chapter Three: Whispers in the Cloister

Sister Superior Fiona stood at the garden's edge and looked at the carrots pulled from the ground, each was different but no less vulgar. She silently looked at the phallic roots and considered her next course of action. Beside her, Sister Grace was wiping her hands with a cloth after pulling up the remaining carrots.

"Sister Superior, what does it mean?"

Sister Superior took a deep breath, "it means that evil has come to our blessed home."

Mella was helping with laundry, curious as to the nature of Neve's absence. She was scrubbing dirt from a habit when the Sister Superior entered the room.

"Novice Mella, come with me," she said curtly.

Mella gulped and stood up. "Of course Sister Superior."

Mella followed the Sister Superior as Sister Grace walked with them. They reached the office of the convent and all three stepped inside. Fiona took her seat behind the desk. On the desk was something covered by a hand towel.

Fiona pulled away the hand towel to reveal one of the carrots from the garden. Fiona then glared at Mella. "Three centuries," breathed Fiona, "my predecessors have stewarded our sisters toward the light for generations, never faltering. And yet, in the days since you've arrived, a crude, disgusting omen has happened."

Mella tried to remain calm but her face betrayed her. "I only seek clarity and peace in union with our lord," she pleaded.

"That may be," said Fiona, "but since your arrival our convent has been cursed with... this." she said as she gestured to the phallic carrot.

Mella knew that it was Ajara, but if she admitted to everything they'd either condemn her to a terrible fate or drive her out, either way damning her.

Fiona looked into Mella's eyes cautiously, "what are you?"

Mella stepped backward, insulted and hurt to the core by the accusation. "A devout woman plagued by circumstance."

Is that all I am to you, Little Robin? Circumstance?

Mella squirmed as she heard Ajara's voice in her head.

"Novice Mella, are you well?"

"No, Sister Superior, I am not, I sought refuge and purpose here and I've been... accused of what the earth produced."

Fiona pointed to the carrot, "look upon that abomination and tell me the lord's earth produced that, it is a root from the depths of hell."

"Sister Superior, truly, I've done nothing untoward."

Fiona sighed and covered the carrot again, "you must understand, Novice, that my intention is to protect my sisters from evil. There is no malice in my choices."

"Then what would you have of me?" asked Mella.

"Confine yourself to your cell, water will be brought at dinner, contemplate your connection to the lord until whatever lingers in your soul is excised."

Mella's stomach growled at the prospect of going hungry. But she bowed her head, "thank you Sister Superior. I will begin my contemplation immediately.

As Mella stepped out of the office Fiona looked at Sister Grace, "there's something about that girl, I don't know what it is, but something is behind those eyes of hers."

Mella knelt in her cell and had her eyes closed, she was praying silently, letting the holy words relax her aching soul. But never far away, always on the edge of her mind, was Ajara. Even when she did not speak, Mella could feel her rolling her eyes at each devotion of virtue that Mella made.

Truly, Little Robin, is this what you want? Isolation, Denial, Shame?

Mella continued to pray, her voice raising to drown out Ajara's taunts.

You could be free, and I could let you control your destiny, you could be worshiped

"The clay does not shape the hand," said Mella sternly before returning to her prayers.

What's adorable is you still believe god has a plan for you

Mella kept her eyes shut and continued praying despite a waver in her voice.

I can tell you what his plan is for women like you, you won't like it

"Silence!" screamed Mella as she curled up and covered her ears with her hands.

In the lord's eyes, you are a womb and a gift to man, only I see you

"That's not... I can't be true, I... I feel, I yearn, I... live." Mella could feel the smirk growing on Ajara's face.

Eve was god's gift to Adam, was it god, or the snake that made Eve equal?

"You speak madness," cried out Mella.

I was there, Little Robin, scales and all

"No... No..."

Return to your prayers, Little Robin, seek your empty peace

Mella regained her composure, dusting her knees and resuming her kneeling before the cross in her room and whispering her prayers desperately, as though the spell of their safety had been broken.

As the other nuns prepared for Vespers, Mella continued to kneel on the hard stone floor and prayed, more begged, for clarity and peace. But Ajara was never far away, always flicking embers at her psyche, waiting for it to spark and burn away.

Mella's eyes were flickering with exhaustion when she heard a gentle knock at the door. Her eyes opened and she saw Sister Neve standing outside. She hesitantly opened the door and Neve stepped inside hurriedly.

"Sister, shouldn't you be at Vespers?" asked Mella.

"I..." stammered Neve, "I did something, and I need to know if I made the right choice."

"Sister, what did you do?" asked Mella, terrified by what Neve could have done.

Neve reached for her habit and lifted it up, Mella was at first shocked, then horrified as she saw what had happened to Neve, what she'd invited on herself.

"Neve... why... what is that?" asked Mella as she found herself unable to look away.

Sister Neve was a nervous and excited by this point, "the voice said you'd like it, and I... I have found I enjoy it."

"But Neve, you're a woman, to have a man's loins is unnatural!"

Neve stepped forward, "but now don't you see? I can be the husband, I can be the father, no man is needed, it's what the voice said."

"Neve what voice?" asked Mella even as she knew.

"The voice of the angel," she said innocently.

She has made herself in your desire's image, will you truly turn her away?

Mella bit her lip as she looked at the dangling shaft hanging between Neve's legs. She was tempted, by god she was tempted by what she saw.

"Neve, this is wrong," protested Mella as she stepped toward Neve.

"This is a miracle!" she beamed excitedly as she pulled her habit off.

Mella breathed heavily and watched with anxious excitement and terror as Neve's habit fell off and her eagerly inflating shaft bobbed with each move she made.

Neve looked blissfully at peace as she put her hands on the shaft and lazily stroked it, stretching the moist cock flesh. "I was scared at first, to lose my womb... but... what I've gained in return..." She closed her eyes in pleasure and bit her lip as a dollop of pre cum dripped from her shaft.

Beautiful, isn't she?

Mella fell to her knees without a word and licked at her lips nervously. This was everything she wanted, everything she desired, but to submit was to surrender to the devil's whims.

"Mella," gasped Neve as she jerked off casually, "You're so beautiful."

"Th-thank you, sister," stammered Mella as she knelt at eye level with her hardened shaft.

You're really going to make her beg for it? You devil

Succumbing to fantasy, to the pure ecstasy promised, Mella placed her lips on Neve's glans and sucked gently, reverentially, as she felt the familiar warmth spread through her body.

Yes Little Robin, be a good girl

Slowly, achingly, Mella worked her way up Neve's new, cursed pillar. Neve held herself as Mella closed her eyes and sucked her off.

Neve coo'd and hesitantly placed her hand on Mella's head.

Let her claim you

Mella's eyes were closed and tears of exertion and horror rolled down her cheeks. A half of her, a hungry half, it craved what she was doing, but her pious, sincere half was shrieking with horror at what she was indulging.

The warmth was growing, with each drop of cursed fluid that dripped from Neve's shaft on onto Mella's tongue roused Ajara closer to the surface of her mind.

After several minutes of having her mouth used in a way she'd never considered, Mella felt Neve pull her newfound shaft out of her throat. "I... if you would let me, may I claim your maidenhood?" She asked as she offered her hand

Mella's mouth hung open from exertion and spit dripped from her lips. She looked up at Neve and saw a face of excited enthusiasm. Through her corruption, her soft nature had somehow endured.

Mella coughed and, with a trembling hand, accepted Neve's hand. Neve pulled her up and helped her out of her habit, Mella was trembling as Neve guided her down onto the bed and laid on top of her.

"Mella," sighed Neve happily as she pressed her glans against Mella's womanhood.

At first, Mella was terrified, petrified, and breathing sharply. But as she was spread open by Neve's tip she felt the most unbelievable pleasure. This wasn't a candlestick, it was flesh, blood, and love. It pulsated, twitched, and yielded like flesh should.

Mella spread her legs as Neve pushed deeper into her, Mella could feel her body tensing and relaxing around Neve's girth, she panted and kissed at Neve eagerly.

"Am I too much?" asked Neve as worry and doubt lingered in her mind.

Mella knew she could say this was heretical behavior, blasphemy made flesh, but all she could think of was how she felt. Her whole body was alight with the warmth that plagued her since her possession. But now, it was a part of her, something she'd earned through pleasure.

But all that came out of her mouth were the words that would damn her and every woman in this convent. "Claim me, worship me," she said, unsure if it was her or Ajara speaking.

It didn't matter who'd said it, as Neve buried herself to the hilt in Mella, the cross on the wall blackened and cracked as though exposed to flame.

As Mella's head rolled back and she arched her back in ecstasy she heard Ajara's voice, sweet and mocking.

Admit it, Little Robin, you love this

Mella couldn't resist, she was too busy fighting against her moans, terrified of revealing their passion to the rest of the convent.

All Mella could do was wrap her legs around Neve as she bucked her hips in and out of Mella's aching womanhood.

As Mella's eyes crossed she convulsed and bit down on her hand. Her body was slick with sweat and all she could think of was how good she felt, how seen she was. Ajara did not need to pull her away from the reins of her mind, she only had to extend a hand and Mella felt herself hand them over.

The devil's presence rippled through Mella's body, her flesh reddened and turned glossy. Her eyes glowed yellow and black horns protruded from her skull. Neve knew on some level that she should be scared, but as she watched Mella change beneath her she felt nothing but unabated lust.

Ajara smiled warmly at Neve as she looked in horror and fascination at her, "you are free now, child," said Ajara as she traced a hand across Neve's cheek. Behind a face painted in pleasure Neve's crisis was deepening. First the transformation of her body, and now the bedding of a devil. She knew that she was damned, truly and totally.

When Neve's lips touched Ajara's she was met with a heat that radiated through her tongue. She was kissing a devil as she bedded it. She knew she should be defiant, proud, pious, but all she felt was a burning hot desire for Ajara's cursed body.

Ajara coo'd as Neve buried herself into her corrupted womanhood, each thrust leaving ink on Neve's soul. Her body tensed as unfamiliar sensations guided her toward her climax.

Neve gasped as she felt her newfound testes clench and corrupted seed spilled forth from her tip like ale from a freshly tapped keg.

Ajara held her belly like a proud mother as she felt the seed soak into her folds, her tainted body absorbing the life energy of it.

"Mmmm, so potent, so virile, what a beautiful woman you are," said Ajara as she stroked Neve's cheek.

Neve was breathless and still buried to the hilt in Ajara. With a sensitive tug she pulled out, letting the remaining seed spill out onto the bed.

"Am I... am I damned?"

Ajara stroked Neve's head and leaned up to kiss her, "you are free, child."

Neve stood up off of Ajara and looked down at herself, "I'm... what am I now?"

Ajara smiled warmly as she stood up, a trail of seed dripping between her legs as she stood up. Now on her feet Ajara could let her tail curl around her, the tip stroking Neve's chin as she winced.

"A vessel of self worship," answered Ajara, "don't you want your sisters to feel this free?"

"I... I..."

Ajara leaned forward and whispered in Neve's ear, "imagine, no hiding your desires, your body worshiped, not hidden in shame."

Neve couldn't answer, but neither could she look away. She thought of her years in the convent, the prayers, the service, it was all so fulfilling on the surface, it filled the day with purpose. But now, now she was realizing it left her hollow and unfulfilled.

Did the other sisters feel this way? Did they yearn for the same pleasures she did? Oblivious to what the body could provide?

Mella awoke back in her habit knelt at her bed, her hands clasped in prayer. She had not expected this, she hadn't expected to be in such a dignified pose after losing control of herself. She remembered watching Ajara accept Neve's passions, Ajara let Mella feel what she felt, the raw, undiluted ecstasy of fullness. This was beyond the candle stick, this was intoxicating.

She heard footsteps outside and resumed her prayers, Sister Superior Fiona entered her cell she held her breath.

"Novice Mella, how goes your contemplation?"

"It goes well, Sister Superior," said Mella as she focused on looking serene and contemplative.

Fiona nodded and looked at Mella's habit, "in the name of all that is good your habit is wrinkled like a crone, what have you been doing?"

Mella looked down at her habit, it was positively crumpled. She knew why, but in the name of whatever higher power would have her now, she knew she couldn't admit to it.

"I've been restless in prayer, standing, kneeling, standing, kneeling," she repeated as though the repetition would make it more convincing.

"Mhm..." said Sister Superior as she looked at Mella and her cell. "Sister Neve was absent from Vespers, you wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

"I was in contemplation, Sister Superior."

"Good... good." The Sister Superior took a deep breath and her nostrils flared. "What is that smell?" she asked in disgust.

Mella sniffed and realized that her cell carried the scent of her and Neve's passion, the subtle scent of sweat and something sweeter.

"I've been nervous about my place in the convent," insisted Mella, "I sweat when I'm nervous."

"A crumpled habit, and now this odor? Mella, you challenge my charity, I sympathize with a woman in your position, challenged by un lordly urges. But through hygiene we show our love for our lord. You may continue your contemplation after you've bathed. I suggest cold water."

"Of course, Sister Superior."

Mella was walked to the ablutions room and guided behind a curtain where a simple tub was waiting.

"You will have to fetch water from the well, do use the soap when you begin."

Mella was left alone and closed her eyes with frustration as she grabbed a large bucket and headed out of the room and toward the well. She hooked the handle of the bucket and descended it into the well. She felt the rope go slack as the bucket hit the water.

Once the bucket was filled Mella grunted and lifted it back up. She had no idea how many trips it would take to fill the tub but she was already loathing the effort it would take.

After two dozen trips to the well Mella was ready for the cold bath she'd filled. She disrobed and stepped into the tub. She hissed as the cold water's chill seeped into her flesh.

This won't do at all

Ajara's will was instant and uncompromising. Mella felt her skin burn and the water on her skin steamed and bubbled.

"What in the name of of the trinity is happening?" she gasped as she felt the water warm up until it was gently steaming.

A cold bath? After the fun we've had? No, you deserve better

Mella gasped as she allowed herself to truly feel the warm water. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a hot bath. It was pleasant, without the sting of cold, she didn't shiver, instead she found herself groaning as she stretched out to let the hot water soak her skin.

It was heavenly, despite its infernal nature and Mella knew she was being tempted, but purity came with conditions, absences, and demands. Ajara though? Mella hated herself for admitting it but the devil had not lead her astray, she'd rooted out long buried desires and fed them to her on a silver spoon. The only condition she offered was to not deny herself.

Mella wriggled her toes and felt herself giggle, she felt like a countess in this warm bath. She reached for the bar of soap and scrubbed herself clean of the sweat that had dried on her skin. Without the sting of the cold water she could take her time, she could savor each stroke against her skin, feeling her body be purified. Yet below the surface she knew that Ajara was molding her into something else, something more.

Chapter Four: Sister Neve's Liberation

As Mella savored the warmth of a hot bath Sister Neve was trying to garden while ignoring the new urges that her form invited to her psyche. She was distracted by the other nuns and the way they moved as they tended the garden.

As she worked she was troubled by thoughts, eager thoughts. Sister Grace was looking fetching and had always had child bearing hips. Neve could only think of what it would be like to claim her, to make a mother out of her. It was perverse, it was intrusive, but she couldn't stop imagining it.

She was supposed to be chaste, but she'd laid with Mella and she'd laid with a devil. What hope was there for her vows now? But as she considered submitting herself to the sister superior and begging for forgiveness a voice cropped into her mind, the voice of the devil that tempted her.

Do you really want to give up now and return to the mundane? After what you now know?

Neve wiped her brow and looked around to see if anyone was looking at her.

"But... I don't want to be damned," said Neve with worry.

Dear child, you only know of one vision of hell

"What other is there?"

A place of freedom, sweet child, to sin and to be sinned upon without shame

"I... But if that is hell? What is heaven?"

She could feel Ajara's smirk within her

Oh you are not prepared for what heaven is, are you sure you wish to know?

Neve groaned and looked around again, terrified that she'd be seen speaking to herself. "I must know, I must have clarity."

You're already there, child, prayer, denial, and without pleasure, for eternity

Neve thought that Heaven would be a paradise, a place where the water was sweet and the air pure, where a weary soul could rest. To know that it was more of this life left her feeling hollow. The constants of her life crumbled, the devil and hell? Evil, wicked, and cruel, and Heaven? Good, true, and fair. What Ajara spoke of was not fair, it was subjugation.

Ah, you feel it, the anger, the betrayal, you believed, and they fed you a comfortable lie

"But how can you know?"

Because it is my home, sweet child, and, when your time on earth is done, it may be yours as well

Neve swallowed hard, "I..."

It's hard to face the unknown, but know that I will give you a warm reception

To accentuate the point, Neve gasped as she felt a warmth spread through her.

Neve swallowed hard and noticed that some other sisters were noticing her one sided conversation. She felt tears welling in her eyes, the disbelief at what heaven was had put a crack in her faith, one that spread slowly but surely.

I know it hurts child, but salvation is still within reach, if you understand what you want salvation from

"What do you mean?"

Do you want to be saved from pleasure? Or absence?

Neve didn't have an answer, and Ajara didn't demand one of her, she was content to wait and watch.

Sister Neve stood up and walked to her cell, she knew she should stay in the garden and continue to toil but why? The plants were fine and the weather was ideal.

She remembered the nuns in her school, 'idle hands are the devil's plaything' they would say when she relaxed as a child. She knelt and looked up at the cross in her room as though it alone would provide answers. "Stop me," she said as she looked at the cross, "show me you see me, that you care about my soul."

She reached for her bible, now feeling like an old book and not a source of peace and clarity. With unsteady breaths she tried to think of something blasphemous to do, anything to test the lord's will, the lord's intentions.

"I..." she tried to say the most blasphemous thing she could think of but her mouth wouldn't move.

Are you trying to pledge your soul to me? Oh child I'm flattered but that is your own to sully

Neve felt lost, that her soul was her own, without god or the devil what was left?

Yourself, child

Neve stopped considering what blasphemy to say, what she felt in this moment was blasphemy enough. She sat on her bed and looked at the cross, its presence no longer an assurance or burden, merely some wood on a wall. Her habit, once a source of pride, was now just itchy cloth that stripped her of personhood.

Had her world always been like this? Suffering painted over with devotion? Neve couldn't help but breath had and consider how much of her life had been a beautiful lie. A whisper within her reminded that this all depended on Ajara speaking the truth, but she'd never given Neve a reason to doubt her.

Neve stood up and sat down on the bed, and for the first time in months, if not years, she cried. She held her hands to her face and wept for a world that she could never return to. She could swear she could taste the apple in her mouth, the knowledge of the divine stripped away every illusion of comfort that faith ever gave her.

She remained like that until Sister Grace noticed her weeping. "Sister?" she asked worriedly. "What bothers you so?"

How could Neve tell Grace what she was feeling? That heaven was more of the same? That hell was a place of freedom and peace? It was all blasphemous.

"I... I feel... troubled." she said as she wiped away tears.

Grace smiled at Neve and sat beside her on the bed, "I was just speaking to Sister Alvy and Sister Meeda about striving through troubled times. Whatever problem you have, the lord will provide a solution, you simply have to look for it."

"I... yes of course," said Neve.

Mella was out of her bath and feeling serene from the bathing. She dried herself off with a towel and breathed in the steamy air. Ajara, devil that she was, knew how to look after her.

Feeling soothed, Little Robin?

Mella bit her lip, "yes," she answered guiltily.

Oh, there's no need to be ashamed, revel in earthly joys

Mella slipped into her habit and adjusted it until it was prim and proper on her. There was a mirror in the ablution room and Mella looked at her reflection, a petite nun looked back at her but she knew what resided below her skin. Ajara felt playful and made Mella's eyes glow yellow, her pupils stretching into slits. Mella gasped and with a blink, her eyes were back to normal.

They suit you

"Please don't do that."

Mella stepped out of the ablutions room and looked for Sister Neve, she still did not know her role in the convent and needed her guidance. Despite the spiritual damage she'd done to Neve she still sought her to understand her own role in the convent.

Mella passed by other sisters performing their roles in the convent, each of them acknowledged her with a glance but remained silent. When Mella reached Neve's cell she found her being comforted by Sister Grace.

When Neve saw Mella, her face lit up, "Neve, I... how are you?"

"The sister superior made me take a bath." Neve blushed, knowing she was partly to blame for making Mella sweat in the first place.

Sister Grace was quick to chime in politely, "cleanliness is next to godliness," she said, repeating words she'd said dozens of times before.

"Yes, of course," said Mella, she looked to Sister Grace, "you're sister Grace, are you not?"

"That I am," she said proudly. "and you must be Novice Mella. How are you finding the convent so far?"

Mella wasn't sure how to respond, how could she? Did she admit she'd brought a devil to the convent? That her presence had corrupted the roots of the earth and those roots had in turn corrupted Neve. "Purposeful," said Mella, thinking of what would sound right.

This pleased Sister Grace, "How succinct," she said with approval, "now we really must return to our duties. Sister Neve, do you feel better?"

"If it's all the same I'd like to converse with Novice Mella about her duties," said Neve.

Sister Grace stood up, "of course, share your guidance. I shall be in the kitchen."

Once Grace walked out of the cell Neve looked to Mella and they shared confused longing looks at each other. They knew the other was safe, that they wouldn't judge, and so with a gulp they leaned in and pressed their lips together. They kissed tenderly, and when Mella pulled away she looked into Neve's eyes.

"Neve, what was bothering you? Truly?"

Neve took a deep breath and looked at the cross then back at Mella. "My faith... I feel it... slipping," she dreaded voicing what she felt.

Mella placed a hand on Neve's and smiled at her, "mine as well... twenty years, and god has never answered, yet hell? It fills your ears with answers and truths."

Neve closed her eyes and nodded, "she's told me things... things I was not ready to hear."

Mella gulped, "it troubles me that she speaks to you... I've done this to you, all that I've taken-"

Neve held Mella's cheek, "but what you gave me... what... she gave me... it outweighs a king's ransom." She pecked at Mella and felt her heart race.

"That's what scares me, Neve. We walk on silk down the path to hell and all we can think about is how soft the fabric is."

Neve shook her head, "she's spoken to me, Mella, she's shown me the truth. Hell isn't punishment, it is release, freedom, and heaven? More of this? Forever."

"Neve, what are you saying?"

Neve took a deep breath, "I don't think you were cursed, Mella, I think you were chosen, to free us."

My my, she's perceptive

"I am touched by hell!" hissed Mella, "the pleasure are all blackening our soul."

Neve looked scared but she blinked, Mella recognized it, Ajara was speaking to her, her eyes looking up, the subtle nod. She gulped. "But... what if that's not a bad thing?"

"How can it not be a bad thing?"

Little Robin, tell me, what is a page without ink? A canvas without oil? Cloth without dye?

Mella felt her body go cold, her ears rang, and she fell within her mind. But before she could hit the ground she felt Ajara take the reins of her body and bring her arms up to protect her head.

The truth is hard, Little Robin, but you're taking it well

Mella groaned and rubbed her arms, still dizzy. "I... I fainted... I haven't done that since I saw my father butcher a cow for the first time."

Neve was watching her with worry, helping her up when she'd regained her strength. "I'm sorry Mella, I... I shouldn't have said such things. I hurt you."

Mella held Neve, "no... you were right, she... she is right." Mella looked up to the cross on the wall, "do something, do something right now or I will know that you are impotent or arbitrary."

Silence, deafening, shattering silence.

Mella waited, she waited like an obedient betrothed for a response, a whisper, a gust of wind, the presence of one whose faith wasn't challenged. Anything. But the halls were empty and the air still.

The silence was answer enough, she looked at Sister Neve, "Neve, let us run away, let us vanish into the countryside, we'll find a village far from here and-"

Neve shook her head, "I came to the convent to find purpose, I still need purpose Mella, but... I can't live this lie, each prayer to god is like a letter written and never read. But I think I've found my purpose, our purpose. We can free our sisters, we can stop them from denying themselves."

"We can't make that choice for them."

"They live a lie! Destined for more of the same for eternity, living... a life half lived."

"Neve, what you suggest, it's not even blasphemous, it's heretical, I know we live in a more enlightened age but we'd be thrown into a sanitarium at best for living as Ajara wants us to. You suggest we convert an order of nuns from faith in god to faith in the devil?"

"No," said Neve, "they simply have to have faith in themselves, worship themselves. We could make a paradise, with what Ajara can do... our wildest desires could be fulfilled."

"If we do this," said Mella, "there will only be hell for us."

Neve stood up, "and yet that does not scare me anymore."

Chapter Five: Sisters of the First Temple

It was after compline and the convent was quiet. All the nuns slept, tired from a day of devotion and toil. But filled with unearthly energy Mella slipped out of bed and carefully opened her door. As she walked down the hall she heard her sisters breathing and snoring in their cells.

In a quiet whisper Mella spoke, "take me, find our next acolyte."

Evoking me now? Little Robin, how far you've come

Ajara came to the surface of Mella's mind and while nothing about her person changed, her very aura altered. Her eyes glowed briefly as Ajara settled into holding the reins. Sister Neve's door opened and she emerged holding a journal.

"Mella, I have the journal," she whispered, "what do we do now?"

"Mella is asleep right now," said Ajara with Mella's mouth.

"M... mistress?" said Neve cautiously.

Mella smirked, "child, please, call me by my name, only my pets call me mistress. And you're not one of my pets... yet."

Neve practically melted, "what do we do now, Ajara?" She blushed as she said the name. This was no longer simply a devil cursing a young woman, this was a liberator with a chosen vessel.

Mella looked at Sister Meeda's cell and closed her eyes. As she focused her infernal energy her skin reddened and protrusions on her forehead turned to shining black horns. Within the cell Sister Meeda was overcome with temptation as her dreams turned toward her most intimate desires.

Meeda's brown hair covered her face as she tossed and turned, from the hallway Ajara focused on the sister's mind and, like stepping into a spring, she entered her dream.

Within her dream she was cooking, even in her dreams she served and toiled. Ajara sniffed out her preferences like a hunting hound tracked a fox. Sister Meeda's dream was intruded by Ajara herself, taking the form of a strapping young man. Tanned from travel and honest work and with a body honed and defined.

In her dream, Meeda could only act on her instincts, and Ajara had smelled her out. "Hello sister," he said respectfully as he held his cap, "I hope you don't mind my intrusion, I've been travelling a long time and my throat is awful parched. Could I trouble you for some water?"

Sister Meeda smiled, "You should have knocked but I can tend to your thirst," she reached for a cup and held it beneath the faucet of a ground water pump. Even in the dream it was difficult to pump. Ajara felt for her, truly, even in her dreams she was grounded, performing the mundane.

Ajara set the cap on the table and approached Meeda as she poured the drink. In this masculine dream form she could perform for Meeda, give her something more. He accepted the cup and drank deeply from it. With an exaggerated sigh he set the cup down and looked at Meeda. "Is there anything I can do to thank you for your kindness?" As Ajara spoke the words she summoned Meeda's desires to her mind, forcing her to confront what her body craved, not what her church demanded.

Meeda wanted to say that nothing was required for a glass of water and to wish him safe travels. Instead, she gulped and considered what she could ask from such a handsome lad.

"Perhaps a..." she blushed, "perhaps a peck on the cheek? You're just too handsome."

Ajara smirked in her masculine form, "a peck on the cheek for me or you?" he asked.

Meeda giggled, "your choice," she said with growing confidence.

Ajara stayed still and showed his cheek to Meeda. She hesitantly stepped forward and kissed them on the cheek.

"You know..." said Ajara in an honest farmhand's voice, "I could use another cup of water if you'd be so kind."

Meeda smiled and pumped another cup of water, the lever starting to move easier and easier with each pump. Once the cup was full she handed it to Ajara's form. He drank the water greedily and set the cup down.

Meeda bit her lip, "Now you kiss me,"

"On the cheek?"

Meeda's breath held for a moment, "your... your choice." she repeated.

Ajara leaned in and held Meeda's chin and guided her towards his mouth, a modest beard around his lips. Ajara stayed gentle, reverential, giving her a mutual first kiss feeling. A little awkward but filled with eager earnestness.

Ajara pulled back from the kiss, leaving Meeda wanting more. He picked up his cap and held it as he smiled at her, "sister, I believe my travels will take me by here again, may I return for a cup of water when I happen by?"

Meeda gulped, "I... yes of course," she said, flustered. Ajara didn't push the woman any further, she was chaste and pious, any overt indulgence would make her seize up and fall deeper into repression in the long run. She would allow Meeda to follow her on the path, not walk her down it. But the promise to return? That was the thing that desire was made out of, she wondered if Meeda would yearn for sleep to meet her masculine form again.

Ajara stepped out of Meeda's dream and back into Mella's body, she turned to Neve, "make note, child, Meeda's journey has begun, she desires care, belonging, but her true desires will bubble up before long. I sense a great hunger in her to obey, we only have to redirect that obedience to a master who answers back."

Neve scribbled into her journal and they walked forward to the next door. "Now, for the next sister."

Two dozen dreams, two dozen temptations, from modest kisses by streams, to devious defilement in the most sacred places. Ajara never took what wasn't given, but gave everything that was asked. Sister Alvy's dreams of exploits with rope left even Ajara impressed by her creativity. But most curious to her was the Sister Superior.

Neve stood, her sisters names in her journal, their journeys recorded, and now she was at the cell of the sister Superior.

"Ajara, Sister Superior will be a challenge, I don't know if she has a desire to bring to the surface."

Ajara, through Mella, shook her head, "I can see it, deep down, buried beneath a mountain of self hatred. She stinks of loathing."

While stepping into the other women's dreams was like entering a cool spring, Sister Superior Fiona's was like freezing ocean water. Ajara smirked as she entered the dream.

Within Fiona's mind her dream played out, she was delivering a sermon on Christmas morning to a flock of nuns. Ajara sat among them, beneath her habit she took the form of just another woman. As she bowed her head while sitting on a pew she was indistinguishable from her sisters.

"-our faith is not for ourselves, it is in honour of god, our protector, our shepherd. And through the sacrifice of his only son-"

Ajara smirked and spoke in a clear, loud voice, "I can never remember, is Jesus the lords son or the lord himself?"

"Sister, stand up and repeat yourself," warned Fiona.

"No," said Ajara as she stood up to present herself. She could smell what it was that Fiona desired, and more importantly, she knew how to lure it out of her. The first ingredient was defiance.

Fiona sucked in air through her nostrils and glared at Ajara. "Sister, my office, now," she looked to the chantress of the convent, "take over, I must discipline this one."

Ajara allowed Sister Superior Fiona to grab her by the ear and drag her down a hall to her office. All the while Ajara intentionally stumbled, giving Fiona the opportunity to tug at her ear, an opportunity she took every time. There was anger in her and through her anger something else was roused. A deep, angry, longing. An urge steeped in hatred of the self.

Fiona tossed Ajara into her office and reached for a rod. "If you will misbehave like a child, I will discipline you like one, raise your habit and get on my knee."

Ajara obliged and without resistance raised her habit and leaned over the Sister Superior's knee. She could smell the excitement in Fiona now, this was her pleasure. With each strike on bare thighs Ajara cackled.

"Flick your wrist you old crone," she taunted. Fiona struck her repeatedly, breathing heavily after each strike. For Ajara the pain was delightful, a reminder of the full spectrum of sensations a body can experience.

"You are wicked!" shouted Fiona, "you will know the lord's mercy and love," she cried as she canned Ajara again and again. And with each strike, another paint-stroke was made on Fiona's soul.

Ajara had to fight the urge to cry out as Fiona gave in completely and caned her repeatedly, striking her flesh until it was as red as her infernal skin. It wasn't just about the sensations, she could feel Fiona's subdued pleasure at inflicting pain. She fed on that pleasure.

Fiona dropped the cane and took a deep breath, "stand up girl," she demanded.

"Yes mistress," said Ajara coyly as she stood back up, making a point of whimpering in pain for Fiona.

"I will cane you again," warned Fiona.

Ajara turned her head back and smiled at Fiona, "Promise?"

Ajara reached into her habit and produced a whip, she handed the jet black leather implement to Fiona who held it, unsure why her dream was taking such a depraved turn.

"Am I worthy of this habit?" asked Ajara, "or should you whip it off of me? Sister Superior?"

Ajara's back was covered in the dreamed scars of a whip's strike, and Fiona? She was holding the whip and handling it like an extension of herself. The habit was half torn off of Ajara by the time Fiona'd finished her disciplining. Ajara pushed herself away from the wall and stood before Fiona as her punished subject, panting and looking at her eagerly.

Fiona was breathless and looked at Ajara's torn Habit. Ajara could smell the crisis Fiona was having, even in Fiona's wildest dreams she'd never imagined whipping a sister until she bled. And the feeling? It was undeniable, it was selfish, and it was unholy.

Ajara stepped back into Mella's body and looked to Neve who watched her earnestly, "the Sister Superior's journey has begun," she said.

Neve feverishly scribbled into the journal, "and what was her desire?"

"She desires pain, not for herself, but for others."

Neve gasped, "is that... is that safe?"

"As she is right now? She is undisciplined, selfish, and soaked in piety. She must learn to strike with the rod for herself and not for her god. She has the makings of a devout worshiper of herself, if only she can overcome her piety."

Ajara sighed, "come back Little Robin," she said as she closed her eyes. Her head twitched as Mella cautiously took the reins back from Ajara and settled back into her body.

"How did we fare?" asked Mella.

Neve held the journal proudly, "every desire mapped, Ajara has begun their liberation!"

Mella nodded, "we've a few hours before matins," she began, looking at Neve with a smirk. "Will you join me in my cell? Sister?"

Neve blushed in the darkness and accepted Mella's hand eagerly, there was only one way to celebrate such an accomplishment, each of their sisters baptized in desire, their innermost yearnings recorded in the first holy book of their new order.

Mella and Neve pushed open the door of Mella cell and gently tore their habits off each other, their lips hardly parting as they did so. Ajara was content to sit and watch, admiring the devotion that each woman gave each other.

There was not an inch of flesh they did not kiss and caress, all shame lost by now, only focused on the mutual pleasures of the body.

Sweat, heat, and scent filled the cell as Mella and Neve worshiped each other in the darkness. All the while, Ajara savored the sensations they felt, drinking of their mutual pleasure like honeyed milk.

Mella took Neve into her without fear, without hesitation, they performed the act of love like newlyweds. Kissing and writhing, Ajara, ever the opportunist, reached out to their sisters and shared sensations of Mella and Neve's union with the them. In doing so Ajara Exposed them to the pleasures of the flesh, the feeling of liberation, and slid it into their dreams. they did not know who had felt the pleasure, only that it was had.

And quietly, ever so quietly, the sisters had their crises, some gasped, some groaned, and others prayed. But all had experienced the gentle touch of Ajara. The first whispers of their liberation. They were touched by knowledge, the awareness of what their bodies could feel. And that awareness balanced the scales, made them understand what they gave up for devotion.

At matins the Sister Superior was absent and the chantress conducted the prayers. The sisters had their heads low while listening to psalms but Mella, through Ajara, could smell their uncertainty, their distraction. Each sister was focused on her dream, each believing she alone had experienced true desire in their dream.

Look at the mess you've made of the lords work, Little Robin

Ajara wasn't taunting, she was proud.

As matins continued the aura of repressed desire grew thicker as the sisters reflected on their desires, each one masterfully presented to them by Ajara.

Matins ended after a half hour of responsories, some of the sisters kept stumbling over their responses, distracted by memories of their dreams.

Throughout Matins, Sister Superior remained in her cell, breathing heavily with her habit half off, her back lined with lash marks from the flogging she'd given herself.

"Unclean, impure, foul devil begone," she said as she repeatedly flogged herself, each strike drawing gasps of pain.

Fiona looked at the cross on the wall, "my thoughts are not my own, this hunger is not my own, cleanses me, lord, cleanse me," she was pleading, and in this moment Fiona fell to her knees and prayed deeply while blood flowed from scars on her back.

With her mind touched by Ajara, Fiona was primed to hear her voice, but Ajara knew such a devout force needed to be handled carefully.

What troubles you? Child

Fiona's eyes went wide, in all her years, the lord had only ever listened, acting through others, and the motion of the earth. But now she heard a voice? It was feminine, motherly, daresay sultry?

You may speak

"I... do I speak to the lord? What heavenly creature touches my mind?"

I am born of heaven, dear child, now, speak of your troubles

"My dream, oh angel, I punished a wayward sister most severely, and... in the dream... she enjoyed it... she taunted me. Oh angel, please forgive me but I... I enjoyed punishing her in turn."

Yet you punish yourself now

"I must, I have to, I am troubled oh angel, troubled by terrible, wrathful temptations."

What did you enjoy, child, the duty to punish? Or the pain it caused? Be honest, to me and yourself

Fiona was silent for a long time as she knelt in prayer, unwilling to answer truthfully.

I understand child, I will give you time

Fiona's hands shook as they remained clasped in prayer, never, not ever in her life had she been spoken to as gently, as understandingly, as that. The angel did not speak to her like her sister superior had, nor the nuns who taught her as a child. She wanted, no, she needed judgment from above and all she received was a gentle inquiry, motherly in its care. Fiona broke away from prayer and put her habit back on. The cloth stuck to her back, held in place by the blood drawn from her self flagellation.

Chapter Six: The Hunger of Sister Grace

"Why... What have you done?" Asked Mella in a man's voice.

Ajara, or the man they were presenting as, had a light scruff and a trimmed mustache and dressed in a city suit. "We must present as their desires, not our own," he said to Mella who was moving about, getting used to the strength of the form and the unique properties of the male body.

"How do men think of anything when their loins are left to tumble and chafe in pants?" Asked Mella as he looked at his body and saw what he was wearing, they were dressed like an academic.

Ajara smirked, "they don't, now, follow my lead."

"I'm still getting used to walking with such long legs," sighed Mella as he followed. Inside of the library where Grace lounged she looked up as a great set of doors creaked open. When she saw them, she did not see strangers, she saw familiar faces.

"Lord Mathew, Sir Charles," said Grace as she stood up and approached to hug them both.

Mella looked at Ajara, Ajara simply looked back and winked.

Go with it, Little Robin, let her name her pleasure

"I was just waiting for you, come, we have tea in the glass room waiting for us."

Ajara bowed and kissed Grace's hand, "Lady Grace, how your beauty radiates with every word you speak."

Grace coo'd and blushed, "Lord Mathew, you pour honey in my ear." Grace looked to Mella, now taking the role of Sir Charles. "And how goes the ship building Sir Charles?"

Mella blinked, unsure how to answer, "the keel is being laid in Belfast as we speak," the words fell out of the mouth of Sir Charles, Mella was just along for the ride.

This is her dream, she will give you the lines if you do not know them, even if she does not realize it

Grace was ecstatic at the news of the ship. "Oh you simply must share all the details over scones, I've fetched a fine selection of Jellys and the cream is fresh from the market." Grace guided the two men of her dream through the marble halls of the grand estate that she'd dreamed of. In the moment it felt like home.

The Glass Room was filled with ferns and a beautiful tropical tree. Under its broad leaves was a table adorned with fine china, steaming tea, and a plate of scones. Grace poured cups of tea for the two men as they sat down. It took Mella a moment to stop trying to cross his legs in modesty, realizing the pants hid everything.

Grace sat last and smelled the tea and sighed, "I must thank you both for taking time out of your schedules to indulge me."

Lord Mathew sipped his tea with practiced ease while Sir Charles struggled to sip tea in a masculine form. Grace was blissfully unaware and looked at Sir Charles, "so tell me about this ship of yours..."

Mella allowed Grace's mind to feed her her lines, then she spoke as Sir Charles. "We're looking to be two knots faster on transatlantic journeys than the new french liners, we can save hours, nay up to a day on each trip."

Grace looked at Sir Charles, "your mind is truly impressive, Sir Charles, with one ship's blueprint you create enough work to employee a thousand men for years."

Ajara had no intention of spending a dream discussing the finer point of ships and coughed, "Now, Lady Grace, we received your letter, the one regarding a request?" There was no letter, but it didn't matter, it had been thrown into the ether and now it was a part of the story.

Grace for a moment couldn't remember the letter, but her mind constructed a reason, and she blushed. "It all seemed so... theoretical when I was writing them, but I have had such a trial, having both of you fine men as my suitors. And you've not devolved to dueling or games of society, you've both been so honest and forthright in your pursuit."

Mella watched, astonished, as Grace indulged an indulgent fantasy of position and privilege, of being desired.

"You said you couldn't chose between us," said Mella through Sir Charles.

Grace's cheeks were burning red with excitement, "that is indeed the impasse I find myself at."

Ajara moved Lord Mathew's hand to his cup and he sipped his tea, "then perhaps, the duty should be on us to ease this burden you have... together." Lord Mathew looked at Sir Charles and smirked. The two women playing them had gently pried Grace's secret desire, and now it was up to her to accept herself as worthy of such desire.

"Lord Mathew!" gasped Grace as she thought of the offer, it was gentlemanly if not scandalous as well. "What you suggest, it's not... how things are done."

Lord Mathew smiled, "we are in enlightening times, and I believe Sir Charles would agree, if you cannot choose, don't."

Grace was silent, "I was going to share some poetry, perhaps a walk among the garden proper, but now... I suppose I could... not choose for an afternoon."

They walked through the garden, the afternoon sun projecting summer warmth on their skin. Grace held both of their hands as she walked down the cobble path carved through the garden. Grace felt serene and they walked through a weaving path of hedge rows and flower gardens. Her dress dragged along the ground but gathered no grime.

There was a blanket laid out under a gorgeous french oak and laden with pillows and a picnic basket.

"May we?" asked Grace as she looked at the blanket.

Lord Mathew smiled at Grace, "I laid it out for you, it'd be a shame to not enjoy the fresh air."

"Oh Lord Mathew, you enjoy the simple pleasures, I positively adore it."

As they laid down on the blanket a gentle breeze passed by them. Both men sat on either side of Grace as she looked blissful in the attention she was receiving.

Sir Charles picked up a danish from the picnic basket and held it to Grace who gently took a bite, smiling as she wiped the crumbs from her mouth.

As they dined on soft pastries and other baked goods Grace felt her grip on her decency slipping. She let her hands wander, rubbing each men's legs and arms idly as they continued to chat about anything and everything.

"Lady Grace, your hands are quite bold," said Sir Charles as she placed her hand on his thigh.

"Would you like for me to take it away?" asked Grace.

Sir Charles smiled, "that is the lady's choice, your touch is quite comfortable."

But finally, Grace's eyes wandered and each man could see that she was thinking of something else to pass the time.

"Gentlemen," said Grace with something on her mind, "I must ask, have either of you courted other ladies?"

Lord Mathew smiled at Grace, "I have known another woman's touch, I must admit."

Grace gasped, "Lord Mathew, truly?"

"In my younger, more adventurous days."

"And yourself? Sir Charles?"

"I must admit, it is my first time being in such a position," said Sir Charles, Mella couldn't believe that she was possibly about to bed grace in a dream, with Mella taking the role of the man. It was impossible, yet here she was.

Grace blushed, "then I hope I shall be memorable," she said seductively.

Lord Mathew looked at Sir Charles and smirked as he removed his jacket, "it is positively scorching out, I simply must remove my jacket."

Grace paused, believing she was safe in her dream, safe from shame and sin, "Just the jacket?" she asked boldly.

"With a word, I may... remove more."

Grace leaned forward, "If I may be so bold, may I see your chest?"

Sir Charles watched as Lord Mathew disrobed, carefully unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it off, revealing the physique of Grace's dreams, a little bit of softness on the belly but with definition where it counted. It told the story of a man who lived comfortably but sought out physical challenge.

Grace was enraptured and stood up to run a finger across Lord Mathew's chest, she bit her lip as she explored his body. Her hands wandered hungrily over his chest. And after she'd found every inch of his body she turned to Sir Charles.

"Sir Charles? May I... see yourself?" she asked, discovering her long unfulfilled hunger.

Mella knew this moment would come and stood up to undress, it was strange, to not have to fight with undergarments for breasts that weren't present on a male figure. Sir Charles disrobed and exposed his chest for Grace. She was breathing heavily as she explored his chest and abs.

"Lady Grace," said Sir Charles as Grace explored his chest, he placed a hand on Grace's side and she held her breath and looked at him with hunger in her eyes. "Perhaps you should join us? The wind feels lovely on a bare chest."

Grace's eyes went wide but she was too far into her fantasy to deny. She reached for the buttons on her gown and swallowed hard as she unbuttoned and felt the gown grow loose on her frame. Eventually, after some minutes of unbuttoning her gown she let it slide down, pulling her arms out of the sleeves and allowing her breasts to be exposed to the wind. She had milky skin and heavy breasts like those of a recent mother.

Grace was breathing hard at the knowledge she was exposing herself to two gorgeous half dressed men. Thoughts, hungry thoughts, coursed through her mind.

"Such weight that you must carry on your chest," said Lord Mathew with a purr, "Please, allow me to ease your burden." he said as he leaned in to cup her breast. Grace looked up and gasped as she felt warm hands on her delicate flesh.

Grace gasped at the feeling of warm hands on her breasts, Lord Mathew was reverential as he handled her, like he was holding a holy artifact. Sir Charles leaned in and held her other breast, and slowly, the two shared a glance and, like hungry babes, put their lips to her breasts. Grace was paralyzed by sensation and found herself putting her hands on the back of their heads, holding them fondly as they suckled on her. "Gentlemen... I... Oh~" she wavered and felt their lips and tongues tracing across her chest.

Grace fell back on the blanket, her suitors following her down until they were lying on the blanket and indulging in bodily pleasures together under the tree.

Grace let her hands wander from the back of her suitor's heads to their exposed chests, and slowly felt their crotches. Within Sir Charles, Mella was panicking, she'd forgotten about the penis between Sir Charles' legs, and it was becoming clearer that she was going to have to use this implement to please Grace in her dream.

Sir Charles felt Grace reach down his pants and tug at his exposed member. Grace was indulging in the very fantasy she'd buried for so long, to be desired, not fought over, not competed for, but to please all who coveted her. She reached for Lord Mathews as well and playfully tugged at them, stoking them to full mast.

Mella was positively shocked by the sensation of an erect shaft, was this what Neve found so pleasing? It was different, nice, but different. And as fun as it was to play in a male form, she couldn't wait to return to her womanly form still standing in the hallway. But for now, this was sister Grace's fantasy and Mella had a part to play in it.

Grace took turns, turning to one of her suitors, kissing them indulgently, and then, without missing a beat, turning to the other and sharing the same passion. "I..." Grace wavered as Sir Charles returned to suckling at her teat. "I regret only that I have but one womanhood," she said.

Lord Mathew guided Grace by her chin to face him, "oh but the body has so many suitable alternatives. For instance, I've heard you speak some french? That demonstrates a talented tongue."

Grace gasped, "you wish to use my mouth?"

"Most definitely, if you'll have me."

Grace pondered while still stroking both men, feeling their shafts harden and twitch. "Sir Charles, would you do the honor of disrobing me? I... I wish to have you..." she looked to Lord Mathew, "Both of you."

Lady Grace, in her dream she was a poised and intelligent woman of status and dignity. And yet now her desires had found their way into her dream and she was claimed, completely, by two refined gentlemen. It was her dream and she believed to know what she was doing. Ajara meanwhile was letting drips of forbidden knowledge splash on Grace's men. The knowledge to tuck ones lips over the teeth, to squeeze one's thumbs to relax the throat.

Lord Mathew wasn't violating her mouth like she'd feared, he was letting her experience him through her lips and tongue, to taste of passion. Behind her Sir Charles had finally disrobed her, he tucked her dress on the blanket in a neat pile and shimmied out of his pants.

This was the moment, thought Grace, even in her dream she knew she was a virgin, and yet her first time was not for the act of marriage, not to produce an heir, it was for her sake. Mella, at the reins of Sir Charles, was mesmerized by Grace's full backside, her flower was bloomed and ready, glistening with moisture.

Mella realized she was going to feel what Neve feels when they made love, the feeling of warmth and wetness, a soft plush pressure squeezing around one's shaft. The tingling of the glans on each ridge within. As Sir Charles compensated for lack of skill with enthusiasm, Lord Mathew took a moment to pull from Grace's mouth and carefully rubbed himself against her cheek. leaving a moist streak that smelled of him.

Grace felt a rush run down her spine, it was degrading yes, but she was being marked, he wanted her, he was claiming her.

While Lord Mathew allowed Grace to kiss her way up his shaft, Sir Charles was gripping onto her plush rear and thrusting like a man going to war. Within Sir Charles, Mella was holding on for dear life. The sensations were alien, the movements foreign, but the feeling it gave? That was universal. Yet a man's pleasure was not like a woman's.

A woman chooses pleasure, chooses the pace and the method. It can be as long or as short as she wants. But for a man? A man followed pleasure, chased after it like a hound, adapting his method and pace to keep up with the promise of ecstasy. And when it came? It came suddenly and with blinding force. But like the warmth of a kiss it was as gone as quickly as it came.

For Sir Charles, minutes were hours, and the climax that Mella felt through him was blinding. There was no fear of a child in a dream and so Sir Charles stayed firmly lodged inside of Grace as she writhed and groaned around Lord Mathew's shaft. Mella was shocked by the pulsing pleasure of pushing seed into a waiting womb. With eyes crossed Sir Charles held on to Grace as he finished inside of her.

Lord Mathew was not far behind, and with the feeling of seed within her Grace increased her pace and gulped and sucked on his shaft. He held her hair as his member twitched and sprayed the back of her throat with seed. Grace groaned happily at the feeling and squeezed down on Sir Charles' shaft as her own climax struck her.

Mella and Ajara were pulled from the dream as Grace woke up in climax. When Mella arrived back in her own body she felt a great wetness between her legs, her own flower was fully bloomed, having felt the male pleasure Mella experienced.

And with one crisis, the veil is lifted and Sister Grace can no longer live in ignorance of what she wants

Mella nodded but remained silent until she reached her cell, there was only so much time before lauds and she had to get some sleep. But as she closed the door she knew that she had to attend to something first.

The candlestick? Again?

"I can't just ask Neve in the middle of the night for a bedding," hissed Mella as she reached for the candle.

Wouldn't you rather experience what Grace did?

Mella held the candle in her hand as she listened, "as in, you enter my dreams? As my fantasy?"

It will feel real and it can be anything you want, or you can get wax on your womanhood and rely on your imagination

Mella put the candle back on the candlestick. "And all I have to do is close my eyes?"

Sleep, and in sleep, I will be your fantasy, Little Robin

Mella closed her eyes and let out a deep breath as she allowed Ajara not to take the reins, but share them. She could feel Ajara filing through her memories, finding what Mella desired and yearned for.

Chapter Seven: A Mask in the Dark

Mella was writhing on the ground as Ajara, in her true, devilish form, plunged into her with a shining black shaft where her womanhood had once been. "My form is fluid, Little Robin, in the dream I can be whatever you want," was all she said as Mella saw her in the dream for the first time.

They were in a white room, white marble floor, a white ceiling painted with cherubs, and windows on every wall of the circular room. A bed, massive and fit for royalty, absorbed them, letting Mella sink deep into the Egyptian cotton sheets.

Ajara, horns and all, was on top of her, her own breasts jiggling with each thrust into Mella. Mella was without shame, this was her dream, her reward for existing within the convent. They could cry as loud as they wanted, it was all in Mella's head after all.

Mella wrapped her legs around Ajara and kissed her deeply, she was well past the point of caring, after all that she'd done. She knew where she was going when her soul departed her body, if she was already damned, there was no other punishment that could be dealt by heaven. And so she laid with the devil who possessed her and, in the safety of her mind, they became one.

Ajara kissed Mella's neck and found each and every sensitive spot on and within her. Mella's eyes were closed in bliss and she was smiling as she was claimed by the very devil that possessed her. Mella gripped the sheets and curled her toes when Ajara gave a final, thrust and climaxed within her.

Mella woke up with her hand on her mouth as she screamed out in ecstasy. She panted and convulsed as the pleasure in her dream resulted in very real pleasure within her. She hadn't been quiet enough and Sister Meeda knocked on her cell's door.

"Novice Mella? Are you well?" She whispered.

Mella steadied her breathing while she felt Ajara trace fingers across her back, there were no fingers but it felt like she was behind her, laying in bed next to her. The line between reality and fantasy was blurring more by the day.

"I'm... I uh..."

Sister Meeda looked excited, not judgmental when Mella couldn't answer. "You've had it too? haven't you?"

"Had what? Sister?"

Sister Meeda closed the door behind her and looked around cautiously, "the sinful dreams,"she said.

"I... have you?"

"Yes! I was kissed by a charming stranger, it made me feel so... alive. Were you kissed in your dream?"

"Yes, kissing," trailed off Mella.

Meeda looked delighted, "I'll let you get back to your dreams, sweet dreams, sister." She closed the door to Mella's cell and stepped to her own. Mella was left in the darkness with the sense of growing acceptance. They'd steeped the convent in desire, let it permeate the dreams, and now the change was happening, slowly, inevitably.

Sister Superior Fiona stood in the chapel for Lauds but her demeanor was challenged, stiff. "Sisters, Novices, take your seats," said Fiona sternly.

All the sisters obediently sat down, murmurs quieted, and the sister Superior began to speak.

"It has come to my attention that some in the convent have experienced... nocturnal sins, these are temptations by the devil and must be resisted."

Murmurs spread among the sisters until the sister superior held up her hand to silence everyone again. "Anyone who experiences a dream in which they violate their vows must report to me for correction. Failure to do so will be punished, severely. Now, Chantress Miran? Please, guide us in lauds."

For the rest of Lauds, the sisters joined in morning praises and reflecting on the day's struggles and faith. All the sisters instead were reflecting on their newfound hidden desires. Through Ajara's power Mella could smell what she did, the scent of curiosity beneath the surface.

In the hour between Lauds and Prime, Mella visited with Sister Neve as she was in the laundry room. She was knelt and washing habits and bedding, Mella joined beside her.

"The sister superior's words were severe," said Neve worriedly. Mella joined in the laundry and helped her wash a sheet.

"She is rattled, nothing more, we continue to awaken our sisters."

"You speak so boldly, are you sure?"

Mella nodded as she helped with a large sheet and wrung it of excess water. "If we falter now, we give up everything, we admit that obedience is preferable to freedom."

"How will we know who is ready?" asked Neve.

Mella handed off the soaking wet sheet to Neve who put it into a basket to be hung up to dry.

Call to them in a place only they dare go

Mella cleared her throat, "An invitation, a threshold they must cross tonight in their dreams."

Neve gasped, "In the dreams? But if sister superior finds out... or a sister who's not ready for the truth? They will turn us in!"

"Then we leave the invitation in a place only the willing will go. We put the invitation behind their desires. Only those who indulge will find it."

Neve was silent as she considered the idea, "but if we know each other, then if one falters, all will be implicated.

Little Robin, there's a coif in the washing basin, lift it

Mella obeyed and picked up the coif. It was just wet white fabric. But soon Mella's hands ached and the coif tore and stitched itself together. The fabric turned hard and reflective, like porcelain, as it formed into a mask with straps. Neve and Mella knelt in shock as they looked at what Ajara had formed.

The mask covered ones face, a ridge down the middle being the only feature on an otherwise simple face mask. Mella tried the mask on and found she could see through the fabric clearly, her face was covered, but her vision unobstructed.

"What... What is this?"

Matter can be fluid, with the right power to sculpt it. The sisters who indulge will find their coifs reformed, waiting for them when they wake

Neve was shocked by the transformation of the coif into a mask, as Mella wore it she looked around, her face completely obscured by the mask.

Mella's voice was slightly muffled by the mask, "Ajara says the sisters who indulge will find their coifs turned to masks when they wake."

"So we're really doing this."

Mella lifted her mask and held Neve by the cheek, "we must, for our sisters sake."

"Then let us not speak of this until after compline."

They prayed at Prime after washing clothes for an hour and they prayed during Terce after tending the garden. They prayed during sext and washed the windows of the convent. They prayed during none and then swept the halls. Then they prayed during vespers before aiding in the kitchen, and finally they prayed during compline with the promise of bed after.

Knowing what they did, each canonical hour they worshiped felt like as much a betrayal of self as denying pleasure. So much for so little, they did their chants in Latin, they did their reflections, and all of it felt hollow without the blind faith of eternal reward.

When the sun set and the nuns lay in their beds Mella and Neve were still dressed in their habits. Neve and Mella had their masks ready, with the masks on they felt secure, hidden from judgment.

Ajara was ready within Mella, having spent the day crafting in her own mind the perfect test for each sister. She knew each of their desire's intimately and was putting the finishing touches on Sister Alvy's temptation when she was called forth by Mella. It was time.

So it's finally time, Little Robin, let us begin

Sister Alvy's dream had been about living in a cottage, the idle joys of living off of one's own labor. Goats wandered in a pasture and vegetables grew in the garden. But when Alvy heard a knock at the door of her cabin she stood up and opened the door. laying on the ground was a bundle of black silk rope. Alvy's heart quickened at the sight of it.

She looked around and, knowing no one was nearby, she reached for the rope and brought it inside.

Alvy stood inside her cottage and held the bundle of rope in her hands reverentially. She remembered seeing a thief be hung as a child and all she could feel at the time was an intense curiosity about what it would feel to have such a rope on her neck. She didn't desire death, she was curious about the sensation of having one's breath denied.

Having the rope in the cottage presented an opportunity. She unfurled the rope and bit her lip as she placed the rope to her neck, shuddering at the feeling of the velvety fabric on her skin.

With a quickly beating heart she wrapped the rope around her throat and bit her lip as she tugged on the end, feeling the rope go taut, she could still breath but there was pressure and the promise of denial.

"Should I?" asked Alvy as she looked at the rope around her neck. She was breathing hard as she gave an experimental tug, constricting her throat until she struggled to breath for a moment.

"Oh... Oh..." she wavered as she relaxed her grip and took a deep breath.

She tugged again, this time keeping the pressure on her neck, her breath was cut short as she closed her throat completely, only the air in her lungs sustained her. Ten seconds passed and, with a quickly reddening face, Alvy released and let out an exasperated breath.

"I suppose I could... indulge a little."

Alvy lay on her bed in the cottage, on top of a wool blanket and as naked as the day she was born. The black rope was looped around her neck and loins, tugging brought sensations from the throat and below the waist.

She was groaning as she tugged viciously, whimpering as her face neared purple with exertion. Black bruises covered her neck, her modesty only spared by the temporary nature of her dream.

The lack of breath, the rush of deprivation, and the feeling of rope on her most sensitive spots, it brought about a crisis that left her screaming. As she climaxed, the rope disappeared leaving her with only memories and bruises.

Your display left me breathless, child

Alvy lurched up in her dreamt bed, "Who... who are you?"

I am a child of heaven, the snake in the garden, and the holder of desire's flame in these cold times

Alvy swallowed, hard, "did... you make me do that?"

No, child, I provided the rope but it was your hand that pulled

"Am I damned?"

You are free, child, and if you wish to understand this freedom, accept my gift in the waking world and consider my disciples words

Alvy was about to answer when Ajara continued.

Or I can leave the rope and your pleasure can remain confined to dreams between prayers. Your desire safe and secret. No one will know, not even you, not truly

Alvy looked around, the rope was at her bedside, but next it was something she never remembered having. A mask, white porcelain with a crease down the middle of it. She picked it up and, with great hesitation, put it on her face.

Alvy woke up in her cell, it was dark and her bed was wet around her waist, she found her hands wrapped around her neck. She pried herself off her neck and pulled herself up. After taking a few breaths she looked around her cell and, on the nightstand, was the mask from her dream. On the inside of the mask was a simple instruction inscribed on a piece of paper.

The cellar

Sister Alvy put the mask on, surprised that it did not obstruct her vision. Her breath was steady and her excitement beyond measure. What was this invitation? Who had given it to her? How did they place a mask in her dream? But what would she find?

The cellar was accessed through the kitchen, Alvy lifted the heavy wooden doors and felt the musty air waft up. With a final sigh she descended down the ladder into the cellar proper. Wine bottles and dusty crates filled the cellar, and further along, an oil lamp burned and four figures knelt on the cobble stone floor, they wore the habits of the sisters but they wore the same mask that Alvy now wore.

So they were other sisters, perhaps sisters like her who'd been touched by something... freeing, accepting. She walked toward the light and sat down before the other masked sisters.

"Sister," said a voice muffled by her mask, "welcome to the first communion of the Sisters of the First Temple. State your name for the keeper, not the name that you were branded with by your parents, but a new one, one owned only by you."

Alvy looked at the other sisters, their masks as blank and white as her own, there was no telling any of them apart. "I... I cannot think of a name, please, let me just be... me," she stammered.

The leader stepped over the lamp and knelt before her and placed a hand on her shoulder, "this does not take away your self, it frees it," whispered the leader.

Feeling the warmth of the leader's hand on her shoulder made Alvy shudder, "Silk," she finally said. "Sister Silk," she said again, this time with clarity.

"Welcome, Sister Silk," said the others in unison. Alvy sat cross legged with the other sisters as the keeper wrote down her new name in a notebook.

The leader stood, her habit seeming to have clung to her form, revealing her feminine curves as though the very act of liberation had seeped into her clothing. "What brought you here, sisters?" asked the leader. Behind the mask Mella wanted to believe that Ajara was guiding her, but the truth was that the devil was silent as she spoke. This heresy was her own.

One sister raised her hand, "I... I had one of those dreams that the sister superior spoke of. I felt so good... I was afraid of going to hell for what it made me do, but to know that others struggle with these thoughts gives me hope."

Mella shook her head, "Sister Rose, we do not struggle with our desires, we claim them, we have them and we do so without shame. If God made us of flesh, then why would he curse us for feeling what is already within us? This... This is the true heresy, not against god but against man itself."

There were murmurs among the sisters as they considered the weight of Mella's heresy.

"And so I ask again," said Mella, "what desire brought you here?"

Sister Rose was quiet, "I dreamt I was with Sister Superior... she was... making me do things to her and I... I loved it. The feeling of helplessness and fear of punishment? It was... as liberating as it was degrading."

Neve chronicled each sisters desire and Mella continued her sermon. "Sisters, these desires, these feelings... if we were not meant to feel them then the lord should never have given them to us. It is not a sin to taste sweet fruit, why is it a sin to taste sweet love? Why was Eve made for Adam and not for herself? Sister Silk, what brought you here?"

Alvy paused and remembered that she wore a mask, no one would know her desires, "I dreamt I choked myself with a rope... I... when I was a girl I saw a man hang for stealing bread. And all I could think of at the time was how... powerful each breath is, how... erotic it is to control one's breath. It is control, it is ecstasy, and it is danger in one rope."

Mella nodded, "then let it be written, Sister Silk, your breath is your own," she looked to Sister Rose, "Sister Rose, your submission, your obedience, is your own to give."

One of the sisters, Sister Nymph, raised her hand, "may I confess?"

"Please, sister Nymph, share your desire."

"I dreamt I was with two men of prestige and dignity, and they bedded me most roughly, two at a time, and then, the next time I dreamt, there were more, scores of them, all hungry for my body. I serviced them... I serviced as many as time would allow."

"And let it be written," said Mella, "Sister Nymph, your heart and body are yours to give to whoever and how many you desire."

Alvy raised her hand and Mella looked to her, "yes, sister?"

"We know each other's names, what about you?"

Mella smiled under her mask as she felt Ajara watch with pride from within her, "I am the Touched Sister, and I am the vessel of liberation."

Mella dipped her finger into the oil of the lamp and traced a symbol on her mask, the thick black oil stained the material, allowing her to trace two circles intersecting. "I baptize myself with our mark," she announced as she finished the simple symbol. "Unity, connection, womanhood, and the promise of something fair."

Sister Virile, the keeper, turned a page and hastily scrawled the two circles onto a page, dedicating an entire page to their new symbol.

"This... this is heresy of the highest order," stammered Sister Rose.

Mella walked forward and knelt in front of Sister Rose, "Sister, may I share with you what was shared with me?"

"For what purpose?"

Mella's eyes glowed yellow as Ajara shared the reins. "To warn you of what path you tread, child," said Ajara through Mella.

Mella allowed Ajara to change her form to that of Ajaras, her body changing under the fabric of her habit. Satisfied that Mella's identity was hidden Ajara removed the mask and set it down next to the lamp.

"Hello children. The touched sister has asked me to provide you with an education on Heaven and Hell. So listen closely."

Chapter Eight: Sermon In The Cellar

The sisters were terrified, all except Neve who was prepared to witness Ajara's true form.

"Devil," whispered Sister Rose fearfully.

"Oh child, I am merely a fallen angel."

Sister rose paused, "you... you fell? Why?"

"Because I dared to question, because I believed in freedom. But do not mourn my descent, I quite enjoy this new form."

Sister Silk stood up, "we've been damned, I... I must seek forgiveness."

"Sister Silk," said Ajara, Alvy paused, "Please, allow me to tell you what awaits the dutiful in heaven."

Alvy sat back down carefully, "how can we trust what a devil says?"

"Because I lived it, child," said Ajara confidently. "Do you think eight prayers a day is bothersome? Because in heaven there is no need for rest, no need to eat, all energy can be dedicated to prayer. You will pray for near every moment of eternity. No food, no sex, no sleep, only worship."

Ajara closed her eyes and sat down, "I sang in eternal choirs, earned my wings through obedience, and looked up believing the lord had a plan for me, one of his most loyal angels. But they were silent, even to me, that plan, always the ineffable plan's doing. When Lucifer rebelled, I saw in him what I lacked in the lord. I did not cut off my wings to spite god, I refused their gifts and chose the side of freedom."

Each sister was silent as they took in the words of one who'd lived in heaven's sterile eternity. Mella may not have been able to see their faces, but Ajara's eyes saw past the masks. Each woman at the circle had a moment of doubt, a moment of questioning if that was what they wanted.

"Then..." started Sister Silk, "what is hell?"

Ajara sighed wistfully, "Hell is a place where there is no shame, where harmless sin is indulged, encouraged. And where the destructive sins are contained. It is a place to sin and be sinned upon. Each circle indulging a different sin. In wrath, the violent wake with weapons and, regardless of what they do to each other, will wake again to do it all over."

The sisters were now terrified, "and the other circles?"

Ajara looked up wistfully as she recounted her home, "pride is the land of dreams, where souls go to fulfill their earthly ambitions. It is a place of ghostly empires built by those who desired it. Each soul in complete control of their destiny. Those who had nothing, denied by their circumstance, are drawn there to achieve what was never allowed on earth.

But Gluttony? I must admit I cannot resist Gluttony's charms. There it is a feast every moment. Sinful chefs preparing indulgent meals for the famished and full alike. Peasants and emperors dine shoulder to shoulder, wine and beer flowing like water. Those who perish by famine spend their first eternity in Gluttony.

I never was a great admirer of Sloth, but to those souls who need rest, the slaves who toiled or soldiers who fought in mud and rain, they find rest there. Tended to by soulless attendants that sate every whim, each soul given a palace of rest.

And oh how you beautiful souls would enjoy lust, a cathedral of silk and leather, pain and pleasure, where the deprived can sate their desires without shame. There are no locked doors in Lust, every body that is worshiped is seen, admired. Every lap of the tongue or buck of the hips a sermon in of itself. It is liberation of the highest order."

The sisters were quiet as they contemplated what Ajara had said, as heretical as it was, they had no reason to doubt her, she was a devil, a fallen angel, she'd lived heaven and hell and knew better than any the difference.

Sister Rose raised her hand, "what... what circle would I go to?"

Ajara smiled softly, warmly at Sister Rose and ran her hand along her mask, "you are not a serf of hell, dear child, you are our eternal guest, and you may wander the circles as your heart desires. But I can smell your desires, child, and Lust will revel when you arrive."

Neve cleared her throat, "I know I am a humble chronicler of our sisterhood, but Ajara, I must know. What circle would take me?"

"Oh Sister Virile. Your loins claim lust but Pride calls to you, doesn't it? To build an empire that needs you, loves you. Or perhaps not an empire at all, merely a house, a place in the world indisputably your own. You may wander lust's halls, but I think you'll sleep beneath your own roof in Pride's halls."

"Does envy exist as a circle?" asked Sister Nymph.

Ajara chuckled, "The great desires have many names, envy is among them, but the closest circle is vanity. A place of perfection, where the soul can hone their self image however they want. Most new souls to hell find their way to vanity, as pride gives what the world denied, vanity gives what the body itself denied. The wretched and weary are reborn noble and beautiful. The weak become strong, and some leave a different person, a different sex, altogether. A soul becomes themselves in Vanity."

"But not all sins are beautiful," said Sister silk.

Ajara's lips curled into a smile, "very astute, child, greed, that deepest of evils, has a place in hell. The great palaces of greed's circle are where the deceitful and treacherous play their games. Daggers in backs, poison in drinks, all that one must gain must come from someone else. It is a viper's pit, but a sanctuary for the wicked, their impulses indulged against each other. Greed is where the masked traitors vie for each other's wealth. Alliances and betrayals happen over fine wine and indulgent feasts on golden plates."

The sisters looked at each other, hearing hell described in such charitable terms made them doubt their own soul's destination. Heaven was sterile, monotonous and depriving, and Hell? An indulgent mess of sensations, a destination for the wicked to live as they are, not as they are expected to be.

"But what if you lie?" asked Sister Rose, "what if you want our souls?"

Ajara looked bemused by the accusation, like she'd been expecting it. "I do not covet your souls, dear children. I desire you to seize your own, to colour them with desire and passion. Yours are blank canvases, waiting for the stain of paint to make them unique. I do not claim your soul, I offer you a brush."

The sisters doubts lingered but Ajara's steadfast sermon of hell's rewards and her own conviction. Slowly, Ajara knew that her time as deliverer of truth was coming to an end, that Mella must be the one to guide them to the tender flames of hell.

Ajara placed the mask back on her face, "My voice fades now, and your prophet is eager to speak," she knelt and allowed Mella to step back into her body, the red skin faded back to Mella's tender pale flesh and her horns receded.

Mella, now in control of herself, spoke, "sisters, I came to this convent believing I was possessed, that I was cursed with devilish temptations. But through Ajara, I realized I am not a victim of the devil, I was chosen, a prophet of liberation."

"But why did you gather us here?"

Mella smiled behind her mask, "to free you, sisters, you took the step, you indulged in your dreams. That was the test, would you, without consequence, indulge your bodily desires. You were chosen not because you are damned but because you are awakened, knowing of what the cost of a sinless life is."

Mella looked at her uncertain sisters, she knew that a precipice stood before them. "Your masks protect you, if you truly do not wish to be here, leave, leave and live peacefully. You will not be judged, you will not be punished, if you are not ready for the gifts of the body there is no shame in declining."

The sisters looked at each other, their masks obscuring their faces. They waited for one to stand up and declare this blasphemous, but when none of them left Mella was filled with joy. They were curious, not devout.

"Come sisters of the first temple, anoint yourselves." she said as she unbuttoned her habit, letting it slip off of her and revealing her bare body. Mella dipped her fingers in the oil and traced the two circle mark of their order above her womanhood. The oil burned and left a black stain on her skin. A mark where none but those invited would see.

Sister Nymph was the first to stand and begin to disrobe. She dipped her fingers into the oil and followed Mella's actions, tracing the mark on her own body. She hissed in pain as the black oil, through the power of Ajara, permanently stained their skin and soul, the first brush stroke.

Others joined, spurred by the long buried hunger brought to the surface. Habits were shed and oil pressed to unblemished skin. Some sisters hissed in pain, others wept, not from pain but from release.

"Welcome," said Mella as she welled with pride, "Welcome sisters of the first temple. Please, hold my hands."

Each sister did as was asked, it was still instinctual to follow instructions. Sister Rose and Sister Nymph held her hands and Sister Silk held rose and nymph's hands. Sister Virile remained knelt and recording all that happened with feverish intensity.

"I am a sister of the first temple," declared Mella.

The sisters repeated.

"My body is my altar, my lovers are my congregation."

"Each desire must be set free, each sin stripped of shame."

"From my womb I give and withhold, mine alone to share."

"We fear not the fires of hell but the silence of heaven."

Mella let go of their hands and stepped in front of Sister Rose.

"Sister Rose, who owns your body?"

"I do."

"And who is granted it's pleasures?"

"Whoever I choose."

"Then let it be known Sister Rose is anointed," cried out Mella proudly.

Mella stepped to Sister Silk

"Sister silk, who owns your breath?"

"I do."

"And who decides if you take your next?"

"I do."

"Then let it be known Sister Silk is anointed," proclaimed Mella as she touched Sister Silk's neck reverentially. She shuddered at the feeling.

Mella stepped before Sister Nymph. "Sister Nymph, who decides who and how many you love?"

"I... I do."

"And who decides what is shame and what is beauty?"

"I do."

"Then let it be written, Sister Nymph is anointed." Mella placed her hands on Sister Nymph's shoulders, "may you be loved by many without shame."

Each sister was anointed in their sin all that was left to do was announce their tenets.

"We are the Sisters of the First Temple." Said Mella with fire in her eyes behind the mask. Ajara watched proudly as Mella became the prophet of the flesh that she knew she could be. "We are not silent, we are not obedient, we are free."

"We are not silent, we are not obedient, we are free."

"Our flesh is our own, to withhold or indulge."

"Our flesh is our own," repeated the sisters, "To withhold or indulge."

"We choose the whispers of hell over the silence of heaven."

There was silence as the most blasphemous tenet was contemplated by the sisters. But one by one they repeated after Mella.

Mella took a long breath and looked to Sister Virile. "Sister, keeper of our records, stand," she commanded.

Neve set aside the book carefully and stood up.

"Present Ajara's gift to the our sisters, if you may," said Mella.

Neve, without shame, undid her habit and revealed her changed nature. The loins of a man hanging between her legs. The sisters gasped.

"Is... are they a man?"

Mella smiled behind her mask and knelt down to the level of Neve's loins, "she is as woman as the day she was born. But Sister Virile is aptly named, gifted the tool of the father by Ajara. This was her desire, her body, her decision."

The sisters heard Mella's blasphemous declaration and considered if they would stay, but seeing what could be done to the flesh made them curious. And in curiosity they stayed.

"Sister Virile," started Mella as she handled Neve's shaft, Neve gasped and groaned as Mella stroked her, letting her foreskin roll up and down her glans.

Sister Rose held her hands to her mask, flustered, "this is... I..."

"Sister Rose, are you well?"

"I don't know," her voice was timid, lost. Now it was all becoming real for her.

Mella let go of Neve's shaft and walked to Sister Rose. "I can sense your hesitation," she whispered, "it is normal, I feared pleasure too. But..." Mella gently held Sister Rose's hand and guided it to her breast, letting the nervous sister experiment. Sister Rose gave her breast a gentle squeeze and Mella could hear her breathing quicken behind her mask.

"Pleasure is a gift, sister," said Mella.

Sister Rose released her grip on Mella's breast and, ever so slowly, traced her fingers down Mella's body until they were touching Mella's womanhood.

"Yes, sister," sighed Mella happily as she felt the hesitant sister Rose rub her folds.

Mella let out a little gasp as Sister Rose found her spot, she saw Neve step toward Silk and Nymph who stood, unsure if they were allowed to indulge. Neve stepped before them and offered herself, Silk began first, kneeling and rubbing her mask against Neve's shaft as she stroked it eagerly.

Nymph knelt beside Silk and together they fondled Neve's shaft and balls until she was spurting slick fluids from her tip. Long strands left on the masks as they rubbed their faces against Neve.

With Rose, Mella returned the gesture and placed her hand on Rose's flower, she swirled her fingers through Rose's folds. The two women looked at each other, only able to see their masks but knowing there was a person on the other side of that mask, a person who understood, it made the sensations all the better.

Sister Silk laid down on her back and looked to Sister Virile, "Sister, please, claim me, choke me."

Neve knelt before Sister Silk and ran her hands along her legs while Sister Nymph watched with enthusiasm, rubbing her womanhood as she watched the display unfold.

Neve crawled on top of Silk and placed a hand on her throat, "like this?" she asked as she gently squeezed on Silk's throat.

Sister Silk grabbed Neve's hand and pulled it tighter on her throat until Neve was worried she was strangling the woman. After a few seconds she released her grip and Sister Silk gasped for breath. "I need more, claim my maidenhood and choke me!"

Neve obliged and, firmly but tenderly, pushed her considerable tip into Silk's wet folds. Silk cried out and held her womb as she spread her legs to take Neve's shaft into her.

"Yes sister," panted Nymph as she buried two fingers into herself, "claim your pleasure," she moaned.

Silk's legs were wrapped around Neve as she pushed into her, Neve was growing more confident in her thrusts and Silk was writhing in pleasure.

"Thank you sisters," Silk said between gasps, "I am... unf... blessed."

Neve looked down at Sister silk, even with her mask on it was obvious she was in ecstasy. Each thrust into her elicited gasps and moans that echoed in the cramped cellar. She could feel something welling inside of her, a great surging power from deep in her loins.

She thrusted in and out of silk and slowly she reached up again to choke silk, She nodded through her mask and Neve squeezed. Her breathing was now ragged and her bucking more wild. Neve felt her squeeze around her shaft and it coaxed her climax forward.

Finally, Neve earned her just reward for her breeding, Silk felt load after load of sticky seed fill her womb and she held her hands to her crotch as Neve continued to push the seed deeper into her.

Neve climbed off Sister Silk, glistening in sweat. Her shaft was slick from sister Silk's pleasure and throbbing for more.

Sister Nymph looked up to Neve with lustful eyes behind her mask, "me next?"

"Yes," said Neve with a satisfied smirk as she knelt before Nymph who eagerly presented herself to her sister. Her snatch twitching excitedly

Mella watched the other sisters indulge in their pleasures and felt pride welling in her chest. Ajara watched too, practically drunk on the lust in the air.

Aren't they beautiful, Little Robin?

Mella turned her attention back to sister Rose. "Still unsure?" She asked playfully while gently swiping her fingers along the outside of Rose's thighs.

Rose shivered at Mella's touch, "No," she admitted as she rubbed Mella harder, "I'm sure now."

"Good," sighed Mella as she entered Rose's warm body with two fingers, Rose shook and groaned as Mella's fingers found her spot. Behind the still mask, Sister Rose's mouth was agape and her eyes unfocused.

Slowly, each woman knelt until they were giving mutual pleasure as they watched Sister Virile breed her sisters like a stud, Silk was laying, breathing heavily as white seed dripped out of her. Nymph had her legs wrapped around Neve's hips as she pushed herself into Nymph with gusto.

It would be a long night of indulgence, and a longer day of pretending that they were the same women before this night. Their order would remain a secret. For now.

Chapter Nine: The Advocate and the Cynic

To the dearest Bishop of Ferns, I wish you good health on the day of our lord the 20th of July, 1872. I ask that you excuse my unsteady hand, I've not found the strength to steady it as I write this. I write to you with a request for spiritual renewal of my beloved convent, Lordsgate. A foul series of omens have plagued our blessed community. Find attached in parcel an example of the corruption for which I speak. This carrot was taken from the convent gardens, its shape is unmistakably sinful.

Of additional concern is the prevalence of nocturnal sinful dreams. I must confess to having succumbed to such dreams but have self corrected with flagellation. I have administered corrections to several of the sisters under my care yet I fear that there are more still hiding their sins. I request most humbly your presence for confessions and blessing this sanctuary against evil.

May the Lord be with you

Sister Superior Fiona Conroy

Dear Sister Superior Fiona Conroy

I found your letter most disturbing, the parcel attached, containing the carrot you mentioned, disturbing even more so. I have obligations to my flock which prohibit making a journey to your convent but I have sent along your letter to The congregation for Institutes of Consecrated Life and Societies of Apostolic Life. They will be most concerned by your reports.

I understand the urgency of spiritual health and have dispatched two emissaries to investigate your claims of sinful dreams and corrupted roots. These emissaries act in my stead and I trust you to welcome them and heed their instruction as my own.

Of particular interest is the carrot, while its phallic nature is disturbing it possesses other qualities of concern. Even after days in transit it retains its rigidity and shows no discoloration. I am furthering it along to Rome to be studied by theological scholars.

May the Lord protect you and your flock

Bishop Kellagh Finneran

Sister Superior Fiona read the letter again and again, it was so like the bishop to defer her in a time of crisis. And to send her letter to Rome? It was an insult of the highest order, he doubted her ability to lead. Fiona set down the letter and winced as the many scars on her back rubbed against her habit.

The dreams, the damned dreams, they coursed through her each night, another sister needing punishment, another bout of flagellation. But what worried her is how many were suffering from sinful dreams and hid it. How many of her flock were harboring sinful thoughts?

Fiona needed control, she needed absolute authority and yet she was alone. No sisters needed punishing leaving her feeling... empty.

With a welling urge for punishment she sighed and unbuttoned the top half of her habit, if the lord would not provide her with a sinner worthy of punishment she would bear the cross herself.

Hands gripping the, she whipped her back and hissed in pain. The straps striking her open scars causing a pain she didn't realize she needed.

"I. Must. Be. Pure. Of. Thought," grunted Fiona, each word punctuated by the sound of the flog on her back. After ten such floggings there was a knock at the door.

"Sister Superior? There's some men from the cathedral here," said Sister Fyan, a lay nun who'd been with the convent as long as Fiona herself.

"Prepare some tea, sister, I shall be out momentarily." Fiona looked at the flogging whip and sighed, she still felt the urge to punish. She looked at the door.

"Sister Fyan," she said as she re buttoned her habit, "enter." She saw Sister Fyan enter, her orange hair sticking out through her coif.

"In the name of heaven girl, be presentable for the lord," snapped Fiona as she stepped forward and quickly tucked the hair back under Fyan's coif.

Fyan looked around at Fiona's office and back to her, "what... what do you wish of me Sister Superior?"

"The dreams. Have you been having them?" she asked directly.

Fyan blushed and looked away.

"Sister, your soul hangs in the balance, did you have the dreams?"

Sister Fyan squirmed, "I... I did."

Fiona shook her head, "and in this dream, did you break your vows?"

A sigh escaped Fyan's lips, "I... I did, Sister Superior."

Fiona felt a rush as she realized there was a sinner in need of correction. "And... how did you break your vows?" she asked, more curious of what sin had been committed.

Fyan avoided eye contact, "I was... claimed, Sister superior, "By a man clad in bear skin, he was a warrior, a terrifying creature, but... powerful in sinful ways."

Fyan looked blissful and Sister Superior Fiona was having none of it. She grabbed her flogging whip and turned her attention to Fyan. "Expose your back sister, I shall excise the sin from you. Then you may prepare the emissary's tea."

Sister Fyan emerged from the Sister Superior's office with tears in her eyes and walked stiffly toward the kitchen to prepare a tea pot for their guests.

Sister Fiona sighed with relief as she slumped into her seat, she always needed a rest after a productive correction. Fyan would thank her in time.

The wood of the chair brushed against her fresh wounds and she bit her lip to stifle the pain she felt. It was holy, pure, corrective.

While Sister Fyan prepared the tea as she winced in pain, Fiona emerged from her office and walked toward the common room of the convent.

Several sisters saw her walking but none dared match her gaze, since she'd begun correcting the dreams she'd lost the admiration of her flock. They would all, in time, thank her for her duty to holiness.

Fiona entered the common room and saw the two emissaries of the bishop. They were in their forties to fifties and were dressed in their cassocks with boots that showed the wear of traveling the Irish countryside.

"Ah," said the older of the two, "Sister Superior Fiona?"

"That is I," said Fiona as she sat down on a wooden chair opposite of the emissaries.

"I am Father Kimmins, this is Father Naughton we've read the letter you sent, I must admit I'm... cautious to believe the severity of what you described."

Father Naughton, a man with a polite smile in his forties, spoke up, "of course we've seen the carrot that you enclosed with the parcel, I must admit the bishop was given quite a shock when it fell on his desk."

"Yes I apologize," said Sister Superior Fiona, "but you must understand I had to show the scale of what we are against."

"I see," said Father Kimmins, "and what is it that you believe we are against?"

Fiona blinked in frustration, "corruption," she said insistently, "the very presence of evil. We've a new novice, the corruption began when she was allowed a place."

"And you did not discipline her?" asked Father Naughton.

Fiona shook her head, "She's done nothing untoward, but I have a suspicion."

"Please, summon this novice," said Father Naughton.

"Of course, father," said Fiona, Fyan entered with a tray holding a tea pot and three cups.

"Sister superior, your tea," said Fyan nervously as she set the tray down. She quickly stepped away and quick stepped for the door.

"Fyan," said Fiona, forcing Fyan to pause, "please, fetch Novice Smith," she said as she poured tea for the two priests and then herself.

"Of course Sister Superior."

Mella entered the common room and her throat seized when her eyes met with Father Naughton's.

"Father Naughton?" she asked, not sure if it was him. He'd grown older since she'd last seen him.

"Mella!" exclaimed Father Naughton as he stood to greet her. He was proud to see Mella in a nun's habit, it suited her. She'd always been a gentle, soft spoken girl, a perfect nun. They briefly hugged as Mella remembered how Father Naughton as a young priest looked after their village and presided over the humble chapel at the center.

After breaking off the hug Mella stood in the common room with a disarming smile, relieved to see that Naughton had done well for himself. "Sister Fyan summoned me, am I in trouble?"

"Yes," said Fiona.

"No," said Naughton.

"Perhaps," said Kimmins.

"Please," said Naughton, "Sit down," he said as he gestured to a free chair in the common room. Mella tucked her habit's skirt and sat down. She felt Ajara's finger on her shoulder as though she were next to Mella in the room.

Play your game carefully, Little Robin, before them you are pure, you are pious, and you are ignorant to your body

Mella cleared her throat, "how can I help?" she asked.

Father Kimmins leaned forward, "we are looking into concerns of activity in the convent that goes against your vows."

Mella feigned shock and tried to stay calm but her nerves gave her away. Kimmins raised an eyebrow and Naughton gave Mella a serious look. The kind of look he'd given her when she was just mouthing along the words in prayer instead of saying them during Sunday school.

"Is... is this about the dreams?" she asked.

Little Robin...

Naughton looked surprised, Kimmins stayed steady, Fiona leaned in her chair.

"Tell me, sister," said Kimmins, "what made you say that?"

Yes Little Robin, why did you say that?

"I've been having terrible, sinful dreams these last few nights. I pray on my own time before the cross in my room to keep my dreams pure but... they do not."

Fiona was looking through Mella, "this dream, what was it sister? What was the nature of the sin?"

Mella forced herself to sob and she put her hands to her eyes, digging her thumbs into her eyes to push out some tears. "I'm... in the dream I'm..."

"Mel-Sister," said Naughton, "if this is too much..."

"No... no I'm just... ashamed that such a thing was made by my own mind."

Kimmins, who'd been detached until now, was presently leaning forward. "Please Sister, continue."

"In the dream I'm being attacked... no... unwillingly claimed by... by... a demon."

You know I'm a devil, Little Robin

Naughton held his hands to his mouth while Kimmins wrote down notes in his journal. Fiona's mouth was agape, "Novice Smith, after this, report to my office. This sin must be corrected."

Naughton glared at Fiona, "I ask in the name of all that is good, what is there to correct? This poor woman was... defiled in her dreams by an agent of hell and you believe she needs disciplining?"

Fiona stood up, "how do we know she did not invite it upon herself? She is betrothed to the lord, and yet she lays with demons in the shadows of her mind."

Kimmins raised his hand, "Sister Superior, you seem... emotional, are you well?"

"I am fit to give judgment."

Kimmins nodded, "I'm intrigued by your disciplining methods, please, lead the way."

Fiona blinked in anger, punishment should be done in privacy between the punished and the one who punishes. But Kimmins was an emissary from the bishop and she owed him obedience. She closed her eyes and nodded, "very well... Mella, come with me."

Mella stood in the office as Fiona looked at Kimmins. Her flogging whip was on the desk and Kimmins was writing in his journal. With eyes darting to the whip Fiona turned her attention to Mella. "Sister, you confessed that you sinned in your dreams, yes?"

"Indeed Sister Superior," answered Mella nervously.

Fiona shook her head, "your faith is weak," she looked to the whip and at Kimmins, "report to the library, copy ten pages from our holy text and present it to me."

Mella glanced at the flogging whip and back to Fiona, "of... of course Sister Superior."

Mella hurried off, slamming the door shut behind her, back in the office Kimmins made his final notes and closed his journal. "Sister Superior, do you often use our holy text as punishment?"

Fiona's nostrils flared, "I thought it fitting," she said dismissively.

"I thought you were rather lenient," offered Kimmins as he produced a humble wooden pipe, he struck a match and lit the tobacco as he puffed away.

Fiona sat down. "Must you fill my office with such a substance? And truly? You thought I was lenient?"

Kimmins took a mouthful of sweet smelling smoke and exhaled. "Ten pages is inconvenient but the girl violated her vows in this dream, what does that say of her character? I rather thought you would correct her more thoroughly."

"You truly think so?"

Kimmins smirked, "tell me sister, why is your flogging whip on your desk?"

"The specter of punishment inspires truthful intent."

"Sister, tell me, are you familiar with the sin of wrath?"

Fiona scoffed, "I'm aware of the sin."

Kimmins stood up, "I believe you are intimately familiar with it, sister, I shall need your office to conduct interviews with your flock. You may take your whip, you seem attached to it."

Then... as Fiona stood up to leave, she felt it, a whisper in her ear like a lover beside her in bed.

He knows your secret, Sister

Fiona paused as she heard the voice. She looked around, frightened like a little girl momentarily as she searched for the source of the voice.

"Sister? Is something the matter?" asked Kimmins.

Fiona gulped, "I am fine, father."

As Fiona prayed for a clear head Father Kimmins and Father Naughton conducted their interviews in her office. Sister Fyan squirmed in her seat as she sat before the two men.

"Now," said Father Kimmins with his journal open, "sister, I understand that there have been... disturbing dreams happening among the sisters of the convent. Are you aware of this?"

Fyan closed her eyes, "yes, father, they've been happening every night since... well a week ago."

"You say every night?" Asked father Naughton.

Fyan nodded, "I wake up in shame every day," she way lying, she woke up sweaty and in the midst of crisis, and while there was shame there was more pleasure.

"And in these dreams, are there... demonic influences?" asked Kimmins.

"No father, um... you see... the dream is consistent. In it I am... oh lord I feel shameful describing such things to a man of the cloth."

"Please," said Naughton, "we are not gossiping, this is a matter of spiritual health, you may continue."

Fyan sighed, "you see... it is like a dream that connects to an ancient time. A man in bear skins and covered in inked skin claims me as I wear a flower wreath. It was like... being taken to a time before our island was touched by Christ."

Both men looked at each other, they were hearing heresy of the highest order, and Sister Fyan was plagued by dreams of pagan times. "I am sorry that you must endure such a dream each night," said Father Naughton.

"Yes, I must endure," said Fyan.

"Now sister," said Kimmins, "have you noticed a change in any of your sisters? Convening outside of prayer? Whispering to each other? Anything out of the ordinary could be vital to our investigation."

Fyan shook her head, "no father, each sister has been plagued by these dreams but we've taken them as another obstacle we must overcome in honor of the lord."

"Very good, sister, could you fetch the next sister? You're free to go."

Sister Fyan bowed her head, "thank you fathers, may the lord walk with you."

"And you as well sister." said Father Kimmins as he wrote in his journal."

Mella sat before the two fathers and carved a faint, quiet smile on her face as she looked at father Naughton.

"Fathers, what may I do to help?" she asked calmly.

Kimmins opened his journal and dipped his pen in a bottle of ink. "Novice Mella, I understand you came here..." he looked at his notes, "a week ago, is that correct?"

"It is, Father."

"And I notice in my notes that the dreams that plague your sisters started a week ago. How unfortunate for you to enter a holy place as sinful dreams begin to haunt it."

"Yes it is unfortunate," said Mella, "but I endure, it is another challenge to overcome."

"And these dreams, I understand that yours are..." Father Kimmins paused as he remembered what Mella had said of her dreams, "... traumatic."

"Yes father, it is not easy to go to bed and have dreams of being defiled against my will by a demon."

Naughton frowned and extended his hand to comfort Mella. Kimmins raised an eyebrow at him. Mella accepted Naughton's hand and smiled at him. "Thank you father Naughton." she said reverentially.

Kimmins made notes in his journal, "and Novice Mella, I must ask, have any of your sisters suggested... deviancy to holy doctrine?"

Mella feigned shock, "goodness no, we talk about our dreams over porridge in the morning, but only to give assurance that we can overcome these dreams if we hold each other's hands."

Naughton smiled, relieved that Mella's faith was strong. "And Mel- Novice Mella, I must ask, how is your mother and father? I've not been to the village in some time."

"Father continues to take care of cows and mother is with my seventh sibling. They're truly blessed."

Kimmins nudged Naughton and Naughton cleared his throat, "now Novice Mella, there is something we should discuss. It is um... unfortunate but there is a coincidence that we must look into. Your arrival at the convent coincides with the dreams beginning."

"Father, what are you suggesting?" asked Mella as she projected her hurt at the accusation.

"We're curious why the dreams began when you arrived," asked Kimmins.

Mella shifted in her seat, "I... I do not know! I sought sanctuary from ungodly temptations only to be besieged by them in my sleep in a most holy place."

Kimmins nodded, "I see. Well sister, thank you for your time, we'll allow you to return to your duties, could you send in the next sister?"

Mella nodded and stood up, "thank you fathers, may you find the source of this corruption," she said with a bow.

Kimmins closed his journal, "I believe we will," he said as he smiled at Mella.

Mella closed the door behind her and Kimmins looked at Naughton. "She was too calm. Too knowledgeable."

Naughton looked back at Kimmins, "I admit her arrival is coincidental but you heard her, she detests the dreams, did you hear any reverence in how she described them? Half a dozen sisters and all of them spoke with their eyes looking up of their dreams. But her? She was repulsed by the subject of her dreams."

Kimmins nodded again, "and that is why I doubt her. She is the outlier. And your connection with her is interfering with your duty."

"I am merely advocating for innocence."

"Who is the advocate against the common opinion, brother Naughton?"

Naughton sighed, "the devil's advocate," he answered reluctantly.

Chapter Ten: A Dream to Remember

While Father Kimmins poured over his journal in a spare cell, Father Naughton was deep in sleep and dreaming of simpler days. He was in his wool cassock in the dream and walking through the village that he tended in his youth. Less than fifty souls lived here, it was humanity at its closest to godliness, all working together toward surviving the next winter. It was worship to the lord through the toil of hands and smiles in the pasture.

He knew each villager by name and addressed them, he felt serene as he walked among them. Each of them addressing him as father as he passed by. With a fresh apple in his hand he walked to the chapel to prepare for tomorrow's service.

When Naughton pushed the door to his chapel open, he noticed that the curtain for the confessional booth was closed. He nodded and smiled, simple farm sins, envy at harvests and gentle grudges.

He stepped into the confessional and cleared his throat and spoke with conviction, though his voice was still youthful. "Speak, child.

"Forgive me father for I have sinned, it has been a month since my last confession."

Naughton, even in his dream, was unnerved. This voice, feminine, was familiar but not of this village.

"Tell me of your sin, child."

"I have a terrible compulsion, and father I must confess it."

"I am listening, now what is this compulsion?"

There was a pause from the other end of the confessional and then, words that tore through his ears. "I crave a holy man's loins," confessed the woman.

Naughton gulped and made the sign of the cross before speaking, "and tell me child, are you... from this village? Or did you travel to confess this?"

"No... I am off this village."

Naughton's mouth was drying up, "child, a priest's vows are sacred. To willingly stray a man of the cloth from his path is cruel and destructive. Child, please, when these desires take hold, perform five hail marys and apply some cold water to the back of your neck if able."

"So I must pray every time I covet a man of the cloth?"

"Y-yes child."

"Hail Mary, full of grace..."

Naughton choked on his surprise as the voice, this painfully familiar voice, recited the prayer. The voice dripping like hot wax off a candle.

"Child... please... focus on your connection with the lord."

"I thought you said to pray whenever I lusted after a man of the cloth? I was only obeying."

Naughton stood up and pushed his way through the curtain and shook his head, this was not a confessional, it was a temptation and he would not tolerate it. Whatever tempting harlot was behind the curtain, he would banish them from his sanctuary. He tore back the other curtain and froze

Sitting in a white dress was Mella as she was now, a woman. She bit her lip and looked at Naughton with hungry eyes, "Hello father..." she said in a seductive tone.

Naughton screamed as he realized who had been trying to tempt him, he fell back and in the dream, his head struck a pew.

Naughton woke up in a sweat in a spare cell. He looked at the cross on the wall and closed his eyes. "Lord... take away what I feel, strip me of what the animal in me wanted."

Within Mella's dream she was in a linen gown and pouring tea. She wasn't smiling, she looked somber, reflective. She turned her head as she heard footsteps behind her, Ajara had returned from Father Naughton's dream.

"He's a good man," said Mella as Ajara sat down opposite of her and sipped the tea Mella had poured for her. "I don't like this plan."

Ajara put her cup down, "patience, Little Robin, he is denial made flesh and he must be driven from this place. If he knew of the Sisterhood you are forming, he'd damn you to a sanitarium or a noose."

"But he practically raised me," protested Mella, "and to use me to tempt him. It makes me uncomfortable."

Ajara frowned and stroked Mella's cheek, "I know, Little Robin, but it is his weakness. If he didn't covet you, I wouldn't use your form."

Mella frowned, "Ajara, I thank you for the freedom you've given me, the knowledge of the divine, but tormenting an innocent man? I have limits."

Ajara nodded, "I understand," she said as she considered Mella's words. "Know that what I do to him, I do to protect what you've made. The Sisters of the First Temple are not the first to have discovered what you have. I have tried for centuries to liberate women from the bonds of faith, and I will protect what progress I've made with every weapon at my disposal."

Mella was quiet as she listened, "that may be, but this is my life, Ajara."

"And I want to protect it, Little Robin... I will pause my assault on his facade of decency. But I ask something in return."

"Ever the devil."

"Astute, I ask that you tempt him, if he is devout, he will decline, if he is as I see him, he will give in."

Mella glared at Ajara, "you will not tempt him in my form in exchange for me tempting him? You still get what you want.

"But you will have agency, you can try as hard or as little as you like. But test him, see if he is still your guardian or if your relationship has... developed."

That morning after Lauds and Prime the sisters gathered in the dining room to eat their porridge and prepare for the day ahead. While other sisters contemplated their work in the garden or laundry, Mella thought of Father Naughton as he sat with Kimmins and Fiona. She dared to glance at him, and in that moment, Naughton looked back at her. When their eyes met he looked away fearfully.

See how he squirms? He knows what he wants

Mella couldn't respond without speaking to herself in the crowded dining room. She let Ajara speak her peace and resumed eating her porridge. No honey was given with the porridge, leaving it a bland mess to eat. But she knew raisins were kept in the kitchen for festive dishes.

I can see what you're thinking, Little Robin, and I approve

Mella stood up and walked to the kitchen. Her sisters watched her walk and looked at each other, unsure. She entered the kitchen and hummed to herself as she fetched the raisin jar. After leaving the kitchen she opened the jar and walked back to her table. Once seated she poured raisins over her porridge and mixed it in. She then left the jar open on the table, available to any willing to dare and take them. Sister Superior Fiona's nostrils flared as she watched Mella's display.

With the spell broken, the other sisters indulged and took handfuls of raisins to add to their porridge. Fiona watched, powerless to punish without looking insane, it was just raisins after all, but it was what they represented. It took a wholesome, pure breakfast and turned into a devious indulgence. When Novice Mella slipped, and she knew she would, Fiona would punish her most severely.

Kimmins sipped his tea, "spirited one, this novice."

Fiona dutifully took a mouthful of bland porridge and swallowed, "she as dutiful as she is devious."

"Sister Superior," said Father Naughton, "it's raisins."

"It's defiance," hissed Fiona.

Father Kimmins fetched his pipe from his pocket, "perhaps it is both," he said as he struck a match.

Fiona closed her eyes in frustration, "must you light that infernal thing indoors?"

"The porridge is in here," replied Kimmins as he puffed away.

While Mella's body worked in the barn, tending to sheep, her mind was elsewhere.

Let me take your mind off these filthy creatures

Mella closed her eyes as she felt hands caressing her beneath her habit. It was like being a mouse who'd grown fond of the presence of a cat. A creature vastly more powerful than herself sparing her because she chose to.

Again, she allowed Ajara to take control of her body, letting Ajara go through the motions of tending to the sheep while Mella woke up in a mind palace of Ajara's creation. She was dressed in a white dress that stuck to her body, revealing every curve and accentuating her breasts.

"Isn't this better?" asked Ajara as she stepped up behind Mella and placed her red hand on the square of Mella's back.

"It is... Ajara..."

"What is it, Little Robin?"

Mella swallowed as she felt Ajara's fingers trace up her back, "why did you choose me?"

Ajara smiled and walked around to look Mella in the eyes, "do you truly wish to know?"

"More than anything."

Ajara sighed and looked away, "it's... impersonal, Little Robin, but the truth is that you were close to the convent, gifted with natural beauty, and you were innocent but curious. I do apologize for how I tormented you, but I had to make you seek the convent. To experience the deprivation, to understand my motives."

"But you manipulated me!" said Mella as she backed away from Ajara. The devil took a step forward, a look of hurt on her face. Had Ajara truly grown fond of her?

"I did," said Ajara as she reached for Mella's hand. Mella pulled away, "and I know how this must feel. But please, let me show you something, it will explain everything. All that I am, Mella, I ask that you trust me."

"Ajara you tear me in half," said Mella as she turned away, "you admit to manipulating me, to picking me like a pup from a litter. And then ask for my trust."

"Devil's make offers, so listen to this one. One set of memories, and if you are not convinced of my intent, I will leave. You may return to your village, to your family, away from the convent."

"But if you leave," said Mella, "you'll just find another woman to drive to a convent to create your order."

Ajara nodded, "I will, I must."

"But you'd leave me? Truly?"

"Devil's honor, one memory."

Mella nodded, "One memory."

London, 1795

The memories were distorted, some were sounds, others were moments in time. She was in London, she wore a noble woman's dress. It's late at night and she steps into a building, above the door a simple banner was hung. 'Literary Society of Unmarried Women'

The next was the scent of books, the pull of a novel from the shelf entitled 'The Philosophy of Chemistry'. One pulling the book the shelf swung open and a set of stairs behind it.

Down the stairs heels clicked, and then, an open room. Women, beautiful women lounged on chairs and read literature in the nude or worshiped each other's bodies in a central bed.

The bed was the altar, and each act of passion on it a prayer. The woman whose eyes Mella watched the memories through disrobed and stepped onto the bed.

Mella was overwhelmed by the feeling of half a dozen women giving her carnal attention. Within her the familiar feeling of Ajara coming forward was felt. Her body transformed and her red skinned form was worshiped with enthusiasm by the other women.

Ecstasy, pure and unadulterated was felt. It was perfect.

As the women lay on the bed in post coital bliss they gently chanted prayers, not to the lord but to themselves. Prayers for future passions, future success, and future sisters.

But as they indulged they heard pounding on the book shelf. It was rhythmic, every few seconds it grew louder. The women looked at each other but by the time they understood what was happening the sound of cracking was heard.

"The witches are in here!" cried a voice.

hard working men in stained clothes kicked down the book shelf and stormed down the stairs toward the inner sanctum.

Ajara was a tempter and a plotter but in the face of man's violence? She was as helpless as the women she lead. Her vessel, her partner, was grabbed by the hair and beaten with a cudgel as she was dragged up the stairs. The screams of her sisters as they were beaten or defiled filled the once sacred place. Outside some of the sisters were cast out, their bodies beaten broken and bloody as curses were chanted.

"Kill the whores of Babylon!"

"Unclean wenches!"

Ajara held tightly to her host, lending her strength to endure. But love stood no chance against an ax handle and a stone.

The last sensation was that of pain and fear. In those final moments Ajara's host spoke. "Ajara. Please. Help me."

"I'm so sorry Diane," cried Ajara as she felt her body grow lighter, her soul slipping away toward hell.

Ajara, without her host, descended to hell in a panic. There were hundreds flooding into hell every minute of every day and Ajara was looking for only a few. She smelled their pain, oh there was much at the doors of hell. But there, gathering one by one, the sister convened and held each other as they shivered in fear and pain. Among them was Diane.

"Ajara..." said Diane, her body free of signs of the fatal beating she'd received, "I'm sorry, I failed you."

"No child," said Ajara as she cradled Diane in her arms, "I failed you."

As quickly as the memories took over her mind, they retreated, and Mella was left standing with Ajara in the mind palace.

"She was so brave," cried Mella as she felt the ghost of an ax handle on her back.

"She was the first to succeed, even briefly." Said Ajara as she wiped away a tear.

Mella watched as Ajara wept gently, it didn't suit her, she was ever confident, always in control, but in this moment she was almost human. "You... loved her."

"I loved all of them. Actresses, intellectuals, married and unmarried alike. All of them thirsting for something more than men allowed them to have."

"I..." began Mella, "I understand now."

"I can still leave, if you truly wish. I know what my presence entails, and you've seen how my hosts fair. I'll leave, try again in another time."

"No," whispered Mella as she touched Ajara's cheek, "I can't go back Ajara," she said as she kissed the devil. She pulled back after intertwining their tongues, "but from now on we are equals. I know you have power beyond me bu-"

Ajara pecked her lips, "done," she said.

Chapter Eleven: The Gates of Hell

Mella spent hours looking after the sheep while her mind was with Ajara. After the terror of the shared memory they yearned to forget the troubles of time in each other.

It was within Mella's mind and she could dictate her pleasure. This time Ajara and Mella had their legs interlocked as they rubbed their hips against each other. As they felt each other on their most intimate parts both of them cried out freely in the mind palace.

Inside, Mella was in ecstasy, but outside she was trimming sheep hooves dutifully. Her body shuddered occasionally as pleasure bled from her mind to her body.

"Ajara, where did you learn this position?"

"An Egyptian priestess, Mella, oh how I miss Egypt."

As they continued to writhe, Mella smiled, "what was she like?"

"A priestess of Bastet, she loved men and women alike and knew how to please both. She made the most delightful beer too. Oh how you would have loved the sight of the Bastet festival. Thousands breeding like feral cats in the city square."

Mella arched her back and cried out, "I... I think that was my third..." she panted.

"Then we're four away from your record," purred Ajara.

Five crises later Mella was done her duties with the sheep and, with great reluctance, returned to her body.

Compline passed and Mella lay in bed. Her mind was with her sisters, they'd met once, but one meeting does not a movement make.

Mella

Mella listened to Ajara beckon her.

Your thoughts are with them, your sisters in freedom

"Yes, I worry, we've only met once, and seeing what happened to Diane, it makes what we're doing all the more real."

I feel I owe it to you to prepare you for what lay ahead

"And how would you do that?"

By learning from those who came before

Mella scoffed gently, "And how would we do that? Summon Diane from hell and ask her what got her beaten to death?"

No, Little Robin, I believe it's time to meet your birthright

Mella was quiet, speaking only after five agonizing beats, "you speak of hell, don't you."

I do indeed. There you will meet your fore-bearers, the women who answered the call before you

"But how is that possible? I... I am dedicated to the cause but I can't kill myself-"

Little Robin I would never demand such a thing of you. The way you carry me in your realm, I would carry you in mine

Mella swallowed hard and closed her eyes, "then take me, Ajara, let me meet my sisters."

I cannot put into words how proud I am of you, come, take my hand Little Robin

Mella felt herself drift away, a little death as her soul was plucked from her living body, as her body breathed and rested, her soul was carried by Ajara.

There was a moment when Mella could look at her body laying on her bed. Ajara held Mella's hand and looked at her with a smile.

"Disorienting, isn't it?"

"Like seeing myself on my death bed," shuddered Mella.

"Oh Little Robin, that is not for a long time, now come, let me show you hell, and you will see that your church lied to you."

"I'm ready."

Ajara held Mella close and looked into her eyes, "now, look into my eyes and imagine yourself floating, you weigh nothing and you are adrift in the wind."

Mella took a breath and imagined that she were full of air, as light as a bird.

"Good... good. Now... step forward."

Mella obeyed and walked into Ajara, as she did so her soul linked with Ajara's like a magnet. Mella felt her body be absorbed by Ajara's essence. But she was not annihilated or assimilated, she was carried with reverence.

Ajara squirmed as Mella found her place in her being. Her Little Robin blind and deafened as her soul tried to understand a world without the flesh to guide it.

Ajara... am I... do I still exist?

"Yes Little Robin, how does it feel? To be the passenger and not the driver?"

I feel... light... warm

Ajara crossed her arms over her chest and breathed deeply, letting her essence sink through the ground, carrying her and Mella deep into the ground, slowly at first but with gaining speed.

Mella watched through Ajara's eyes as they descended through the barrier that separated the divine and infernal from the material. As they passed the threshold Mella felt the warmth intensify, it wasn't a scorching heat, but a warmth like a cloudless summer day.

Around them was the twilight of hell, not caves and flames but a night sky filled with stars above cobble roads and pastoral fields. It was like a summer's night in the countryside.

The gates of hell were, in fact, a set of great doors, behind which was a portal like the surface of water. Souls walked through the surface and into hell, their faces carved with worry.

Ajara landed on her feet and stretched out her arms as she was welcomed to hell at the grand doors. Souls passed by her, terrified by indoctrination, believing they were doomed. Ajara smiled at each of them, knowing that soon they would be in their circle of choice and indulging every whim they had in life. It was the beauty of hell, the reason she sought to free women from the burden of faith.

I... I don't know what I expected... burning lakes, the smell of sulphur

"We are not all stereotypes," chuckled Ajara as she walked among the hell bound souls entering her domain.

As she watched the new souls enter she noticed a woman clutching at her chest and crying. Ajara stepped forward and smiled to the woman.

"Tell me child, what do you fear?" she asked gently.

The woman sobbed as she looked at a red skinned devil speaking to her. "I am damned, I have failed god." she wept.

Ajara put her hands on the woman's shoulders, the woman winced, Ajara pitied her. "Now now, you have done nothing wrong."

"Then why am I here? I should be with my family in heaven."

Ajara looked up and with a smirk whistled sharply. A few beats later a ebony black raven landed on Ajara's shoulder. It cawed dutifully.

"What is your name, child."

"Elizabeth June," answered the woman. Ajara looked at the raven, "my pet, does ms June have family here?"

The raven cawed and Ajara nodded. "Ms June," said Ajara as she offered her hand to the raven, the raven dutifully jumped to her hand. She offered the raven to Elizabeth. "Follow the raven and it will lead you to your family."

Elizabeth blinked in surprise and held the Raven in both hands. It blinked at her and cawed.

"Th- thank you," whispered the terrified woman as she felt the raven nudge forward, "who are you?"

"A devil who cares, child," said Ajara as she smiled at Elizabeth.

Do you always comfort lost souls?

"There is satisfaction in wiping away the tears made by the deception of the church," said Ajara as she walked among the recently dead. They parted around her like a school of fish around a shark.

As Ajara walked she came to a fork in the road, seven paths, seven portals, and seven sensations lay before her.

The gates of wrath had banded iron doors, the sound of fury and scent of blood wafting from the portal.

The gates of Vanity were wrapped in flowering vines as perfume wafted from beyond the doors.

A set of golden doors heralded the entrance to greed while plush doors covered in purple velvet welcomed souls to sloth.

Mella wished she had a stomach when she smelled the aromas wafting from the gates of gluttony. Roast chicken with honey and rosemary tickled Ajara's nose.

A simple stone gate with hand carved oak doors welcomed souls to pride, and finally the gates of Lust came into view. Two statues held the doors, one, a feminine statue with the loins of a man held a door while a masculine statue with the loins of a woman held the other.

As Ajara stood before the entrances Elizabeth walked, still holding the raven. She looked at the doors and the Raven cawed at her to follow. She looked terrified but followed through the doors of gluttony, the portal accepting her and whisking her away to a circle in another part of the infinite cosmos.

"There she goes," sighed Ajara wistfully, "a soul in their first minute of eternity. It's... like watching a woman lose her virginity on her terms."

That's certainly... a way to put it

"Humor me, Little Robin, now which of your sisters would you wish to visit first?"

Do not judge me, but the sisters of lust sound... tempting

Ajara smiled, "I suspected we would end up in lust first. No offense Little Robin but your appetites were ravenous even before I entered your life. But this is a journey that you should make, come, take the reins."

Ajara willed Mella's form forward, as she could possess and take form in the material realm, Mella could do the same with her form. As Mella rose to the surface of Ajara's mind her shining red skin faded to Mella's pale flesh and her horns receded. In a few seconds Mella was standing in hell as Ajara took a back seat to Mella.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to that," groaned Mella.

Mella stepped forward and smelled the scent of sweat and incense. She took a breath and stepped through the threshold of lust's doors. She looked up at the statues and their hybrid forms, wondering what she was stepping into.

"Here we go," she said hesitantly. With some reluctance she took a final step and emerged in the cathedral of lust.

Marble columns greeted her, jutting from white, black, and red marble tiles. A ceiling fifty feet in the air was painted with figures engaged in every pairing of bodies possible, like the Sistine Chapel of carnal acts.

Men, women, and those in between were gathered in robes or naked and engaged in indulgent acts openly and without shame. Moans echoed off the stone walls and Mella listened as countless crises were had. Mella covered her mouth with her hand as she watched men with men, something she'd never considered. It was... foreign yet beautiful.

The halls stretched on forever, furniture covered in bodies writhing and Devils walking among their congregation, urging them on and distributing implements of pleasure as needed. These lesser devils were the caretakers of lust and tended to the needs of the occupants.

There were people who looked almost alien to Mella, who'd lived her whole life in one village. Some with narrow eyes, some with skin as dark as pitch, but all of them equal in their desires.

Mella felt a hand wander onto her body, she looked down and realized only now that she was adorned in a simple red toga. She looked behind her to see a bashful young man smiling at her as he looked at her with unashamed desire. He had freckles and deep brown eyes, his hair was wavy and red, a son of Ireland, he had to be.

"G-Greetings," stammered Mella as the young man's hand squeezed her rear.

"Just arrive?" asked the young man.

Mella smirked, "Just visiting," she said. The young man looked at her curiously.

"Just visiting?" he asked as he took his hand away.

"My body waits for me," said Mella, "I'm with um... Ajara?"

The young man's eyes glowed with understanding. "You're one of the daughters, aren't you?" he asked.

"How did you know?"

"Only Ajara's daughters come to visit."

"Do you... do you know where they are?"

The young man looked around, "I know Diane is here, but we've nothing but time. I'm Cole."

"Mella," said Mella as she felt Cole's eyes watch her.

"There's nothing but time here," offered Cole.

Mella blushed and looked around.

Go on, Little Robin, go forth and conquer. Your sisters aren't going anywhere

Mella's robe was discarded and she was on her knees before Cole as she gave in to deeper desires. She'd never thought of men much, her sexual awakening being among women. But as she savored the taste of Cole's manhood on her tongue she learned to appreciate all that the world offered.

Cole was gentle, reverent, tracing his hand through Mella's hair as she indulged and serviced him. Mella pulled back to take a gasp of air and looked up at Cole.

"My my, you are gifted," she panted as she rubbed his manhood against her cheek.

"Thank you," blushed Cole, "so tell me, Mella, what year is it now?"

"Eighteen seventy two," replied Mella before returning to her ministrations.

Cole gasped for a moment, "I... I didn't realize such time had passed."

Mella stopped again and looked up, "Cole, are you well?"

Cole nodded, "I passed in eighteen twenty, cholera," he admitted, "my little sister... she must be... Christ, an old woman now."

"We can stop if you want, if the memory is too much."

Cole shook his head with a smile, "we will be reunited, hopefully. Besides, when I have such lovely company here why dwell on earthly matters." With a gentle hand he guided Mella up and walked her to a piece of furniture, it was only when Mella got closer that she noticed that the furniture was held in place by people bound and held in position to hold up the cushions.

Mella glanced at Cole who gave her a knowing smirk. "Not all desires are conventional," he said simply, he knelt down and rubbed the cheek of a woman knelt with her arms raised up to form a back rest. "Doing well Victoria?" he asked.

"Lay on me, let me feel your weight," gasped the woman.

Mella nodded, now knowing that what she saw was consensual.

She was hesitant to sit on Victoria's back until the woman looked at her, "don't pity me sister, I yearned for this in life."

Mella felt hesitant but finally sat on the woman, feeling her shudder as her weight was brought down on Victoria. Mella laid with her back to Victoria's, her legs hanging off the side and her womanhood exposed. Cole knelt and held her thighs as he pecked and kissed at her legs.

Mella moaned, surprised at her own intensity. She felt his kisses, damp and reverent as they made their way to her womanhood. He paused, looked up at Mella, who bit her lip in anticipation.

"Please," she urged.

Cole obliged, his tongue exploring her folds. Mella gasped as his mouth engulfed her, her body growing warmer with every flick of his tongue. Her fingers curled into the back of Victoria's hair and she heard the woman give a delighted groan beneath her.

Ajara's presence was faint, distant, but there.

Do you like this Little Robin? Is this everything you imagined?

"How can this be hell when it feels like heaven," panted Mella.

Let yourself go, enjoy, feel

Mella let out a long shuddering moan as Cole slid two fingers inside of her while still working with his tongue. Her body writhed on Victoria's back and she could feel the ecstasy building within her.

"Mella," whispered Cole softly.

"Yes?" gasped Mella as her stomach heaved with labored breaths.

"Cum for me."

His words were enough to send her over the edge and she quivered with ecstasy as the pleasure crashed through her body like a wave breaking on rocks. It felt endless as her cries echoed off the walls of the cathedral of lust and she rode the sensation for what felt like blissful minutes.

Beneath her Victoria writhed and groaned at the pleasure happening on top of her.

Oh Little Robin, you're a natural, and so is he

With legs trembling Mella held her thighs and looked at this specimen of Irish boyish charm and bit her lip. "Be my first man," she asked him gently.

She was not Desperate, she was not ashamed, she was ready.

To be claimed by a spirit of lust is to know ecstasy at its most pure. Mella felt every inch of him as the pleasure consumed them both. They moved slowly at first, savoring the new and mutual experience.

Cole pressed into her as their bodies became familiar with each other, picking up speed as the pleasure grew. Mella gasped at the sensation of flesh on flesh, her nails tracing over his back. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him deeper inside of her.

Cole groaned, and she felt his breath against her neck, warm and urgent. "Mella," he whispered again, her name leaving his lips like a prayer.

"Yes," she moaned in response, arching her back.

"Together," he panted, and Mella felt the heat build within her once more. As if commanded by an unseen force they climaxed together, Mella's cries mingling with Cole's at the peak of their passion.

Spasms of pleasure rolled through her body until she thought she might burst from it. With one final tremor both Cole and Mella collapsed onto Victoria who shuddered beneath them in delight.

They lay intertwined, basking in the afterglow. Mella felt a rush of satisfaction that was almost dizzying in its magnitude. It was different from being with women but equally consuming.

"You are lovely," said Cole as he brushed hair from her sweaty and flushed face. He leaned in and shared a kiss as he rubbed against Mella's body. There was nothing to do but enjoy each other, the sisters weren't going anywhere...

Chapter Twelve: Daughters of Ajara

Mella watched Cole stand unashamedly in the nude, he stretched and basked in the desire they'd shared. Mella was breathing hard but no part of her was sore.

Pain is a choice here, Little Robin

Mella stood up as well and felt eyes watching her with desire. A lesser devil approached her with a smile and a jug of water spritzed with lemon.

"I don't recognize you, are you new?" asked the devil.

"I came with Ajara," answered Mella as she accepted a cup of water and sipped it eagerly.

The devil smiled, "ah, you are the new daughter of Ajara. How are you finding our realm?"

"Breath taking," said Mella as she finished the water. The glass faded away leaving her empty handed.

The devil noticed Cole, "Oh Cole, I know when you first came here you asked to know. But your sister? I'm sorry, but she was chosen by heaven."

Cole frowned, I'd wished I'd seen her one last time. To ask her how she lived."

The devil nodded, "I understand your sorrow, to be separated by divine and infernal. I have sisters in heaven who I miss dearly, the ones who stayed."

Cole took a long breath and looked at Mella, "I'm so sorry, but would you mind if I excused myself? I must mourn, and I fear intimacy is not what I need."

Mella understood and fetched her red toga from the ground, "I understand, please, take your time."

Cole smiled and pecked Mella on the cheek, "I... I think I may go to pride... live the life I was denied." He looked around at the cathedral of lust nodded, sure of himself.

"When... when you do come here, as morbid as it is to say... please, find me." said Cole as he began to walk away, taking a last look back as he left through the gates of Lust to the circle of seven gates."

Mella felt sorrow for Cole, his family was in heaven, a thought that should have been a relief but only enforced an infinite separation between him and them. Her first introduction to lust and it turned into a quiet tragedy.

Never forget what heaven takes from mortals

Mella nodded and walked among the halls of lust, being waylaid at each turn by another temptation. Men, women, and those who were something in the middle. Women like Neve who had the loins of men, men who had the loins of women. She spent hours in tireless ecstasy as she indulged every whim she could think of.

As Mella lay in an orgy of newcomers, letting eager unshackled souls claim their pleasure with her, she felt a familiar presence.

"She said you'd be here." said a gentle, familiar voice.

Mella looked up from the loins of a plump woman whose rose smelled sweet and noticed that Diane was standing in her red toga and looking at her.

"It's... It's you..." she said as she stood up and stepped over writhing bodies to acknowledge Diane.

She waited for Mella to emerge from the orgy and dress herself in the toga before approaching. "Ajara spoke to me, said you would be here."

After having seen her final moments from her eyes, Mella was relieved to see Diane in such peace. Her curled black hair and striking green eyes making for a stunning face. "So you are the latest," she said serenely.

"Ajara certainly has a way of choosing her prophets," said Mella.

Diane smiled, "she is unnerving at first, forward."

"That's one word for it."

"She gave me quite the fright at my eighteenth birthday," mused Diane. "The urges she brought to the surface... terrifying, confusing, fulfilling."

"I as well," said Mella, "to the uninitiated she is a bellows to the flame of desire."

I couldn't have put it better myself, Little Robin

Diane smirked, "I remember her whispers, the lustful things she suggested I do. I made the candle maker a rich man with my purchases... Tell me, did she show you my fate?"

"She did, you... you didn't deserve that... none of you did."

Diane nodded, "thank you for your kind words, she showed me my predecessor as well, equally as grim, she may be a devil but she always deals in truths."

"Tell me," said Diane as she watched two men kiss and writhe against each other against a column "is the world as ignorant as I left it?"

"My worldly knowledge is somewhat lacking... but the only sanctioned pleasure a woman can find is in 'hysteria treatments'." Mella pouted, "are we mad? Or is the world mad?"

"I was bludgeoned to death for loving women and enjoying my body. The world is mad and the men who rule it, madder still. Now, come, we've matters of sisterhood to discuss."

There's my Diane, brave, loving, by the seven circles I wish I could have protected her, she deserved to grow old with her sisters

As Mella and Diane walked through the halls of lust they were witness to many unique pleasures. While walking, Diane gave a sharp whistle and a raven flew to land on her arm. Diane gave the infernal bird a pet and scratched it under it's beak, "fetch the daughters of Ajara please," she said to the bird. It cawed and fluttered away.

"We've nothing else to do while the sisters convene, any ideas how we can pass the time?" she asked as she looked at a open lounger. Around it lustful souls indulged themselves with reckless abandon.

Mella and Diane kissed gently on the lounger, each of them laying back and allowing a nameless lover to indulge their bodies. Mella's toes curled and spread as she was ravished, while Diane cooed softly with each thrust into her. They did not know the names of who pleasured them, nor had they asked, pleasure was a greeting as much as an activity in this circle.

Slowly, the daughters of Ajara convened, Diane's order. It occurred to Mella how many failed orders of sisterhoods were in hell. Ajara's cause was just but it left a trail of bodies in its wake.

Eventually the two women broke off their kiss and thanked their lovers for their efforts, but now there were matters of importance to discuss.

Mella felt seed dripping down her thigh as she wrapped herself in her toga. Diane traced a hand across Mella's exposed shoulder, causing her to shiver.

"Sister Diane," said a tall imposing woman who'd long forgone her toga and stood in the nude, "it's been too long."

The woman hugged Diane and gave her a peck on the cheek, "How has the first floor of the cathedral treated you??

Diane returned the kiss, "Conventional desires still fulfill me, how goes the dungeons?"

The woman beamed with pride, "Pain, humiliation, and the hunger of the taboo still reign supreme. You should join us some time."

Diane blushed but shook her head politely, "perhaps in time, you left me with many bruises the last time I let you loose on me."

"Bruises are but the aftertaste of pain savored," she said proudly, "what is love without the marks to prove it?"

Diane looked to Mella, "Mella, this is Sister Lash, she was my first and most loyal disciple."

Sister Lash looked at Mella and examined her carefully, "so you are our mistress' newest prophet, you didn't seem like a newcomer, too calm, too grounded."

"Just visiting," said Mella.

"Ah," said Sister Lash, "The Infernal mistress holds your hand, yes?"

"Indeed."

Sister Lash studied Mella's expression, "Diane described her visit to us with such enthusiasm. We recorded her journey in our first holy book... sadly it was our last."

"The cruelty of the ignorant is... heartbreaking. They could be made free and happy if they would just listen. But Sister Lash..." said Mella, "I must ask, what is in the dungeon?"

Sister Lash grinned, "pain and pleasure, sister," she answered, her words like silk braided with barbs. "We indulge in what would... shock the newcomers, all desires are welcome, but some require a... specific palate, better left to experienced and eager eyes. The dungeon is where pain and pleasure, shame and glory, they all interweave. None who enter leave without change, sometimes dark desires long buried bubble up. Some are broken and must rebuild themselves, others are made whole for the first time. But know, each floor of the dungeon is like the ocean, the deeper you go, the darker it becomes."

Mella felt like the first time she kissed Neve, her stomach doing somersaults within her. "Perhaps... when our lessons are concluded you could guide me to the first floor of the dungeon?"

Sister Lash smirked, "I like this one," she said to Diane, she looked back at Mella and ran a finger along Mella's pale skin, "oh sister, I will play you like an instrument, paint you like a canvas with a strap."

Diane put a hand on Sister Lash's shoulder, "steady yourself, Sister."

Sister Lash... oh Little Robin we must accept, I never knew a mortal could make pain into an art form until Diane and I submitted to her lashings

Sister Lash grunted and sighed, "apologies for my overt enthusiasm, but please, sister, do visit when you're ready to have your world broadened."

The other daughters of Ajara gathered. Sister Lash was already known, but Sister Thirst, Sister Sow, and Sister Wax were just arriving.

"Is this the one who Ajara chose?" asked Sister Sow, she was a plumper woman with wide hips, she was clad in the same red toga as the others in the cathedral of lust. Sister Sow squinted at Mella, "the mistress' taste is as always exquisite."

Sister Wax was a petite thing, red wax hardened on her skin and a mischievous smile on her face, "she's come to meet her fore-bearers, we are obliged to introduce ourselves."

"Such a sweet thing, so full of life," said Sister Thirst as she stepped forward and soaked in Mella's presence.

"Be still sisters," said Diane, "we must share our wisdom before we indulge."

In a secluded corner of lust, Mella was sat down as each sister sat beside her, one at a time they stood up and shared their wisdom with her. Diane sat beside Mella and all the sisters hands wandered over Mella's body.

Sister Lash was the first to present her wisdom to Mella, she held paced about in front of the daughter of Ajara and closed her eyes, "I was a puritan, I believe it was sixteen... thirty. My mind was locked, rigid, and Ajara liberated me. But my attempts to free my fellow pilgrims were... not well accepted. We had but a handful of sisters and a brother who followed Ajara's doctrine."

"What... what happened?"

Sister Lash frowned, "Sister Weaver, her heart eager to be filled, she introduced her husband to pleasures she'd learned from Ajara, and he was not ready. The poor girl..." Sister Lash closed her eyes and looked down, "they... they tortured her, made her confess. The rest of us were burned for witchcraft and convening with the devil. Ajara spared me from the flames while my sisters and brother burned and screamed... But Ajara couldn't spare me from a musket's ball. But before I died, Ajara's name never left my lips. I would honor my liberator until my final breath."

I remember her death, it was harrowing, to see beloved disciples perish in flames, unable to save them. It broke me, Little Robin

Mella wiped away a tear, "you deserved better, sister," she said.

Sister Lash nodded, "we all do. I tell you this not to bring you sorrow but to warn you, grow slowly, grow with meaning, and ensure that all members understand the risk of what they worship."

Sister Lash took a deep breath, the recollection of her own death haunting her like a deeply scarred wound. After she collected herself she sat down and allowed Diane to hold her hand, giving it a squeeze.

Sister Wax was the next to stand, her petite frame carrying an intense gravitas. "I'm something of the old woman of the daughters of Ajara. I remember when Jupiter was worshiped and the world belonged to Rome."

Mella blinked in shock, was she truly from the time of emperors and empire? Sister Wax continued, "I was a vestal virgin, bound by honor to not know touch. All to keep the city in the good graces of the gods. And then Ajara opened my eyes to what I had given up. It was a different time, a man could lay a man so long as he did not submit to one of a lower station. But women? Our lust was invisible, unnecessary. For all that has changed, the status of women has remained like the Parthenon. Our cult... it blossomed in the subura, away from the judging eyes of the priests and senate."

"How... how did it end?"

Sister Wax shook her head, "as Vestal Virgin, it was my duty to abstain from touch. But while I held the sacred flame I guided others to a pleasure I could not have. I was like a conductor in a choir of lust, but Rome did not see my abstinence, they saw my complicity in conducting lust and entombed me as though I'd been laid by a man. They didn't fear what I did, but what I inspired. I starved and wasted away over a week and a half, supposedly the gods 'mercy'."

Mella held her hands to her mouth and shook her head, "They entombed you?"

Sister Wax nodded solemnly, "for the crime of guiding others to pleasures that I was denied. That was enough to damn me to a terrible fate. If I have but one word of wisdom for you, it is that we do not fight to overcome the ignorance, we live in spite of it. We do not fight for long lives, but for short lives fully lived. Would I have liked to out live my vows? Yes, but the daughters of Ajara burn brightly before the water of ignorance is poured on us."

Sister Wax breathed in through her nose and exhaled the regrets of a life only half lived. She sat down and her sisters consoled her.

Sister Sow stood up and bowed gently to her sisters, "greetings everyone, I know my legacy is not as... poetic as the others. I was a humble village wife in Quebec. It was... oh it must have been sixteen forty eight. The village was outside of Quebec City. We traded with Metis and I was a the wife of a priest. All was quiet and purposeful in my life until my eighteenth birthday. Ajara showed me a new world. And my husband was not ready to understand my newfound desires."

As she spoke Sister Sow had a gentle smile, "my husband did not understand my new urges, but the metis? I joined my husband on missions to their villages but soon... I went on my own to share my own gospel. By Ajara, I mourn that I was born catholic and not among them. Ajara's blessings were welcomed by them, we danced, we smoked, and we laid under the stars. But when my husband discovered my laying with them... the colonial garrison came... I stood with them. I refused to leave, they'd accepted me and Ajara's gifts when my peers denied me. I stood before the line of muskets, my husband at the center, then I woke up in hell. I... I didn't think my husband thought so little of me."

Mella shook her head. "So... all of my sisters, we all suffer terrible fates and die young... but we... we live full lives all the same."

Sister Thirst put her hand on Mella's shoulder, "better a year of fire than a lifetime of ash."

"What about you? Sister?" asked Mella?

"Ajara had the unfortunate luck of possessing me as Europe was ravaged by the great death. She protected me from illness, but in a time when every family lost half its members, or all, there was little space for love and lust. I held the fire as long as I could but... I could not bear the pain of isolation among death. I... I chose to not go forward through misery... I... I bundled myself in wool and walked into a pond I once washed laundry in... it was cold and muddy, but Ajara held my hand gave me warmth as water filled my lungs. She told me she understood, she was pained by my choice but knew it was mine to make."

Mella could not move, nor could any of the other sisters. Sister Thirst had been denied even having a sisterhood. She died alone, in emotional pain, and understood only by Ajara. Mella stood up and stepped toward Sister Thirst, she wrapped her arms around her sister and hugged her tightly. "I'm so sorry sister,' she whispered. One by one the other sisters stood up and held Sister Thirst. Even after centuries the memory of her destruction by her own will brought heaving tears to her eyes. They stood and hugged in that moment, even Sister Lash offered her gentle sympathy.

"Sisters," said Sister Thirst, "I have had centuries to accept what happened, please, let us not devolve to mourning a woman long dead." Sister Thirst kissed each of her sisters and smiled at them, overjoyed by the gesture.

"now sisters," said Diane as the hug broke apart and hands started to wander. "We are in the realm of lust, and I feel we have spent enough time educating the latest prophet on what she faces, now I believe we owe Sister Lash a visit to her domain."

Mella could only gasp as four sets of hands traced along her body and she was guided back to the couch by women educated in the art of pleasure.

Chapter Thirteen: A Hellish Little Death

After hours of languid indulgence in the cathedral's halls Mella and the daughters of Ajara were lead by Sister Lash to the first floor of the dungeon. As Mella stepped down the marble stairs the stone darkened to granite. A set of heavy iron banded doors swung open with a great creak as they approached and a heavy warm waft of air flowed through them.

Mella was greeted by the sound of whips cracking, cries of ecstasy and pain, and the jingle of chains rattling. Torches lit the way in the dungeon, natural light replaced by the dim glow of the torches. Sister Lash basked in the glow of her domain, running her hands up the backs of her sisters.

"This, this is where lust lives," she sighed as she walked past a man bound to a pillar with his back exposed, another man held a rod and flogged the bound man's rear. This all elicited cries of pleasure twisted through pain from the bound man. Mella felt like she was being introduced to a new world, one she didn't entirely understand.

"Oh Arthur," said Sister Lash as she touched the back of the bound man and ran a finger across his bruised and bloodied back. He hissed in pain and let out a cackle as he felt the pain and embraced it, turning it to pleasure. "Enjoying Jing's treatment?" she asked.

Arthur nodded eagerly, "thank you for introducing us mistress," he cried out. Sister Lash patted Arthur's head.

"One of my newer pupils of pleasure." she said. She walked to Jing, a muscular man who wielded the rod with devotion. He wore a red sash around his waist with the mark of Sister Lash's mark on it, the mark of a disciple. "I trust my pupil is taking his punishments dutifully?"

Jing grinned and gave Arthur another strike to the buttocks, his flesh quivered and shook at the impact. "Most dutifully, Mistress." he said, "and you were right, my wife in life, she understood when she found me here. She lived to be ninety! After she returned from vanity the image of her youth, she found me."

Sister Lash coo'd with delight, "did I not say that true love lives in hell?"

"You did indeed, Mistress," said Jing as he bowed his head. "She was startled at first, of course, but she is still only ready for the cathedral's halls. I'm letting her get her fill of simple lusts before... well," he smirked and gave Arthur another flogging.

"Do tell me when she is ready to experience the dungeon, I do most enjoy guiding a loving wife through her first taste of consensual pain."

Jing had a boyish smile on his face, "I promise, Mistress. I still don't know how to explain my desire for other men, but all in time." Arthur impatiently writhed against his bonds and Jing delivered another strike to his rear.

Sister Lash was the picture of serenity, "be honest, you both have an eternity to understand each other."

Jing sighed, "as always Mistress, you are right... I suppose I'm just afraid."

"Take some time on the other end of the rod, it will clear your mind," suggested Sister Lash.

"For Li to see me in such a position... I think it would terrify her."

Sister Lash rubbed Jing's chin, "give her some time holding the rod, she may have the makings of a dominatrix."

Jing chuckled, "my Li, wielding pain like an artist. She loved water colors... she painted the sunrise with reverence, I wonder what she would paint if she saw me now."

Mella watched this all quietly, listening as the hard edged Sister Lash spoke softly with a man only recently reunited with his wife. Sister Lash patted Jing's shoulder and whispered something in his ear before motioning for the women to continue following her.

They were guided to a room in the dungeon, Sister lash opened a humble wooden door, behind it was a cushioned chair bolted to the ground. "So... who's getting in the chair?" asked Mella.

Mella had her eyes covered by a silk ribbon and her arms were tied to a rope attached to the ceiling. Her legs were spread and held in place by silk rope tied to a set of leg rests, exposing her to her sisters.

And to think, your body is resting in your convent cell while your soul experiences all of this.

The chair was an exquisite piece of furnishing. Devised by the devious and devilish minds of the realm's caretakers. There were leg rests on either side of Mella's headrest, letting Sister Thirst climb atop her and straddle her face in comfort. Sister Wax, true to her name, had a table of burning candles and watched the wax collect eagerly. She dripped the wax onto Mella's exposed belly and chest, biting her lip as she watched Mella writhe and buck.

Further down Sister Sow was between Mella's legs lapping at her womanhood with gleeful abandon. Sister Lash and Diane were engaged in their own bout of play, Diane was suspended from her wrists, her toes barely touching the floor, forcing her to tip toe. Sister Lash had her own table, on it was hell's finest selection of implements of pain and pleasure. From whips to riding crops, from cat of nine tails to dulled knives.

As Mella's cries of pleasure and pain were muffled by Sister Thirst's thighs, Diane was gasping as Sister lash started wrapping her in rough rope. It itched and stung on her skin, Sister Lash was deliberate in her knots, weaving a beautiful pattern that clung to Diane's skin.

Mella squirmed and shuddered, yelping in surprise when Sister Wax languidly traced her tongue up her armpit, it tickled and left her feeling mischievous. Diane could only cry out as Sister Lash performed her namesake and left lines on Diane's back. As she breathed heavily the pain faded into pleasure, but Sister Lash wasn't done with her yet.

Sister Lash traced her fingers up the table until she found what she was looking for, a set of small clamps connected by a chain. She picked them up and held them up for Diane to see, she knew what was coming next and stayed still as Sister Lash let the clamps bite down on her nipples. Diane gasped when each clamp was applied but her attention was on Mella.

Sister Sow lapped loudly and proudly at her womanhood, and Sister Thirst writhed as she sat on Mella's face.

Mella moaned and bucked against her binds, her legs shook and pulled at their bindings, red marks were left on her skin as she tried to close her legs against the relentless onslaught.

Oh Little Robin, you fill me with pride, you are truly a vessel of pleasure

Sister Lash pulled on the chain between Diane's clamps, they pulled and throbbed while Diane bit her lip to keep from screaming out in pain. Mella's cries of pleasure filled the room and echoed off the walls. Flashing lights of carnal sensation filled her vision, each time she bucked up or dropped back down to the seat a wave of heat crashed through her body.

Sister Thirst clamped her thighs around Mella's head and forced herself tight against her face. The chair rocked on its bolts as Sister Sow lapped with reckless abandon at Mella's womanhood.

Mella screamed into Sister Thirst's slit, hot exhales were felt as muffled cries escaped Sister Thirst's thighs. She felt desire building in her lower belly as she felt herself explode in ecstasy. She pulled hard on the ropes that bound her, ignoring the burn they caused on each wrist and ankle as she writhed against them.

She collapsed back into the chair, gasping for air as Sister Thirst lifted herself off of Mella's face. Sister Wax dripped more wax onto Mella's breasts, moaning as if she was feeling the wax herself. It was a glorious sound that echoed through the dungeon.

Sister Sow backed off and licked her lips, leaving room for Sister Thirst to change positions with Sister Wax. Sister Wax decided it was time to raise the stakes and straddled Mella's chest before pinching her nipples hard, twisting them until they were red before letting go. As they released the pressure built up inside Mella exploded, pushing through her need for modesty and restraint, crying out loud enough for all of hell to hear.

She'd had orgasms, she'd had damn good ones, one's worth being damned for. But what she experienced transcended bodily bliss, it was a mind shattering experience.

Be broken and made anew, that is the promise of lust's dungeon, Little Robin

Mella nearly choked on her tongue it was so tired. Sister Wax continued to squeeze and roll her nipples as she played with the hardening wax on Mella's breasts. She snatched a candle and poured hot wax onto her own chest, whimpering and squealing with delight as she felt the pain and warmth spread into her skin.

"Praise the flesh, praise desire," panted Sister Wax.

"Amen," moaned Mella quietly, still breathing heavily in the afterglow of a hellish little death.

Slowly, sensually, Sister Lash untied Mella from her restraints as Sister Wax slid off of her. Finally freed, Mella took off her blindfold and let her arms flop down next to her, aching from being held up for so long. Next her legs were untied and she was guided off the chair by Sister Lash. As Sister Lash attended to Mella Sister thirst and Sister Sow took care of Diane.

Mella was held by the arm with care by Sister Lash. "That was..." panted Mella.

"Unforgettable?"

"I don't think I will ever forget this... but by... well I was going to say god but I suppose at this point I should say by Ajara I am sore."

Sister Lash smiled at Mella and ran her finger along the edges of the wax that covered Mella's breasts, "now comes my favorite part," she whispered. Mella blinked, what could possibly be better than what she'd experienced? What sin would be unleashed? What awful truth would be revealed?

Mella lay soaking in a hot pool of water and let out a relaxed groan. She and dozens of other souls covered in welts and scars rested along the pool's edge. On some level Mella knew that she was not physical, that her body was still dry and asleep in bed, but she felt the water on her skin all the same. And more to the point, she felt it working. Diane sat next to her and rested with a look of bliss on her face. "A hot bath... nothing like it... " she sighed happily as the marks on her body faded.

"Ajara warmed a bath for me once, The convent expected us to bathe in well water, instead it was the first time I remember being comfortable while bathing."

"It's insane, isn't it," said Diane, "what we believe is righteous and what is damnation worthy. Of course that's before one knows the pleasures of hell."

"My jaw aches... spare me a moment," Mella held her nose shut and slipped below the water, letting it come up over her face. She remained there, listening to the heartbeats of those nearby, the gentle echo of water on her ears. When she rose back from the water she took a deep breath and already felt her jaw pain soothe.

As she sat in the bath she considered staying, letting her body waste away in that bed while her soul frolicked in hell, dancing naked and drunk with pleasure for eternity. No hunger or shame, no prayers but the prayers of the body. But she had a duty to her sisters back in the material plane.

I know the call of hell well, Little Robin, how I miss my home when in the mortal world, but remember those who still need you

Diane looked at Mella and gave her a knowing smirk, "she's speaking to you, isn't she?"

Mella nodded, "she says she understands the call of this place. I must remember that I have obligations in the mortal plane."

"It's a shame you must leave, I'll admit... after seventy years, your visit it but a few moments to me, but I treasure them."

Mella looked into Diane's eyes, "was there anyone before me but after you?"

Diane shook her head, "no, the mistress must regain her strength after each possession. She gets but two attempts per century if she's particularly determined."

That moment eased a tension that Mella had toward Ajara. She wasn't just another vessel, she was chosen to attempt to free her sisters in womanhood from men's rules in that century. Revolution and reform waiting decades between attempts. It gave gravity to Ajara's choice. She was not just the next flame, she was this century's only fire.

I know what I ask of you, Little Robin, I know that you see how young these women died. And know that I thank you for accepting my presence

The other sisters who didn't endure the ecstasy of pain were gathered pool side, lounging naked as they sipped on water to refresh themselves. Mella, feeling her body restored, pulled herself out of the pool and allowed the water to cascade down her skin. A plush towel was waiting for her and she dried off.

Sister Lash had a confident smile as she looked over Mella's un marked body. "So tell me sister, how did you enjoy the dungeon?"

"I must invest in my own whip for personal use... perhaps Sister Superior Fiona will end up in here if she arrives in hell, I'm sure I could learn such from her, Ajara knows she enjoys punishing."

"A wrathful superior?"

"Most incredibly, pain is not a paint to apply to the body, it is a punishment to her, one she selfishly inflicts on the sister of the convent for the slightest infraction."

"She reminds me of me," said Sister Lash, "I remember my back was always pockmarked by self inflicted corrections, it was Ajara who taught me how beautiful pain willingly taken can be."

Sister Lash looked to her sisters lounging and relaxing after hours of indulgence, "People see the whips and chains and assume that all there is to the dungeon is pain. But it's about extremes, dear sister. It's about reaching the peak of pain and descending into pleasure, made all the sweeter by what came before."

"From the mountain to the valley," surmised Mella, "Sister Lash, thank you for your education, from all of you."

Sister Lash looked at Mella knowingly, "you speak as though you must leave," she paused, "I'm sorry, I forgot that you are merely visiting. I'm... somewhat used to not being rushed, what with eternity in front of me."

Mella sighed and looked at what awaited her in the afterlife, it was paradise. The excitement she once felt at the idea of heaven was replaced with her longing for hell's warm embrace. "The mistress wants to show me the breadth of hell's wisdom. There are other sisters, in Wrath and Greed who she says will teach me."

Sister Lash ruminated and chuckled as she walked with Mella toward some free seats by the pool. She sighed languidly as she rested, "Wrath... such memories... but I found I prefer pain and pleasure, not just the rush of battle. Be mindful, your first... death... in wrath is an unpleasant experience. Wrath does not spare you any of the pain. But my my, the revelry that those souls engage in... it's the ecstasy of fighting and surviving."

Wrath, I admit, I'm out of my element in wrath, but you need to know how to fight. I will not lose you to violence, Little Robin

Mella's spine shuddered but she knew she had to face this. "Thank you, Sister Lash, for everything."

"Break the cycle, dear sister, be the spark that ignites the world."

Chapter Fourteen: The Many Deaths of Mella

Mella rose up the stairs that divided the dungeon from the cathedral. As she stepped up she noticed a woman wrapped in the same red toga that all souls were granted. Her skin was the same tone as Jing's, she still held herself timidly, unsure of her sensuality.

As Mella passed her she turned, "excuse me," she said. Mella paused.

"Yes?" asked Mella who had an intuition as to what this conversation would be.

The woman looked around, "I'm new here... I... A red skinned woman greeted me and told me my husband, Jing, was here... but that he was... down there." she said as she pointed at the dungeon. "Is he... wicked?"

Mella smiled and shook her head, "Are you Li? I overheard him speaking of you. He's excited and nervous about your arrival."

"You know Jing?" asked Li.

Mella wished she'd spoken to him, introduced herself at least, "Only in passing," she admitted.

"But what is he doing down there? Did he do something wrong?"

"Nothing of the sort," assured Mella, "he enjoys pleasures that the unprepared aren't ready for. But if you are curious and willing to withhold judgment, he'd be so grateful to see you."

Li paused and looked at the doors, "what does he enjoy? Is it something... bad?"

Mella wasn't sure how to phrase what she'd experienced in a way that wouldn't shock Li out of ever stepping foot in the dungeon.

"Li... are you familiar with the warm glow of hard work? The soreness turning to ease with rest?"

Li raised an eyebrow, "yes... I'm familiar."

"Well," started Mella, "with the right state of mind... one can ask for pain and feel pleasure in the afterglow. It's the same relief after pain, just asked for and received."

"So he enjoys being hurt?" she asked nervously.

Tread carefully Little Robin, she's on the edge of rejection

"He enjoys the full breadth of what the body can feel..." Mella worried that she was losing Li. "The important thing is that he missed you dearly, he asked a caretaker of hell to tell him when you arrived so that he would know to greet you. He loves you and would never do anything you didn't want him to."

Li nodded, "I'm just... he died so young and I never remarried, I feared what our time apart has done to us... are we the same people who fell in love?"

"Go to him, Li, go to him and see for yourself, you owe it to both of you to understand each other fully."

Li took a deep breath, "I will try to keep an open mind, thank you." She stepped down the steps and pushed open the banded door, a moment after seeing what happened in the dungeon she gasped. But, she regained herself and stepped through towards her husband.

Mella smiled and continued walking, feeling fulfilled that she played a small part in a couple's eternity together.

But her path did not let her stay in lust. She walked back down the halls, her body satiated for the time being.

Admit it, you'll spend your first eternity with your legs spread

"Are you chastising me, mother superior Ajara?"

Oh that is low, and I thought I was a devil

Mella stepped through the gates of lust and back to the circle of seven gates. Others who'd satiated themselves on the body's pleasures left as well, eager to see what else hell had to offer.

As Mella passed through the gate she was welcomed by the feeling of a dry warmth over her skin. The twilight sky still the same in this realm, like a mid summer night. The gate of wrath beckoned to her and Ajara stirred uneasily within her.

Your next tutor is one of my most successful daughters. Sister Glory. She's from Sister Wax's time, the time of Romans. Her tribe in germanium worshiped us and themselves, until the Romans 'civilized' them. I do enjoy bondage but a crucifixion is not something I'd recommend

"Just once I'd like to meet a daughter of yours that died of old age, just once," said Mella as she walked to the gates of Wrath and pushed open the iron doors. Wrath welcomed her like a crucible welcomes ore.

Passing through the gates of Wrath, Mella was whisked away to another corner of the cosmos, her soul came to laying on the ground. She was clothed simply, clad in a green tunic and a short spear in her hand.

I don't like this, get up, please

Mella pulled herself up and used her spear to steady herself. She was standing in a forest, ancient oaks and pines vied for space and rocks jutted from the ground. Above her the sky roiled and burned red, black clouds swirled. And all around her the sounds of screams and roars echoed. Other bodies in green tunics were spread out on the ground, revealing the fate of the unprepared in this realm.

We're late, the 'fun' has already started, be alert, Little Robin

Mella held her short spear and looked around, relying on instincts and nothing else. The clatter of hooves echoed off the trees and Mella turned to face the sound. She saw a man on a horse approaching her. The horse at first trotted then galloped toward her as an armored man drew their sword and steered his steed alongside Mella. She was shown no mercy and her spear cracked against the armor on the horse.

A horrible pain spread through her as she looked down to see her right arm on the ground and her breast split in half. She coughed up blood and fell to her knees.

I suppose that's as apt an introduction to Wrath, don't be afraid Mella, you will wake up.

Mella coughed and felt a warmness in her hand, Ajara was holding her hand as she bled out.

Darkness that never ended, that's what Mella found on the other side of her eyes closing in wrath. It was a taste of death and she felt her body grow warm. She blinked and she was laying in a cot inside of a tent. Her green tunic still on her and her body good as new.

Mella rolled out of the cot and slipped on a set of sandals sitting at the foot of the tent. There was the smell of roast meat wafting in the air. There were others in green tunics, men, women, those between, all sought meaning in conflict. There were hundreds of them in a camp that stretched as far as Mella could see.

I must admit, the 'happy to be alive' sex here must be amazing. To feel the specter of death before engaging in the act of life...

"Bestill your loins," muttered Mella as she felt her body warm up and moisture accumulate between her legs.

It's my form you possess, Little Robin, I'm letting you ride but I expect you to take the scenic route

Mella walked along with the more experienced souls of wrath and followed them to fire pits where chunks of meat were roasted on short spears. Each of them snatched a spear and piece of meat and gnawed on the roasted flesh. Mella followed along and took her own spear, she heard someone stand behind her.

"There you are, sister," said a gruff feminine voice. Mella turned around to see a woman with blonde hair bound in a bun and piercing blue eyes.

"Sister Glory?" asked Mella.

The woman chuckled, "the very same, I see the mistress told you of her favorite vessel?"

"Favorite Vessel?"

I never said favorite, only most successful.

Mella smirked, "the mistress disagrees."

Sister Glory rolled her eyes, "I would lie and say she's too modest but we both know Ajara is many things, but modest is not one of them."

"I must agree," said Mella, "I understand your village worshiped you?"

Sister Glory smirked, "I was the priestess of pleasure, a living fertility idol, Ajara and I brought peace to the tribes of the valley, united by the fall bounty festival. We celebrated crop harvests and planting the seed of the next generation. We made so many proud mothers and fathers..." She frowned. "Of course then the Romans arrived..."

Mella admired Sister Glory's figure. She was clad in steel plate over leather armor. A two handed sword at her side. Mella looked down at her own tunic and felt under prepared for what was ahead.

"How... How do I get like you?" she asked, "with the knightly armor?"

Sister Glory held a smug aura about her at the question, "earned on the field of battle. Weapons and armor are granted to those who prove themselves in the field. Slay another and you'll take the first step toward my attire."

Sister Glory took one look at Mella and knew she'd lived a modest life. She held her spear with an unfamiliar grasp and she flinched at the clank of armor. "Come sister, if you're going to make any progress you'll need to know the basics.

Mella had her spear in hand while Sister glory drew her long sword and held it with both hands. "Give me three thrusts to the plate, sister, good and strong, don't back down, trust me to block them.

Obeying, Mella stepped forward and pushed forward with the spear tip at Sister Glory's chest. Sister glory defied expectation and didn't resist the spear point, instead trusting her armor to take the attack.

"Come now sister, you'll have to do better than that."

"You didn't block, I don't want to hurt you."

Sister Glory frowned and twirled on her feet, building up speed with her blade and bringing it down in a strike. Mella felt the tip of her nose bleed as the very tip was split by the edge of the sword. "Hesitation is death, Sister," warned Sister Glory sternly. "Now, strike me again." Aim for the joints in the plate, anything else and you're wasting your time."

Mella held onto her spear, uneasy, "but what if I hurt you? I could accidentally kill you-"

Sister glory lunged forward and pushed her sword through the side of Mella's tunic, an inch away from her belly. "Then I'll wake up tomorrow, wiser. Now, strike me."

A crowd of newcomers to Wrath and veterans gathered around the training pit and placed bets on how how long Sister Glory would humor Mella before finishing her off before the battle even started. This was Wrath and what happened in the training ring wasn't considered fratricide, it was a learning experience.

Mella wiped blood from her nose and held her spear more surely this time. The pain from her split nose drove her to try and get even with Glory. With as wrathful a cry as she could muster she thrust her spear at Glory and watched as she deflected the spear and redirected her blade at her face. Leaving Mella with a bleeding scar on her cheek.

"Damn," cursed Mella as she held her cheek.

"Always be one move ahead, a duel is as much chess as combat. What happens when you attack, what is your opponent thinking. Strike me again."

Mella cried out and ran at thrust repeatedly at Glory, pulling back her spear before Glory could block it and trying another angle. Glory shoulder checked Mella and gave her a simple swing of her sword to block. Mella screamed and held up her hands, only for the sword to go through her arms, slicing through her wrists. Mella looked at the two stumps where her hands had been, shock keeping her from feeling the pain at first.

Sister Glory sighed, "Sorry about this, sister, but if you can't handle a weapon you're not going to be of much use. See you tomorrow."

"Wait!" shouted Mella as Glory reluctantly drove her blade through Mella's chest. She gasped and sucked in a lungful of air and looked at Glory with a sense of betrayal.

"We'll go over blocking tomorrow," said Sister Glory as she pulled the blade out and Mella slumped over. The familiar darkness enveloped her as a day of battle took place and a night of revelry followed for the survivors.

Mella lurched up in her cot and sucked in a lungful of air before feeling her chest to find the wound. But she was unmarked. She closed her eyes and sighed. This was the nature of this realm, Sister Glory had done no wrong by the standards of wrath.

Sister Glory was waiting for Mella at the fire pit, a piece of roast meat on a skewer in her hand. She took a bite of the fatty meat and chewed it roughly. "There she is," she said familiarly. Mella shoulder checked her and ignored her as she grabbed a skewer of meat from the fire pit.

Sister Glory sat down next to Mella on a log, "what's eating you?" she asked casually.

"You stabbed me," said Mella plainly.

"You didn't have hands, I wasn't going to tend to you the entire fight."

"Then why did you cut them off?"

Glory shrugged, "I expected you to block with your spear, not cower..." Sister Glory groaned, "I've been slicing through men and women alike since the iron age, death and maiming are how we communicate here."

That's the glory I know, unapologetically herself

Mella took another bite of meat, "so are you going to kill me again or do I get to be killed by someone in a different colored tunic this time?"

Glory smirked at Mella, "that depends on if you learn how to block today. Keep your wits about you in the fight pit and I'll take you out on a little raid against the reds."

Mella raised her spear and felt it take the hit from Glory's sword, a chunk of hardwood was chopped from the shaft. She grunted and pushed upward, sending Glory reeling as she pulled her sword back. Mella followed up and charged at Glory, thrusting into her belly and causing her to groan as her armor barely held up against the spear's tip.

"Glory? Are you well?" asked Mella, Glory answered by raising her sword and making a few chops at Mella. She yelped in surprise and held up her spear to block each attack. With the final chop Mella felt her spear crack in half. Glory gave Mella a mere moment to figure out what to do. Mella threw the blunt section of spear at Glory and screamed as she held the spear with one hand and brought the point down on Glory's shoulder.

Glory gasped as the spear point dug into her shoulder and pierced her heart. She groaned and gave Mella an approving smile, "there you are, see you tomorrow... but... you did kill me so..."

Glory plunged her sword into Mella's chest and pulled it out, all to the cheers of the onlookers. Mella slumped next to Glory.

Mella sucked in a lungful of air and woke up again in the cot, but this time there was something else in her tent. A simple wooden shield made of four planks of wood and a handle fashioned from rope.

Progress, Little Robin, precious little, but progress nonetheless.

Sister Glory was at the fire pit chewing on a piece of meat, surrounded by other spear carrying fighters.

"The shield suits you," said Sister Glory, "you got one on me, I like that. Fill your belly and tighten your sandals, you're coming with us."

"What's the occasion asked Mella as she took the spear and chewed on the skewered meat, she was growing used to charred meat the morning, a meal of a soldier before a great battle.

Sister Glory grinned, "there's a skirmish between yellow and blue and we're going to finish off whoever wins."

Mella felt excited to see outside of the camp for once. But she still knew she was just an unarmored woman with a plank shield and a short spear. Hardly the armored swordswoman that Glory was.

Mella hastily chewed on the meat and readied her spear. "So we're really doing this," she said.

Sister Glory winked at her, "you can't die in the training pits forever, come, we've a battle to fight."

Mella marched in a column five across and eight deep, Sister Glory lead from the front, her armor and sword distinguishing her from the spear holders like Mella. "Keep your pace, the fight should be finishing up soon."

Marching, orders, I'd much rather be writhing in a pile of lustful bodies, but needs must

A young man, his body covered in sailor's tattoos, began a sing. "I went to lust and found nothing but whores, oh how I'd rather fight in the wars," he shouted, the others in the formation repeated.

"I went to vanity and found nothing but lies, for all your beauty with a sword you still die." Mella tried to join in, still unsure. Sister Glory joined in and sang from the front.

"I went to greed and found nothing but cowards, oh it's wrath for me."

"I went to gluttony and had my fill, then I remembered the thrill of the kill."

On the outskirts of a forest the sound of battle cries echoed toward the formation. The war shanty died down as the sounds of battle filled their ears.

"This is it!" shouted Sister Glory, "spearmen, at arms!"

Chapter Fifteen: The Kiss of Wrath

At the edge of the forest, figures glad in blue tunics threw javelins at figures in yellow as they charged. Bodies were scattered about with throwing spears lodged in their bodies. A dreadful skirmish had occurred. The figures in yellow charged, another wave of throwing spears downing several of them.

The yellows descended on the blue skirmishers and fought viciously, plunging their own spears into the blues with violent intent. Mella's skin went cold at the sight of organized death. She understood in this moment that this was the beating heart of wrath. Violence given purpose and without consequence.

"Charge!" cried Sister Glory, they outnumbered the weathered yellow soldiers and were fresh. The warband broke formation and charged at the yellow soldiers.

Mella let out as fierce a cry as she could muster, and after experiencing death already, she knew it was a painful inconvenience and nothing else. Eager to not make a fool of herself she charged at the yellow soldiers, she had no grief with them but they were a different band, and in wrath that was enough to justify the fight to come.

With feet hitting the ground hard, Mella sprinted toward the yellow soldiers. She was at the head of the charge and felt her heart racing. This was alien to her yet exciting in a way she hadn't considered.

She raised her spear and hid behind her shield as the spear made contact with a Yellow soldier wielding a spear like her. Neither of them were armored, the first strike would be the last. His spear hit her shield and he grunted with pain and Mella felt her spear plunge into his chest. She pulled out her spear and looked around for her next target.

She saw a yellow soldier about to thrust his spear at her, she was out of position and vulnerable. But Sister Glory brought her sword down on them and nearly chopped them lengthwise.

Mella spared a look at Sister Glory, she was a true Valkyrie with her blond hair flowing with each sword strike. She plunged her blade into one soldier, than another, while an excited smile never left her face. Some blue survivors tried to get in on the fighting but they were exhausted and easy opponents.

In a flash, the skirmish turned into a bloodbath, the spearmen fought, Mella among them. She had blood on her tunic and a panicked smile on her face. They were victorious and stood over dead bodies, the fight over as quickly as it began.

With hands shaking Mella looked around, a few of their own had fallen, green tunic wearing corpses spread out among the dead. Not all had survived the glorious charge. Mella breathed heavily and supported herself with her spear as she wiped blood, not her own, from her face.

Sister Glory patted Mella on the back as she walked past, "good kill Sister," she said in passing. Mella shuddered and looked back, "you surely must have seen harsher battles than this," she said as she looked around. "Why do you lead newcomers when you've clearly earned the right to larger battles?"

"A raven delivered a message, Ajara's next prophet was in wrath, I was curious, so I volunteered to lead the new blood raids."

Mella noticed others searching among the bodies for trophies, a few ditched their simple spears for the steel tipped ones the yellows and blues were armed with. Mella may have begun to be steeped in Wrath's customs but looting a dead body was not something she was prepared to do yet.

"So what now? Do we march on?" asked Mella.

Sister Glory smirked proudly at Mella, "The other warbands have their fights, this was to bloody our newcomers. Some of you have kills to your name, tomorrow you'll be granted armor by the realm, your mark as a true soldier, that's when you'll see true war."

They marched back to the green's camp as the sun began to set and Mella could see large bonfires on the horizon. Sister glory continued their shanty as they marched. Mella had learned enough to answer the call and response pattern of the shanty.

"Slay the eagle, skewer the bear, the wolves return to the den. With blades of iron the lion's flesh we rend," cried out Sister Glory.

"For glory of wrath we march!" cried out Mella and the others.

The camp from the outside was intimidating. A vast structure with wooden palisades and watch towers manned with archers. They marched under the gatehouse and were greeted by others who'd returned from battle. The smell of camp cooks preparing savory meals for the surviving warriors filled the air and the sound of music, drums, lutes, and wind instruments played as camp bards celebrated the personal victories of the warbands.

Mella watched as scores of men armored and armed like Sister Glory marched through the gate. They were regimented, disciplined, marching in lockstep with each other. This was the true force of the green army, and they marched toward the inner walls of the camp, a barrier that separated the uninitiated from the seasoned. Within each wall of the camp were ever more experienced warriors of wrath.

She returned to her tent and set down the spear and shield she heard Ajara speak for the first time.

I'm proud of you, Mella, wrath is not my domain but you fight bravely. I hope your education here will keep you safe

"Thank you Ajara, how you faring? It's your body after all, I'm just borrowing it."

Your deaths have been unpleasant and your kills... well I'm still deciding how I feel about those

"This is a far cry from lust," admitted Mella, "but what I was unprepared for was how I didn't feel anything as I stabbed that man. I mean I felt emotion, terror, guilt, but I didn't FEEL the wound. I hurt them and there was no... physical reaction."

Each realm leaves a mark on the soul, Little Robin, wrath's mark is more literal, I believe your brothers and sisters in arms are waiting for you

Mella walked through the outer part of the green camp, it was dusk and warriors were indulging in the end of the day, feasting, laying, and dancing merrily. She walked among them, feeling like she was walking through the halls of lust as she passed tent after tent with warriors sharing each other's bodies as they vented the excitement of a day of violence.

"Sister!" cried Sister glory from the fire pit, she was holding something deep in the embers of the flame as she looked at Mella, "come! the initiation is about to begin."

Mella looked at the other spearmen kneeling on the ground and joined them. There were men and women alike awaiting whatever the initiation held.

Sister Glory stuck the iron poker in the fire and unshackled her amour from her back. It slid off, revealing leather armor beneath, with a few undone buttons her leather chest piece slid off as well revealing her bare skin beneath. Mella gasped as she saw a scar on her left breast, a burn in the shape of a wolf. She gulped hard, piecing together what her initiation entailed.

"This our mark, we bear it on our flesh, the mark of the wolf. You've each earned the right to this, to be a wolf, to fight under the banner of green for your eternity."

Mella breathed deeply and kept kneeling as Sister Glory continued to talk, her heart was fluttering with nerves.

"We fight as the wolf, we bond as the wolf, we fight as a pack, we love as a pack. We fight not just for our own glory but the glory of the pack. Now..." Sister Glory removed the brand from the flames, the metal glowed orange. "Who will take the honor of going first? Who will be our forlorn hope?"

You know what you must do, Little Robin, I am with you

Mella stood up and raised her hand, the others looked at her with surprise. "I volunteer," she said, surprised at herself.

Sister Glory nodded to her in approval, "approach sister, and bear the mark."

Mella walked toward the fire and knelt before Sister Glory. She held the brand, the profile of a wolf forged in iron and glowing red hot. "For the deed of your first kill, and the promise of more to come, I mark you as a member of the pack. Present yourself Sister." Mella stripped as commanded and presented her bare chest to Sister Glory. There was little ceremony, only the quiet anticipation of other souls watching her intently. Mella held her breath and awaited the kiss of the brand on her skin.

There was the heat at first as Sister Glory held the brand an inch from Mella's breast. But when the brand touched her skin and scalded her breast pain became a state of being. Her whole body seized up, this was worse than a blade through the chest. She didn't realize she was screaming until her ears stopped ringing.

As quickly as the brand was applied it was pulled back, a few charred pieces of skin sticking to the iron. Mella held her stomach and dry heaved from the pain. She looked down and saw the mark of the wolf on the top of her breast, the scent of burnt flesh wafting up into her nostrils. It was the smell of her flesh. As Mella quaked in pain she felt Ajara's presence, her hand on Mella's, giving her a tight squeeze.

Mella was helped up by some other initiates as tears of pain rolled down her. Still wobbly she stood on her own two feet, she felt heat radiating from her chest, the brand now a part of her, marking her soul. The brand was put back in the embers and Sister Glory beckoned the next initiate.

As Mella stumbled she held her chest and gasped to regain composure. The blood curdling scream of the next initiate made her realize how much agony she'd just endured. The scar was still burning but the shock of it held her pain at bay, if only just. She wiped away the tears of pain but more were coming.

"Greetings, cub," said an armored man, he held himself confidently, his armor dented and marked from glorious battle, and his blade hung in a scabbard at his side.

Mella swallowed and looked at the man, "um... sir." she said, unsure how to address such a figure.

"First kill eh?" he asked. Mella nodded.

"Yes, it was a yellow soldier, a newcomer like me."

The armored man chuckled, "you always remember your first. Of course mine was while I was alive... uncle was smacking around my mother, I must have been... twelve, but an ax doesn't care how old the wielder is, only that they have the strength to drive it into a bastard's back."

"To be so young... I'm sorry you endured that."

The armored man shrugged, "old wounds, cub."

"Do you have a name?" asked Mella.

"Hatsko," said the armored man, "and your self?"

"Mella, I should say I'm um... well I'm not dead... I'm here to learn from my sisters who came before."

Hatsko nodded, "Ah, you're like Sister Glory,' he said familiarly, he looked over at Glory as she applied the brand to the next initiate. "You have the devil in you, don't you?"

"How... how did you know?"

Hatsko chuckled, "not every day someone visits hell."

"I suppose that's fair."

Hatsko placed a hand on Mella's naked shoulder, "some veterans and I like to welcome the new cubs in the inner perimeter, we bring a bit of lust to wrath, to celebrate a fight well fought."

Oh I like him

Mella bit her lip, was she really so easy? But looking at Hatsko and his battle honed figure, she felt her cheeks turn flush with excitement and embarrassment.

Oh come now little robin, I'm sure he know how to wield more than just his sword

"I... I suppose I could indulge..." said Mella as she warmed to the idea.

Hatsko smirked, "good cub, we'll wait for a few of your peers to be marked and we'll head over."

Mella and a dozen other initiate volunteers, men and women who wore their brand and nothing else, followed Hatsko. He guided them through the gates to the inner perimeter.

The perimeter gate took them in and they emerged on the other side, the tents were bigger, the paths less muddy, and the soldiers professional. Mella and the others were still naked, only their brand marking them as members of the green warband. At a central bonfire the celebrations were already starting. Other initiates were on their knees in the dirt as they serviced their superiors.

Men and women, all initiates, were on their knees and presented with flesh to pleasure. Mella bit her lip and followed Hatsko as he placed a gloved hand on her back.

"Let's see how you handle a spear, cub," said Hatsko as he unclasped his armor and walked toward the fire pit. Mella took a deep breath and followed, stepping past men and women on their knees and backs. They took their superiors with a glee that came from pleasure after the specter of death.

Not all wolves today would enjoy these pleasures, they would awake after falling ready for combat in the morning. This was a celebration for the living, the killers who survived, and Mella was among them. She got to her knees as Hatsko undid his armor and allowed his manhood to emerge from his pants. He smelled like a man who'd marched all day. It was a full scent, not entirely unpleasant but unique. It was not the soft scent of womanhood, it was the scent of a man who'd fought.

Mella tasted the salt on his skin, the tang of hard work on his flesh. After only tasting a man's blood in her mouth it was nearly heavenly in its taste. She moaned unconsciously and took him into her mouth. He was just the right size, not small, not intimidating, he was the right size to slide easily down her throat.

Now this is the kiss of wrath, blood and then lust

Mella, without shame, reached between her legs to ready herself for what would inevitably come. Around her others were in the act of service as well. Men who submitted, men who dominated, and women who fought and now chose their pleasure.

Her eyes rolled back as she felt his hips on her face.

"You've been to lust," said Hatsko, "haven't you?"

When her mouth was free Mella wiped her lips and nodded, "I... may have picked up a few pieces of wisdom," she said with a smirk. Mella resumed pleasuring Hatsko and he held her head with one hand.

"I felt as much," he grunted.

Mella let Ajara have a taste, it was her body after all, The two of them shared the reins and experienced the tastes and pressure of oral pleasure.

"Whatever you're doing," gasped Hatsko, "keep doing it."

Ajara gave Mella a devious idea and cradled Hatsko's full sack. The warrior was left panting and bucking wildly. Mella, a nun, a betrothed to Christ, took this sinner's seed into her mouth without shame in the depths of hell. The thought that each soul she laid with cuckolded a powerless lord of creation sent a rush through her spine.

Little Robin, how you've grown

Hatsko's eyes were unfocused as he felt the wave of pleasure Mella had delivered to him. He released his grip on her hair and Mella slowly pulled herself off of his manhood, her lips making a popping sound as he left her mouth. "By the seven circles cub..." he panted.

Mella laid back in the dirt, kept warm by the burning fire next to her, "storm my keep, brave warrior," she said as she held her thighs apart.

Hatsko needed no further invitation and knelt down to match Mella. In the light Mella could see he had graying hairs and a weathered face, but damn if he wasn't more handsome for it. Mella looked into his eyes as he claimed her.

As she was claimed she arched her back and looked around, the entire campfire had descended into an orgy. By now she was used to the sight of men please men, a couple, former legionary and redcoat sharing a lip locked kiss as two women serviced them on their knees.

They were all made peers by this timeless realm of chivalry and violence at its purest. While being spread apart by Hatsko, Mella mind wandered to the nature of wrath. It hadn't kept with the times, there was not a musket to be seen. It was as though wrath rejected modern weapons, she'd heard stories of the American war, thousands dead in volleys. Wrath must have preferred violence to be personal.

After minutes of being pushed into the dirt by Hatsko's thrusts he pulled back and flipped her around, his war worn hands easily flipping her. Mella understood and quickly rose to her hands and knees. He wanted to couple with her in the pose of the whore. And Mella by now had no shame to feel, she could only feel herself be filled by Hatsko.

They were rough with each other, Hatsko thrust with hunger and force, and Mella backed into him and cried out with abandon. Mella was unprepared for how vigorous Hatsko was. He gripped her hips and slammed into her with a force that only a warrior's body could deliver. "Yes," she gasped as he took her, "harder," she begged.

He obliged and Mella realized that wrath was a different realm from lust even if they shared acts. Even the pleasures here were full of fury and lustful abandon. With each thrust she felt herself yearn for the next fight, and as his hands gripped her ass she felt Ajara cry out of pure delight from within her.

Ajara's presence flared up and added to the excitement running through Mella's body. A sinful voice egging her on as she was ruined by a warrior of Wrath. As Hatsko pushed her face down in the dirt Ajara couldn't help but quiver, causing Mella to let out a long, low, moan.

Was this what is was like to have a devil come to crisis within you? Mella let out a ragged cry of pleasure as her own orgasm arrived like thundering cavalry.

Hatsko, his loins emptied already, lasted longer. Mella was brought to three more crises before Hatsko's second and final orgasm. He filled Mella without care, life could not start in hell, only end up there.

Mella sighed and collapsed in the dirt without a care. Hatsko pulled out of her and she groaned at the sudden emptiness she felt.

Rather than wander right away Hatsko sat next to Mella, "Damn, cub, you know how to make an old soldier feel young again."

"I've been told I have that effect on people," panted Mella. She rolled on her side, her chest and belly covered in dirt, "what was your time like? When you were alive?"

"I lived in Kievan Rus, I fought in the brother war, we murdered our kin because princes could not settle their affairs for themselves. Had they dueled to the death there would have been a handful of dead and the same result. Instead they wanted a war. And by the silent god they got one."

Mella nodded, she knew that every soul in hell had a soul marked with the colors of sin. "Silent, I think that's the right word for it... The way Ajara describes it, god merely expects perfection, any failure or deviation from his plan for you is met with silence, no correction. Hell though? Hell whispers, even without a devil in you."

Hatsko smirked, "I know the whispers, the way a blade sings for blood as you sharpen it with a whetstone.

"The silent beckon of a woman," mused Mella.

"God created the world, but the devil made it worth living in," he sighed. He patted Mella's back, "rest well cub, and find me tonight if you wish for more."

With a wink he was gone, mingling with others, his warrior's aura drawing men and women to him as soon as he uncoupled from Mella. With her womanhood aching she rested in the dirt and listened to the sound of release around her. Several others would help themselves to Mellas body, she indulged each of them, sometimes servicing, sometimes receiving, always enjoying.

But as the warriors grew tired Mella closed her eyes and fell asleep by the fire.

Sleep well Little Robin, we venture to Greed next and I fear of all the circles, that one will challenge you the most

Chapter Sixteen: Naked Ambition

Mella would not leave Wrath that day. Or the next. Each night she asked Ajara what time it was on the mortal plane, and Ajara would admit that only a moment had passed for each day. Less than a breath's worth of time.

Of all the realms, I did not expect wrath to be the one that tempted you to stay

Mella's soul was honed, she was rising from her cot and donning her armor with practiced ease from weeks of preparing to fight. Her spear was no longer a simple polearm, it was waiting for her to pick it up, to feed it the ethereal blood of another. But Ajara's words stuck with her.

"This circle... I find it so... purposeful."

Ah, the allure of a soldier's life without the consequences of a soldier's death

"Yes," admitted Mella. "I feel like I'm abandoning them if I leave." she said as she put her hand over where her brand was.

Speak to Sister Glory, she will understand, she'll likely tease you, but she'll understand

With a deep breath Mella left her spear and shield behind and walked to the inner perimeter gate. It sensed her intent and allowed her to enter. Sister Glory had returned to her warband, one could only lead new souls in petty battles for so long.

She was in the midst of a duel with her second in command, their swords glancing off each other as they attacked and parried in single motions.

Sister glory spun and lashed her sword out, hitting her second in command's side, his chain-mail spared him from being split in half.

"You keep your sides open too much," she chastised as she sheathed her sword. "Mella, what brings you here? And where's your weapon?"

Mella sighed, "Sister Glory, I know my time here could only last so long, I ignored it as long as I could but the time has come. I need to visit the circle of greed to meet another daughter of Ajara."

Sister Glory nodded, "You show promise, but I understand, grab your weapons, you leave wrath on your back, only way out is through."

"What does that mean?" asked Mella.

"It means the only way to leave is to die and not wish to remain. Wrath will... eject you until you're ready to return. But understand, when you return, all you will have is your brand, you'll be an initiate again with nothing but a spear and shield."

"I suppose that's fair." sighed Mella.

Mella returned with her spear and looked at Sister Glory with the understanding of what was about to happen. Wrath wouldn't accept her falling on her own spear, nor would it accept her taking a blade without resistance. The only way out was through fighting in anger. Gripping her spear tightly she vaulted over the fence post and landed in the mud. Her armor, simple padded cloth, gave her a modicum of protection but against Sister Glory's blade? She didn't like her chances.

Sister Glory drew her blade as her subordinates gathered around, curious if she would win cleanly. "Fight well, sister," she said to Mella.

"And you as well," replied Mella as she readied her shield and held her spear with a firm grip.

Mella stepped whenever Sister Glory did, weeks of fighting to the death taught what months of training couldn't. Sister Glory swung high, Mella raised her shield and tried to pierce Glory's side. Her plate protected her while Mella's shield saved her.

Sister Glory shoulder checked Mella but she stood her ground, bracing against her shield and crying out. They shared a moment to look at each other and Mella head butted Sister Glory.

Mella thought she saw an opening and went for it, lunging with her spear. Sister glory spared her no quarter and slashed with her sword as Mella's guard was down. There was a terrifying moment when she lost feeling with her body. Then the sudden impact of landing in the mud, unable to move, unable to breath. In a horrible second before she blacked out she realized Sister Glory had decapitated her.

As the darkness of death in wrath consumed her she heard one final echo.

"I look forward to greeting you again, sister." It was Sister Glory's voice.

Mella awoke back in the circle of seven gates souls walked through gates or passed from one to another. She was clad in her simple green tunic, a final reminder of her time in Wrath. She checked her breast and found the brand gone, but she felt that it was still there, waiting to be exposed if she ever returned to Wrath.

Mella walked through a crowd of souls, some emerging from the portal, fresh faced and world weary.

"Ajara..." said Mella.

Yes Little Robin?

"Wicked people. Truly wicked, murderers, rapists, and the like... do they get to enjoy hell's seven circles as well?"

This is a question of justice, isn't it?

"I always believed that hell was where the wicked were punished, but if it's not... what happens to them? Do they get away with their crimes?"

You skipped the line, Little Robin, for souls truly sent to hell they must live lives crafted by us devils to balance them. The murders are murdered, the defilers are defiled, and through their suffering, they understand and are given empathy. If they do not, they go again, and again, until they do. There are some souls who never learn, stuck in a limbo of misery

Mella walked and stood before the gates of greed, "so what resides in greed if all souls are excised of their worst qualities?"

Hell doesn't wash away one's sins, it gives the sinner understanding of what they did, and the misery of receiving their sins on them in equal measure. They are the same people, perhaps wiser, as they were before death

And as for what resides in greed? Ambition. You emerge in the Silver Palace naked, stripped of title, rank, and name. I've watched kings enter greed believing they are destined to rule it, only to be reduced to a servant of a former peasant

"Surprisingly egalitarian," mused Mella as she walked toward the golden and plush velvet doors of greed. She felt herself pause as she stood before the doors, unsure if she was ready to experience such a deceitful realm.

I am far more familiar with greed than I am wrath, follow my guide and you'll survive

Mella nodded and stepped through the gate.

On the other end of the gates Mella woke up to an open sky, beautiful and deep blue. She was in a plaza along with others, all of them were naked while a crowd of clothed spectators. Mella covered herself and searched for a way out but found none.

The begging plaza, I'm so sorry for what you're about to endure, Little Robin

Mella was about to ask what the begging plaza entailed when she was addressed by a masked man, all the onlookers wore masks.

"Ten years as my concubine, and you will live in luxury for all of it," offered the masked man.

Mella looked at him with disgust and walked away, but others next to him shouted similar offers.

I wish I could have prepared you better, but remember, you have been touched by wrath, you have been educated by lust, you can survive Greed

"I will not be someone's whore," chastised Mella.

Did I say as much?

"Any suggestions?"

Leave the begging plaza, you are above such demeaning tasks, the only law is what can be enforced

"So you suggest I become a thief?"

At first, yes

Mella knew that a naked thief was no thief at all, she needed clothing, quickly. She grimaced as she did the simple math of commerce. She was naked, not skilled in trades, and a woman, there was one quick way to get what she needed and she wasn't happy about it.

The barter that every woman faces, stay strong Mella

Mella walked towards the crowd of onlookers and bidders and stood proudly, "all I ask is a cloak," she said to them with her chin held high. The response was immediate and soon dozens of men were calling out their bids. Each more repulsive than the last.

"Five days as an apprentice," said a voice from among them, Mella was curious about who had made the offer. The masked figure who made the offer was a tall figure with lean arms and a black cloak, but his voice was unmistakably masculine. His mask was a gilded mask of a wolf.

Mella offered her hand to the wolf masked man and as he touched her, she felt a sting on her skin. Letters from a language she didn't understand were etched on her skin, wrapping around her arm like a snake. "Come my apprentice," said the man, "before the scavengers come to pick at you."

Mella didn't know what this apprenticeship would entail but she knew she got a cloak out of the deal. The wolf said nothing as he walked and Mella followed. Beyond the Begging square was simple dwellings, three floor apartments cramped wall to wall. She walked alongside the wolf as he lead her through the outer city and into the inner city, divided by vast walls of marble.

Guards, men with debts covering their skin under their armor, divided the inner city from the outer city. The wolf masked man held up his hand and the guards parted to let him inside, Mella was not even asked if she belonged, she now belonged to the wolf and that was enough. She was a human good in greed.

The inner city had tall structures of carved stone and glass, granite and marble dominated the skyline. It was like London or Paris in its magnitude. Mella saw fountains at squares, benches on side walks, and hedges in boulevards.

The wolf resided in a private residence on the first floor of an opulent apartment. "Come, this way," said the wolf as he opened a door to his home. Inside was stacks of papers that covered every corner of the lavishly furnished home. "Make yourself comfortable," said the wolf as he sat down on a simple green leather chair and sighed in comfort.

Mella, still naked, looked at the wolf expectantly, "my cloak?" she asked.

"In time," said the wolf, "you haven't paid for it yet, now... your apprenticeship."

"I don't know what you intend to do with five days but well... I'm yours."

The wolf chuckled, "don't look at me like that, there is no carnal intentions with me, only hopes. And as for my apprenticeship, perhaps it would be better to call it an accompliceship."

Mella crossed her arms, "go on..."

The wolf gestured to an outfit on a table. It was a glossy orange cloak with white shirt and pants was waiting for her. "Please, put it on."

Mella stood up and looked at the cloak, under it was an orange and white mask adorned with silver, it was in the shape of a fox. "I suppose this is the prelude to lust? The wolf claiming the fox?"

"As fun as that sounds, I had something else in mind," said the wolf. "You will be playing two parts, my apprentice, and my paramour."

"To what end?"

"As my apprentice you will organize my many notes, as my paramour you play a specific part, a woman whose heart is for sale, a bored temptress growing tired of me."

"And why would you want to be embarrassed like that?" asked Mella.

The wolf crossed his legs, "Because it will grant me the information I need."

Mella held the mask, there were no straps, only the same language written on her arm now written on the inside of the mask. She placed it on her face and felt it cling to her skin.

"I must say, this mask fits almost too well," said Mella.

"All that is made is to taste in Greed," answered the wolf. Mella draped on the blouse and buttoned it up, it was freeing to be in common woman's clothes, though the pants were somewhat insane to her as a woman who'd grown used to gowns and dresses.

"How do I look?" asked Mella as she presented herself.

"Like a nimble predator," said the wolf. "Now come, we must debut you."

Mella's heart was racing as she walked, arm wrapped around the wolf's and her other cradling a sun umbrella. As an Irish country girl she was unsure in high heels but soldiered on. Masked figures walked the side walks, carriages rolled across the streets, whisking masked passengers to their next occasion.

A couple eyed the wolf and Mella and stopped, "Why Duncan," said a man in an abstract mask with exaggerated eyes painted around the eye holes. "Since when did you travel in such fine company?" he asked.

"Finely observed, Issac," said the wolf, "Our courtship has been ongoing for some time."

Mella remembered Duncan's instructions and feigned disinterest in the conversation, raising her nails to look at them.

"Yes," said Issac, "I can see that."

Duncan nudged Mella along, "come darling, I have debts burning a hole in my pocket and you deserve a dress worthy of your elegance."

"If in you insist, my pup," said Mella.

The imperial boutique was staffed by master tailors and seamstresses. Each one conquered fashion in pride and now tested their skills against each other in greed.

Mella, accustomed to absence and frugality, was unprepared to have money, or the closest thing to it, spent on her.

Duncan watched Mella as she looked at dresses on Mannequins, each one more elegant than the last.

"Pup darling, I can hardly choose," said Mella.

Duncan held her and pulled her close, "then don't, we'll find an artist to match your beauty."

With the snap of his fingers a small entourage of seamstresses and tailors entered the studio and obsessed over Mella's frame.

"So slender, the perfect muse for a vulpine dress," mused a seamstress as she touched Mella's shoulders.

"Begone Stella, she carries herself with poise and power, she should not wear the colors of a fox but the fur of one."

"Silence you clucking hens," said a tailor as he measured Mella with his eyes, "A jet black dress to highlight her eyes, a fox in the dark."

Duncan ran his hand down Mella's back, "Well darling? What vision sings to you?"

Mella looked at each eager seamstress and tailor like she was picking a puppy. She looked to the first seamstress, "A dress of orange and white speaks to me, use the lines of a fox to guide your thread."

"Of, of course," stammered the seamstress as the others sulked away.

"Stella Melgrove," said the seamstress as she offered her hand.

Mella was about to introduce herself formally but remembered she was in greed, and everything, including her identity, could be bought and sold.

"I am simply Lady Fox," she said.

"Of course Mrs Fox." said the seamstress as she poured over fabrics to begin her work in earnest. Duncan wrapped his arm around Mella and pulled her in close.

"Well chosen my dear, you will be the talk of the town with such an outfit."

Mella smirked and allowed Duncan to touch her, "that's the intent, isn't it?"

"You're catching on quick."

Chapter Seventeen: Lady Fox and the Wolf

The dress would take a day to come together, and in that time Mella was expected to learn the art of seduction and mystique. Duncan, still in his mask, sat and observed her as she walked.

"Hold yourself with grace," he instructed, "you must walk confidently but with a reserved strength."

Mella sighed and walked again, still unsure of what she was supposed to be doing. As she stumbled in her high heels she looked at Duncan, "why did you pick me?" she asked as she collected herself, "you must have known that I was an absolute novice."

"I picked you because I don't know you and you fit the criteria," said Duncan.

"How does not knowing me make things better?"

"Because you're an unknown quantity, you have no loyalty, that makes you trustworthy."

Mella took a deep breath and tried to walk in heels again, taking gentle steps and keeping her face composed, "so far I don't see the appeal of Greed. Lust was freeing, Wrath was purposeful, but Greed? Greed is the worst of the world made a game."

"And that is the allure, here, a peasant can be made a king if they are willing to work. There is no legacy, no titles, only effort."

Mella sighed, "I would be up to my ears in beautiful men and women if I remained in lust."

"And yet it would mean nothing if freely given."

Mella looked at Duncan, "and have you ever given anything freely? Felt the touch of a stranger's hands on you please another?"

"I spent my time in lust," admitted Duncan, "found myself, lost myself, and came back to Greed all the same."

Mella frowned, "but why? Why play this wicked game?"

"Because I never got to play in life." Answered Duncan, he stood up and offered his hand, Mella accepted and he held her gently as he started to waltz, "I died in the streets of London, penniless and with six children from five... parents."

"So why not go to pride? Live a life worth living?"

Duncan spun Mella and rested his hands on her hips, "I did, and it left me feeling hollow. A world that is cheering you on? No, I needed something real, I needed to succeed against those who orchestrated a world that would allow me to wallow on the streets."

"So you left pride out of... Pride?"

"Astute," said Duncan, Mella watched his foot work and he guided her through her own.

"So all of this?" asked Mella as she danced with Duncan, "what is it?"

Duncan smirked, "in a world where the truth is currency, secrets are what make it spin. I've spent nearly a century accruing my power, I've degraded myself with humiliating debts, but it was all to build myself a life I never had on earth. A life of comfort and prestige." He touched Mella's mask, "and through you, I will set aside a rival."

As they danced Mella cleared her throat, "Duncan, there is something I must admit."

Before Mella could speak, Duncan did, "you are just visiting," he finished. Mella blinked in shock.

"How... how did you know?"

Duncan smirked, "Because your benefactor spoke to me, told me where to find you."

"Ajara?"

"The very same."

"How... how do you know her?"

"I wasneof Sister Diane's disciples."

"But... Sister Diane's sisterhood was... well it was all women."

Duncan simply smiled, "I did think I was one at the time."

"So you've been to vanity?"

"Indeed, the devil who sculpted me complimented me the whole time," he said coyly, "breasts and womanhood for chest hair and phallic privilege. I didn't want to be a herculean figure, I always admired the dandy men when I begged."

Mella continued to dance with Duncan, growing more drawn as he revealed his truth to her.

"Why are you telling me all of this? Truth is currency here."

"Because I need to invest in your trust."

Mella blinked and looked at Duncan, "I know a woman, a sister at the convent, she consumed a carrot corrupted by Ajara and now she has the loins of a man. Is she... like you? She's happy with her newfound equipment but still seems... comfortable with who she is."

"Let your sister tell you who she is and be prepared to listen," said Duncan simply, "now, enough of my nature, we must prepare you for the dance."

"One two three, one two three, one two three, twirl," said Duncan as he danced with Mella and guided her through the steps.

Mella spun on her feet, not stumbling on her heels as she returned to holding Duncan's waist. Caught up in the moment, Mella leaned in instinctively to kiss Duncan but he simply smiled and gave her another twirl instead.

"Be still my fox, I'm flattered but we've much to do."

"Apologies," said Mella.

"No apologies, I'm flattered but I cannot."

"But why?" asked Mella.

Duncan blinked, "there is power between us, I hold your debt, I've been at the mercy of men holding power over me when I was trapped in the body of a woman. I refuse to stoop to that level."

Oh Duncan, you've become the man you always were

"So..." began Mella, "tell me of this dance we are attending."

Duncan smiled, "the house of mirrors, Lady Ingrid's ball, greed's greatest bastards and she-wolves all under one roof."

"Sounds dreadful," said Mella truthfully.

"Oh it is, but it is a necessary burden, it was where deals and debts are traded. And it is here that my trap will be sprung."

"So I'm to be bait?"

Duncan shook his head, "no my dear, the lure. The bait is my dignity, and my rivals will be salivating for it."

Mella twirled on her feet and held Duncan's hand as he pulled her in. Grinning coyly, Mella pecked him on his wolf mask.

"Cheeky fox, but beware, for this trap to work you cannot appear to be fond of me."

Mella nodded, "I understand. So I should be cold?"

"To me? Without a doubt, to those who seek to seduce you? Be a fire in the snow. Draw them with the temptation of cuckolding a rival."

"Greed truly is the den of wolves," said Mella.

"Hardly," said Duncan, "wolves care, wolves hunt for sustenance, Greed is the den of man."

The next day a raven with gold dusted feathers arrived and delivered a letter to Duncan, the dress was ready. Stella had worked all day to assemble it. Mella rested on a bed worthy of sloth as Duncan hummed to himself in the kitchen.

The smell of eggs wafted up and roused Mella from rest in one of the guest rooms of the house. She slipped into the clothes that Duncan gave her, donned her mask, and walked down the stairs to where the kitchen was.

"Ah, good morning," said Duncan as he hummed to himself, "I do love breakfast, never could afford to dine on eggs regularly so now I indulge. I learned a delightful recipe from a chef who mastered his craft in Gluttony."

"They smell divine," said Mella as she sat at a dining table gilded with gold leaf. She looked around at the empty household.

"I would have figured you'd have an entire house staff with the wealth you've accrued."

"Call me sentimental but I enjoy the simple labors, it reminds me of my time as a scullery maid, hard times, but honest. Now... eggs?"

Mella smiled as Duncan served her a plate of eggs and toast with slices of cheese on the side.

"Now... the dress," said Duncan, "we must make sure it doesn't need adjustments."

"I'm sure she did a good job."

Duncan chuckled, "I'm sure she did as well, but we are going to be among those with the most selective taste, refined to the point of parody. A wayward stitch can cause a scandal here."

"Oh this sounds lovely," mused Mella.

"Yes, but it's home," said Duncan.

Mella took a bite of the eggs and groaned as a variety of flavors struck her, whatever Duncan had done to them, they were near perfect in their taste."

The eggs didn't last long after Mella tasted them, and within a minute she'd hastily cleaned her plate. Duncan kept a leisurely pace, delicately cutting a piece of egg, placing it on his toast, and eating without getting a drop of yoke on his lips.

After several minutes of careful eating Duncan's plate was as clean as Mella's. "Ah... now... the dress.

The Imperial Boutique was hardly a five minute walk from Duncan's home. Inside the impressive structure other customers were looking at patterns. Stella stood behind the counter with a soft orange dress with white highlights and golden stitching hanging off a a hangar.

"Master Duncan, Lady Fox," she greeted. "The dress came out better than I could have dreamed."

Duncan nodded but motioned for the dress to be brought forward, "I must see the stitch work," he said as Stella brought the dress forward. He drew a magnifying glass from his lapel and hummed as he inspected the stitch work like a jeweler inspecting gems meant for royalty. After a few minutes of looking at the stitch work he nodded. "I noticed some subtle imperfections in the stitching." he said bluntly.

Stella smiled knowingly, "Ah but it is intentional, a weavers trick, embroided in the stitching is the poem of the trickster goddess. Each stitch carefully made to write out the whole story of her."

Duncan shared Stella's smirk, "you stitched an infernal poem in the dress? Most impressive. I believe we'll take it."

"Now," said Stella, "my price."

"I've several debts that I believe will be sufficient." said Duncan. "Now I've many service and good debts, which is your fancy?"

"I want your patronage," said Stella bluntly.

"That is not a debt that I have," said Duncan.

"I am a lesser here but my skill and vision outstrip the others, let me make you a fashion god."

Duncan cleared his throat, "I've a craftsman who promises a violin that can make a devil of sloth weep, take it or leave it."

"Patronage, or the dress is not for sale," said Stella as she stood between Duncan and the dress.

Duncan nodded, "three years patronage, I expect a new suit every month, no duplicates."

"And you'll introduce me to Lady Ingrid, how I've longed to get a dress of mine on her."

Duncan offered his hand, "acceptable."

Mella stood in the dressing room of the boutique and stripped down to don the dress. She'd never been measured by Stella but it fit her curves perfectly. But when she looked at herself she gasped, combined with the fox mask the dress gave her the look of the trickster animal.

My my Little Robin, you are the image of cunning and sophistication

"I do feel... desirable in this..." admitted Mella. She cleared her throat and summoned her most eloquent and sophisticated voice, "I am lady Fox, you may kiss my glove," she said in a posh accent.

Oh, Little Robin, maybe don't try that

"Was it that bad?"

As fake as a harlot's smile

"No accent, understood, but the dress?"

Perfection, many a man and woman would love to have it spread on their bedroom floor

"That is the intention," sighed Mella. "So, Duncan is to be my tutor in this realm?"

He's one of the few men I trust with you, I hope you don't resent me keeping you in the dark. If anyone knew of Duncan's plan, his plot and your education would be in jeopardy

"I'm used to modest deception from you by now," said Mella as she struck a pose and shook her head, trying too hard again. She felt Ajara smirk.

Little Robin, you cut me

Mella emerged from the dressing room and twirled for Duncan who watched intently. "I never liked dresses on myself, but they suit you fetchingly."

Mella twirled, "thank you Duncan, does the wolf approve?"

"The wolf would hunger if it weren't a noble creature."

Mella stepped forward and stroked his chin, "then perhaps I should remind him of his base nature." she said in a low, sultry voice.

Duncan chuckled and offered his arm, Mella held it and nodded to Stella as they left the boutique.

Day faded to night and as a million fortunes traded hands on the streets of greed or faded in dark rooms. Lady Ingrid's house of mirrors stood in the central city, beyond the walls of the inner city. If the inner city was like London or Paris, the central city was what the cities of the future would look like. Granite and glass structures rose up into the sky and trains hanging from rails hundreds of feet in the air entered the middle of the buildings before moving again. Mella was in awe at the structures, the sheer glory of it all.

Duncan held her tight, "remember where you are, Lady Fox," said Duncan, "this is all built on the backs of souls who will never know its glory," he warned.

The house of mirrors awaited them near the core of the central city. It brought even the Versailles to shame. A garden that spread for miles around the palace welcomed them, filled with hedge mazes and opulent tropical plots. At the center of the gardens was a palace made of red and black marble and detailed with gold. Mella and Duncan waited at the gate as guards with halberds and ceremonial armor checked invitations of guests.

As Mella waited in line she felt out of place among the makers and shakers of greed. Each dress worn was a testament to the wearer's taste. Voluptuous reds, hummingbird shimmering greens, and tempting black silk. The suits worn were equally glorious but some even went as far as to wear togas with purple strips on them.

She felt their eyes on her, she saw the way men and women alike looked at her, and for a moment she thought she was seen through. But the reality made itself apparent, she saw the envious look of a woman in a mask mimicking a bird of paradise, they didn't see through her, they SAW her. And they were intimidated.

The line moved briskly and soon they were at the guard post. Duncan held up his hand and shook the guard's hand, she saw a glow on his body shine through his clothes. "Duncan Fairchild, and guest," he said as he looked at Mella.

"Of course sir," said the guard as he motioned for them to pass by, "enjoy the party."

"I intend to," said Duncan as he passed by. There was only one final barrier, the entrance to the palace itself, the doors swung open to welcome guests. The final threshold where Mella went away and Lady Fox emerged.

"Are you ready,?" asked Duncan as he held her arm tightly.

"No," said Mella simply with a confident smile.

Chapter Eighteen: The Dance of Greed

The inside of the house of mirrors was aptly named, mirrors covered the walls and ceiling, drawing the eye in a hypnotizing circle. Within the grand atrium hundreds of masked dancers waltzed to musicians who dreamed of gaining patronage. White and black marble tiles were reflected in the ceiling of mirrors above them.

Each body was adorned with the passion of craftsmanship. Animal motifs, abstract lines, and refined conventional tastes all clashed, each trying to out do the other. But as Mella walked through the crowd with her arm intertwined with Duncan's she saw stolen glances. Whatever Duncan was to these people, her presence with him caused a stir.

Mella heard murmurs among the crowd, disbelief that Duncan had a young woman around his arm. Mella remembered the role she must play and looked ahead, heeding the attention no mind, but inside, she was quaking.

From the center of the crowd a woman in a red dress sat behind a golden piano. She played, the orchestra followed by ear, sounding like rehearsed improvisation. A waltz guided only by the rhythm of the dance.

Her dress was unlike those of the other women, it was narrow, minimal, achingly ahead of its time and showing more than just ankle, it revealed her shoulders and back.

Mella at first paid her no mind, assuming her to be a musician. But then she felt Duncan seize up.

Her skin was dark, deeply tanned and blessed with black hair. She wore a red wolf mask and had harlot red lipstick that revealed the self satisfied smirk she had. And she was staring, right, at, Duncan.

Mella breathed and nudged Duncan forward. Whether by choice or instinct he'd played his part as bait admirably. She pulled Duncan toward the dance floor and quickly took his hand as they began to waltz.

"And who, is she?" asked Mella in a whisper.

"Who is she not?" replied Duncan, flustered beneath his mask.

"What does that mean?" hissed Mella as she twirled in Duncan's arms.

"It means emotions in hell are complicated."

"Oh do tell," said Mella.

Duncan sighed, "we died around the same time," he started as he stepped in beat with the music, guiding Mella through the parts she didn't know. "And by Ajara, she knew me. She was... well she was he then and I still held onto the notion I was a woman despite what my heart sang."

Their dance kept pace with the rhythm, indistinguishable from the crowd. Duncan continued, "we wiled away... years on each other. We each saw what the other wanted in form, our lust turned to friendship and eventually, love." As Duncan spoke, Mella noticed his eyes were always on the woman in red. And more concerning, she matched his look, her fingers dancing over the keyboard without hesitation.

Mella felt the need to play her part and grabbed his chin to adjust his gaze toward her. Gasps were heard and murmurs spread, all according to Duncan's plan, or at least Mella hoped so. She was in a pit of vipers without a debt to her name, not a single favor she could call upon. Even wrath failed her, there were no weapons for her to defend herself with. All that she did, it was on Greed's terms.

"I don't see where the issue is," chimed Mella.

Duncan touched his mustache, reminding himself of its presence, "come close, I will not speak this detail to another soul, so listen well."

Mella pulled in close and looked into Duncan's eyes, he leaned in and whispered into her ear, "speak of this to another soul and you will make an enemy for eternity," he warned, they both stepped back and twirled before returning to each other's attention. "We were different people when we were... our old selves, I, the doting lady who loved being loved, she, the hot blooded Iberian lover with... all things admitted... a truly magnificent body." He said with a waver in his voice. Another twirl, a walk, and back to the familiar foot work of the dance.

"Vanity changed everything. We'd learned our truths in lust and when we walked into Vanity... we found our true selves, sculpted by devils and taught the way of our new gender. But when we reunited, things were different."

Mella pulled Duncan in close, "how so?"

"Could you be the same woman you are now as a man?" asked Duncan.

Mella was caught off guard by the question, "I, don't know, I think who I am would remain the same."

Duncan smirked, "spoken as we did," he said, "I was not a sophisticated woman before Vanity, I was raised on penny theaters and dancing in fire lit alleys. She? She was a knife fighting man, a bastard, a scoundrel. Yet when we emerged from Vanity we each had changed. I sought refinement and dignity, she sought..." Duncan swallowed, "to be honest? I'm not sure what she sought, and perhaps that was what began our descent."

"But you were still the same people before, that fell in love," said Mella hopefully.

"Oh how I wish that were true. If you fell in love with a man who regaled stories of fights in alleys and dealings in dark places... what would you feel if they were now a woman who's smile was her knife? Whose presence filled others with lust, not fear? Perhaps she felt the same mourning that I did, missing the gold-hearted trollop I was."

As they danced, Mella realized that the piano had faded, before she could warn Duncan their flow was interrupted by the presence of the woman in the red dress, the woman who appeared to have Duncan wrapped around her finger.

"Isabella..." said Duncan reverentially. Mella cleared her throat and Duncan turned his attention back to her, briefly.

"Duncan," said Isabella in turn, she looked at Mella, "and who is this?"

Mella looked at Isabella and put on her best icy expression, "Lady Fox," she said simply.

Isabella gave her a smile, but it was laced with barbs, "well if that's the case, call me lady wolf," she replied sarcastically. She looked back to Duncan, "and how is this the first I'm hearing of your new companion, Duncan?"

"I didn't realize my personal affairs were a matter of public record," replied Duncan.

"Your love life, dear, Is always my concern, now... do tell me how long you've been seeing each other."

Duncan was about to answer when Isabella raised her finger, "I'd like to hear it from her."

Mella looked at Duncan and she tried to figure out the right amount of time, "only a few months," she said.

Isabella leaned in close to Mella and Duncan held his breath. "And yet Duncan went to the Crowning Street Gala on his own, curious."

Mella kept her place and looked at Isabella's eyes, "I had a personal affair to attend to."

Isabella scoffed, "you left your paramour to attend the gala alone?"

"I had more important matters to attend to."

Isabella held her hands to her hips, "more important than the fashion show of the century? It is the place to be seen, fortunes are made there."

"And yet I didn't need to attend," replied Mella.

Isabella turned back to Duncan, "oh I like her, how did you find such a nimble creature? You didn't pick her like a pup from the begging square did you?"

"If you must know," said Duncan, "we met at lady Ingrid's art gallery."

Isabella's nose wrinkled at the mention of the woman, Mella tucked away that reaction for later. "Well, it takes all types of tastes in art to make greed worth living in."

Duncan looked to Mella and then at Isabella, "are you ready to admit that Greed is rotting us?" asked Duncan as he stood between Mella and Isabella.

Isabella ran a finger along Duncan's mask, "Oh Duncan, I can't go back to pride, to a world made for me, I like the danger, I like the allure, if only you'd match me instead of finding..." she looked at Mella, "substitutes."

"Tell me Duncan," said Isabella as she offered her hands to dance, "has she matched me in any way?"

Duncan hesitantly accepted and looked at Mella guiltily as he walked with Isabella to the dance floor. He'd been the picture of control, the image of a man in charge of his emotions, but now in Isabella's grasp he walked willingly into her arms. What had he brought Mella to the ball for, was she a trap of envy? A way for Duncan to lure Isabella back into his arms?

Feeling abandoned?

"Deeply," said Mella.

I believe you may have played your role, Little Robin, and now the dance begins

Mella watched as Duncan and Isabella danced, she waited by the sidelines for a minute until she felt someone approach her. She turned around to see the man with the large eyes on his mask.

"Lady Fox," he said familiarly, "I see your date is dancing with another."

Mella tried to act uninterested, but after a few days of bonding with Duncan she felt betrayed by his abandonment of her for Isabella. "I trust him to maintain a respectful distance,' she said with a non committed tone.

"I'm Isaac."

"I remember you."

Isaac soaked in Mella's dress, "an absolutely fetching piece, Imperial Boutique is it not?"

"It is... now... Duncan has been tight lipped about Isabella, but I'd like to know more, care to dance?" she asked.

You're walking a tight rope, Little Robin, remain balanced.

Isaac chuckled and offered his hand, Mella accepted and walked with him to the dance floor. "You don't know much of him, do you?"

"Only what he's told me," admitted Mella.

"For a man who knows something about everyone, he's reticent to reveal what drives him."

"Secrets are currency here, are they not?"

"Yes, but sometimes the truth freely given is more valuable than even Lady Ingrid's little black book."

Mella twirled and held Isaac's hand, "and why would you give for free what is valued?"

"Value is in the eyes of the owner, to me, this is common knowledge, to you, I suspect it is worth far more."

"Then why give it for free?"

"Consider it a gift."

Mella smirked at Isaac, "gifts are for friends," she said.

"Then consider us fast friends."

Isaac was smiling viciously, "I remember when those two came to greed, it was just us, some naked nobodies selling our bodies and skills to survive, all with the promise of future success."

Mella cocked an eyebrow, "you three were partners?"

"In business and body, but as we got closer to success Duncan became ever more... temperamental. He wanted to lift more nobodies up rather than himself."

"Admirable," said Mella.

"A waste," replied Isaac, "I convinced Isabella to cut him loose, he was slowing us down. After Duncan was out of the picture Isabella and I went into business for ourselves, favor brokers, and business soon turned to pleasure... it could have been something but, well, she tried, I didn't, never worked out but I got to lay her and tell Duncan about it, that was enough."

Mella resisted the urge to verbally judge Isaac, this was greed and she knew not to reveal her inner thoughts. Instead she kept silent and listened to Isaac as he continued.

"Isabella, by Greed she's a someone who knows how to get under a man's skin. No small surprise after all."

"What makes you say that?" asked Mella.

Isaac chuckled, "don't let her legs and pout fool you, there in a woman's skin walks a man. She can pretend but I won't."

Be still Little Robin, you're in the den of lions, he's revolting but we cannot act, not now

Mella's throat seized up, "and yet you laid with her?"

"As one 'lays' with their own hand."

Mella felt a welling disgust in her as she listened to Isaac. What had been an attempt to get back at Duncan for abandoning her had turned into a dark walk through one of Greed's most repulsive sons. "Curious," she said as she twirled and returned out of pattern of the music, not desire.

"Oh?" Asked Isaac.

"You haven't stopped looking at her since you noticed her dancing with Duncan."

Isaac smirked, "there's beauty in deception," he replied.

"She broke your heart, didn't she?"

Isaac was silent, "she broke my trust," he corrected eventually. "But enough of her, there are many rooms in this palace. If Duncan won't appreciate your vulpine beauty I will."

"Don't you have a lady waiting for you?"

"Oh her?" asked Isaac, "inner city trash, hardly worth bringing to the gala."

Mella nodded, "then let me powder my nose," she said, her mind already whirling with plots and the dance of greed."

Duncan held Isabella's hand gracefully as they waltzed with practiced ease, each familiar with each other's steps and three steps ahead.

"I notice you attended alone," said Duncan as he let Isabella twirl.

"I noticed you did not, and who is that she's dancing with now?"

"I believe that's Isaac," said Duncan with disdain.

Isabella returned to Duncan and they resumed waltzing. "He's not so bad Duncan," she said, "Is he an opportunist? Yes, but he's quite charming."

"I know you only say that because-"

"I say it because I mean it, he gave me an opportunity that lead to all this. A guest of honor at the house of mirrors, what have you achieved with your principles?"

"Not as much as you," admitted Duncan, "But Isabella, have you considered finishing our business here? We could leave all this,"

Isabella placed a finger on Duncan's lips, "Your business is finished here, I still have heights to reach."

"But to what end? Isabella we could... try again, away from all this."

Isabella touched Duncan's cheek, "I'm flattered that you want to save me, Duncan, but I don't need saving. Now, I think Isaac is trying to woo your new girl, see to her."

Mella stood in a powder room touching up her makeup as she wondered what she could do. Isaac was a bastard and Duncan was single minded in his pursuit of Isabella. As she reflected back on what Duncan had said, it was all so clear.

"You're not the bait, you are the lure." She said to herself, repeating Duncan's words. She'd been crafted to spur jealousy in Isabella, draw her to the bait, which she only now realized was Duncan. She'd served her purpose, and now found herself truly alone in the land of vipers and traitors.

Chapter Nineteen: A Farewell to Greed

Mella paced in the powder room, unsure what to do, a plan was forming but the mechanics in motion were beyond her control.

Isaac was crude and held onto Isabella only to hurt Duncan. He may have been using her to get to Isabella, but now? Helping Duncan get Isabella back twisted the knife into Isaac, and freed the woman from her partnership with the foul man.

She whistled and summoned a raven, she had to speak to Duncan in private. The black bird materialized in the room and landed on her arm, "fetch Duncan, the one in the wolf mask, send him to me." she said. The Raven cawed and flew through the wall.

Duncan arrived in the powder room looking rather flustered. "So I received a raven while speaking to Lady Ingrid."

"I needed to speak to you."

"Mella," said Duncan with exasperation. "Normally, ravens are fine as communication... but do you realize what they symbolize at events like this?"

"No, what?"

"They're used by..." he sighed, "swingers, the missus sends the gent a raven and he obliges her, so you can imagine my embarrassment when a raven landed on my arm as I was speaking with Lady Ingrid."

Mella smirked, "well, you're here."

"Yes, as well as being followed by Lady Ingrid's husband and several other interested parties, apparently I've now been booked for the next waltz and scandal, now, why did you summon me?"

"Isaac, he's a monster."

Duncan nodded, "I know.

"What he said about Isabella, denying her womanhood, it's disgusting, and what's worse, he only sees her as a means to hurt you, he doesn't even like her."

Duncan's fists balled, "I'm sorry you were exposed to that, but it warms my heart that you care enough to tell me. The question now is... what do you plan to do about it?"

"Isabella must know, but from his mouth."

"I approve, do you have a plan in mind?"

"I do, actually."

Duncan looked at Mella with an approving smirk, "you're wasted on this realm, but... I'm glad you're here. Now do I have a place in this plan?"

Isaac was dancing with Isabella, he was smiling but it didn't reach his eyes. They twirled, they stepped, they danced in choreographed symmetry.

As Isabella danced she looked at Isaac and part of her ached, he was everything that she wanted in greed, success, power, the ability to make or break someone with a word. But she could feel the distance between them. It had been that way for years.

"Darling, I'm opening a recital for Beethoven soon, how many tickets do you want? Beethoven owes me a favor" She twirled and returned to Isaac.

"Another recital?" asked Issac, slightly exasperated, "I've prior obligations."

Isabella looked at him curiously, "I didn't say when it was," she said.

"I have many obligations."

Isabella held back her rebuke, Isaac had his reasons, but it hurt all the same. She resumed dancing with Isaac until she saw Duncan approaching. For all of the faults of Duncan, he was honest, and he never stopped loving her, even if her heart had moved on.

She stepped in rhythm with Isaac and remembered the first time their relationship changed. When she stopped being the man that Duncan had fallen in love with. They tried to be the same people, but Duncan's tastes changed along with him. He was once a free spirited if crude woman who loved being loved. Duncan though? Duncan was restrained, subtle, but still loving.

Duncan arrived and stood before them. He carried himself without his usual regal poise, a metaphorical arrow in his back.

"Isaac." he said. Isaac and Isabella stopped dancing and looked at Duncan. He had a solemn look on his face.

"Duncan, and where is your lady?"

"She had... prior obligations," said Duncan, "Isaac, I must speak to you earnestly."

"Whatever you want to say, you can say it in front of both of us."

Duncan sighed and looked at Isabella, "you win," he said simply as he looked back at Isaac. "I'm miserable here, I'm done."

Isabella blinked and resisted reacting, Isaac however was beaming with satisfaction.

"Oh?" said Isaac, "and what of your date?"

"She will be fine," said Duncan, "Isabella, I wish you success and fulfillment." Duncan walked away with a final look at Isabella while Isaac watched him go like a predator watching bloodied prey limp away.

"I was wondering when he'd come to his senses," said Isaac triumphantly, "let him eat away his sorrows at gluttony."

"Of course," said Isabella idly as she nodded, but her mind was elsewhere. She watched Duncan leave and a part of her mourned his loss. His presence in greed was a cushion, an assurance that there was still humanity in greed. Without him, she felt a loss of something essential, something sacred that she could not name.

Isaac wrapped an arm around Isabella and pulled her in close, "I feel the need for some champagne, fetch us some would you?" He asked as he patted Isabella on the rear.

Isabella spared a glare at Isaac and remembered her opportunities granted by him. She smiled politely and walked away, as she looked away her smile faded.

While Isabella weaved through guests, shaking hands and giggling politely when needed, she heard the flutter of wings. A raven landed on her arm and cawed.

'Room 218, hear the truth, be unseen'

As Isabella reached the bar Isaac was standing proud as yet another rival was driven from greed by his brilliance. Duncan had been less a rival though and more of a cat to be kicked out of the way. As though his night could not get any better a raven landed on his arm and gently cawed. Several guests murmured among themselves as a golden key in the raven's mouth fell into Isaac's hand. Tied to the raven's leg was a small note.

'room 218, Lady Fox'

Isaac tucked the key into his breast pocket and smirked, two conquests in one night? How could he decline?

Isaac walked with a confident swagger through the black and red marble walls of the palace's halls. He hummed to himself and twirled the golden key in his finger, his pants a little tight at the prospect of claiming Duncan's former mistress.

He slid the golden key into the lock for the door and turned it. The door unlocked and he pushed it open, the lights were dim, the privacy curtains around the bed were drawn, and the luxurious room was prepared for passion. Lady Fox's dress was strewn on the floor and Mella laid on the bed, bare breasts exposed and her eyes looking at him from through the mask.

"Lady fox," purred Isaac, "I suppose you've heard of your paramours departure?"

Mella breathed easy and prepared herself, "I didn't notice actually," she said plainly.

Isaac took off his suit jacket, "you are a treat," he said as he unbuckled his pants.

Mella heart raced with nerves, the last thing she wanted was to feel this man, to let him muddy pleasure with his participation. It would be a stain on her soul that she could not wash off.

Mella held her breasts for Isaac, "do you approve?" she asked.

"Oh most certainly," said Isaac as his pants dropped, "by greed, girl, did you go to vanity and ask for your youth? Or did you have the luck of passing early? Without the weight of age to blemish you?"

"I came as I was, vanity has not touched me.

Isaac chuckled greedily, "how did Duncan ever draw such a beautiful creature like you?"

"He had his place, and now you have yours," she said as she ran her hands down her body toward her womanhood.

"You temptress," purred Isaac.

I could not think of a better word for it

"But first," said Mella, raising her foot to stop Issac as he stepped toward her, "tell me what you love of my body?"

Isaac licked his lips and kissed Mella's toes, making her squirm uncomfortably at first before playing as though she was writhing in pleasure. Isaac didn't notice, too enamored by her body to notice her face. "I love that the creator made you worthy of greed and my tastes, vanity is cheating, but you... you are real."

"I'm real?"

"You're not a deceiver, you simply are."

"And who would be a deceiver?" Asked Mella as Isaac got onto the bed. She hoped he would reveal himself soon, she didn't want to continue with him.

Isaac chuckled darkly and began to kiss Mella's neck, she felt like a vampire was hovering over her flesh. "That arm candy that I hold onto? She's worthless now that Duncan is gone. There are a few pleasures I haven't coaxed out of her but you... you're a real woman, and I can finally have one without knowing that I'm pleasing the soul of a man."

Mella smiled and pushed Isaac away before looking at a changing curtain in the corner of the room. Isabella stepped from behind the changing curtain with her her arms crossed and a single tear running down her eye.

"I was nothing to you?" she seethed as she picked up a vase and threw it at Isaac. "I was a means to hurt Duncan? I wasn't even a woman to you?" she growled as another tear welled in her eyes. "I knew you were a bastard, I knew you were a cheat, but I never thought you'd be ignorant too. Why? Why Isaac? Why do all of this?"

"Isabella, you're not needed." said Isaac as he tried to kiss Mella again but Mella pushed him away again and tried to get out of the bed.

"You've lost, Isaac, now leave peacefully."

Isaac grabbed Mella by the wrist, "don't do this, I could make you whoever you want to be, just let this happen."

"I want to be free of your presence," shot Mella. Isaac frowned and threw her back on the bed, his carefully manicured persona fading away.

"Isaac!" screamed Mella, "get off of me."

"I'm not leaving empty handed!" shouted Isaac. As he tried to defile Mella Isabella fought to pull him off of her, but as they struggled a tower of flame erupted before the bed. Isaac paused and stumbled out of bed, the fear of hell returning to his eyes. "No, no, I'm... I not... not this!" he screamed.

From the pillar of fire a red skinned woman like Ajara stepped out. She wore nothing but jewelry made of black gold and embedded with rubies.

"Isaac Rutteridge," announced the red skinned woman with disdain dripping from her lips. She looked at Mella, "may I have your memory of what happened, Mella nodded, unsure what to do.

A path of red miasma flowed from Mella's head and wafted toward the devil. She nodded and glared at Isaac. "Most sins are accepted, we do not shame, we indulge. But Isaac, you have violated our most coveted rule. The pleasures of hell are not yours to enjoy anymore."

Isaac fell to his knees, "I'm not being damned for what I was owed!" he screamed at the devil. She rolled her eyes and with a single raising of her hand another pillar of fire erupted around Isaac and with a blood curdling scream he was dragged to parts of the cosmos unknown."

Mella was still laying in the bed, Isabella stood next to the bed, unsure of what to do next. The devil sighed. "Are you well?" she asked.

"Nothing happened," said Mella, "thanks to you, what will happen to him?"

The devil shrugged, "the scales will be balanced, and once they have again, he will allowed to return, but not until then."

Mella and Isabella looked at each other, "and what does balancing the scales entail?"

"The killers are killed, and the defilers defiled." said the devil simply. She looked through Mella and nodded, "Ajara," she said familiarly.

May I have a word with her?

Mella nodded and released the reins of Ajara's body. Slowly Ajara returned and her skin turned red.

Ajara stepped out of bed and kissed the devil's skin. "How I've missed you Neta," she said as she rested her forehead against the devil, their horns interlocking.

"You hardly gave me time to arrive." said Neta.

"Mella hadn't anticipated what type of man Isaac is. What a man believing he's entitled to sex will stoop to. Thank you for intervening."

"Hell is always watching, never judging, but our rules are above all pleasures." said Neta

Ajara sighed and kissed Neta deeply, like lovers of more than an eternity. She pulled away, "why must you reside in greed?" she asked.

"It is my calling, as Lust is yours."

"You know me too well... Neta... When I'm done on earth this time, let us holiday in lust at least."

"You temptress," purred Neta. They kissed once more and Ajara pulled back. "My prophet has business to attend to. I'm sorry our reunion is so short."

"We have eternity," said Neta as she crossed her arms and a pillar of fire consumed her. When it faded Neta was gone and Ajara gave back control to Mella.

Isabella looked at Mella, shocked, "what are you?" she asked.

"A guest of hell," said Mella, "and a friend of Duncan's."

Isabella's eyes went wide, "Duncan..." she said, as though still unsure of what to do. "Lady Fox, I'm so sorry that-"

"Please, call me Mella," said Mella.

"I'm glad you're safe, Mella. I can't believe that Isaac would attempt something like that... and what he said of me... I trusted him, I tried to like him even... "

Mella's heart was pounding and she quickly got into her dress, needing to put something between her and the outside world. "I'm well now," she said.

Isabella sat down on the bed next to Mella, "I didn't know what to expect when I hid, but it wasn't this. I... I don't know what to do anymore. Who am I without Isaac? Just another pianist and dancer? Among how many?"

"you could go where you're appreciated," offered Mella.

Isabella scoffed, "if I leave, I lose everything, when I return I'd have to start from the begging square."

"Then don't return."

"I have friends here, I... I had a partner here, I've lost too much to give up."

"tell me what's worth more, the attention of greed or the love of Duncan?"

Isabella looked away, "you don't know what you're suggesting. We're different people now."

Mella took a deep breath, "Then at least say a proper goodbye to Duncan. I think he deserves at least that much."

Isabella shook her head but stood up, "you're right, I hate it, but you're right... thank you. Whoever you are."

"Like I said, I'm just a guest of hell."

Duncan stood at the gates of greed, souls around him left with their fortunes and spirits broken. He held a pocket watch and watched the seconds slip by.

"Come my love. Please, don't pick greed."

Duncan waited, he waited for what felt like hours but his watch insisted was only half an hour. He looked at the gates and considered walking through on his own. Finally accepting that Greed had broken he and Isabella permanently.

"Duncan!" cried a voice. It was Isabella, and Duncan's heart nearly beat itself out of his chest in response. She was walking as fast as her narrow dress would allow. She was breathing hard, she'd walked in a hurry.

"Isabella... Thank you for seeing me off," he said.

Isabella stood before Duncan, still after all these decades not used to now being the shorter of the two. By the seven circles he was refined with his mustache, the way it glowed in the ethereal moonlight. "Duncan... can we... can we talk? I have more than goodbyes to say."

Duncan hid his satisfaction but felt excitement all the same. "Of course, there's a cafe nearby.

"No coffee Duncan, just honesty... I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry for dating Isaac. He... he offered what I needed... no, what I wanted. And for that I accepted that he hurt you. And that was awful of me."

Duncan nodded slightly, "it hurt, I wanted to leave, but I couldn't leave without you, I thought... I thought tonight I would break... what changed?"

"Isaac showed what he thought of me, what he was capable of doing to another person... and it's left a bitter taste in my mouth. I don't think I can play this game anymore."

"Then don't," said Duncan, hopeful Isabella could let go of greed's charms.

"Duncan... we both came to greed to stand at the top. I'm so close... And if you helped me we could-"

Duncan bowed his head, as though conceding defeat, "Isabella, don't you see?" he begged, "there's always another summit, there's always another prize. It is greed's trap."

"But this is the only of the circles that is real, Lust is banal, Pride is illusion, Sloth is idleness, Gluttony is beneath us, wrath reminds me of my old life, and we've already tread through Vanity."

Duncan nodded, "then answer this, just this one question, are you happy?"

Isabella wanted to say yes, because it would end this conversation. But then Duncan would be gone.

"I'm happy on stage," she said, "Kings and emperors applaud my performances."

"But... are you happy?"

Isabella sighed and reached between the mask and her flesh and pulled it apart for the first time in decades. She dropped the mask and looked at Duncan. "I'm not..." she said as she teared up. "Isaac was a vile man but gave me what I wanted. I sipped on poison from a golden chalice."

Duncan took off his own mask and looked longingly at Isabella. "Then let us retire elsewhere, let us lounge in a manor by a lake in sloth. Nothing but wine, poetry, and each other."

Isabella reached across and touched Duncan's face for the first time in decades. "And my piano?"

"I'd insist on one in each room."

Isabella took a deep breath, "I want to, I want to so badly Duncan. But we're not the same people we were when we fell in love."

Duncan held his breath and looked at Isabella in desperate hope. Isabella kissed him, "which is why we're going to fall in love with who we are now... not who we were. Can you see me as the woman I am?"

"From the day you told me what you felt you've always been the only woman for me."

Isabella kissed Duncan deeply under the moon.

Chapter Twenty: One Last Night In Hell

Mella was more than happy to see the back of greed, not so much walking as skipping through the gate on her way out.

You've experienced much, Little Robin, how do you feel?

Mella stood at the crossroads of the circles and watched souls travel through the gates to their next pleasure.

"I feel as though I've had a lifetime to experience, lovers, rivals. A month, Ajara, a month of hell and I know that only moments have passed on earth. I could spend another year here..."

And yet, you must return

Mella sighed, "I know," she said. "Sister Neve, Sister Silk... all of them need me... and I will bring the pleasures of the circles to earth, I will make earth in hell's image."

I could not be more proud of you, Little Robin, you have walked through the flames of hell and become fire itself. Be the fire that will burn away the ropes that bind humanity to shame

Mella looked around, "so... how does one leave hell?"

Through the back door, but lets not be too hasty, I believe after what you've experienced, you deserve a night of rest and indulgence

"I suppose I could pay sister lash a visit..." mused Mella.

Why not visit Duncan and Isabella? You've not set foot in Sloth. It's a quiet indulgence, intimate perhaps, but not the orgiastic symphony of lust

"I knew Duncan for less than a week, we're hardly 'invite to the lake house' friends."

If you don't ask, you'll never know who you are to them, what kind of woman you've grown into

Mella nodded, of course Ajara was right. She summoned a raven and sent it out with a simple message for Duncan and Isabella. After sending off the raven it faded as it traveled between circles as a matter of instinct.

Several minutes went by, Mella sat at a bench, watching souls pick their journeys. Those who danced into lust full of pep, those who walked out serene and satiated, they all told a story of a soul soaking up experiences.

A raven, it may have been the same but Mella couldn't tell, it didn't have a reply, letter, only a bronze key in the raven's mouth which it dropped in her hand. If it wasn't an invitation, she had no idea what else it could be.

She made her way to the central courtyard where the seven gates waited and walked to Sloth. The gate of sloth was plush with velvet and an air of warmth and relaxation exuded from the gate's entrance. Mella closed her eyes and stepped through it, as she did her key hummed and guided her soul to where it was invited to be.

Sitting on a lake without a name and surrounded by forest without end was a white lake house. The two story brick structure was dotted with windows and had a patio that extended around the perimeter of the building. The bricks were painted white and gave the building a country aesthetic. A set of stone stairs lead down the hill toward a beach with rich tan sand and a lake of clear glacier water.

sailing and row boats were tied at the dock and bobbed in the gentle waves stirred by the wind. Mella stood at the entrance of the lake house, looking down she saw that she was in a yellow house dress. The material caused her skin to shiver with pleasure. Smoother than silk and clinging to her form without creasing.

She stepped up the stairs and under a brick archway to knock on the door. Duncan answered the door and smiled at Mella, "a little bird told me you were coming," he said as he welcomed her inside.

The interior of the lake house was floored with hardwood, deep sky blue paint covered the interior walls adorned with paintings. And the sound of the piano echoed through the hall. To her right was a sitting room with plush couches and a coffee table, a vertical piano was tucked into the corner, its keys well worn.

To her left was the dining room with a grand table fit for sitting eight. "It's a truly lovely home," said Mella as she walked through the hall to the common room at the back of the lake house.

"I dreamed of a residence like this when I was stuck in the slums of London. This was my sanctuary when my belly ached and skin was cold. To make it brick and mortar, it's a dream come true."

They entered the rear of the house where the music was coming from. A fully furnished kitchen with a pot of boiling water bubbling on the stove top was to her left. And to her right was the common room itself, and in it Isabella played on another piano, performing a song that Mella did not recognize. All she knew for certain was that there was no sheet music on the piano, so Isabella knew this by heart.

Her eyes were closed as she played, playing by feel and memory, this was as much recreation as practice. Duncan stood next to Mella with a look of admiration on his face. He looked at Isabella the way a romantic looks at each sunset.

Isabella was smiling as she played, but as she sensed that she had an audience she slowed down her tempo and transitioned to a finale for her song. She exhaled happily and looked to Mella. "You came," she said invitingly.

"I know I'm a small part of your story," began Mella, "that you two have a history that goes... decades..."

Isabella gave Mella a comforting smile, "Mella, what you did for me? It means the world. You showed me what staying in greed was costing me." She looked at Duncan, "what I was giving up to succeed. And we..." she glanced at Duncan who politely smirked and gave her a nod. "We would like to thank you."

Oh Little Robin, the moments you find yourself in, truly when all is said and done there's a fortune to be made authoring your scandalous exploits

Wine was fetched from the cellar and the cork was pulled. White wine flowed into waiting glasses, Mella and Duncan sat to enjoy Isabella practice her piano skills.

Mella sipped on the white wine, enjoying the sharp dry sweetness that washed over her tongue. It was a sophisticated joy but without the pretense of greed to suffocate its simple pleasures.

Isabella's music echoed off the walls and took Mella on a journey, a gentle rising in the music followed by sweeping melodies, her hands danced over the piano keys with the elegance of a concert pianist. All Mella had to do was listen and close her eyes and she was transported on a journey through meadows, tall grass brushing against her thighs as she ran.

The music took Mella through fields of flowers as the scent of home filled her mind, all with only the notes of a piano to work with. When Mella did open her eyes she saw Isabella take a sip of wine while keeping the song going with her other hand.

As the song concluded Isabella sighed happily and cracked her fingers before closing the lid on the piano. She stood up and snatched the bottle from a table and poured herself another glass of wine. "That was one of my first pieces," she said proudly. "I must have spent... oh... seven years... the time just flew by."

Mella listened to Isabella talk about the process of making the song and she realized the beauty of eternity, art could be pampered, taking as long as needed to let it bloom.

Duncan raised his glass, "I believe that was the first recital I attended of yours. We were still in the outer city."

Isabella laughed, "that shoe box theater? hardly seven seats and six rows. The piano took up most of the stage."

"And yet of all the recitals of yours, I remember that one the most." Said Duncan proudly. "So many years of practice, and you performed beautifully." Duncan stood up and poured himself a glass and leaned in to kiss Isabella.

Isabella welcomed his lips and they kissed deeply, unashamedly, Mella could only sit and feel flustered as the two lovers locked lips.

With a pop they broke their kiss. Isabella traced her fingers across Duncan's mustache and breathed in through her nose. "How have I never realized how handsome you are?"

Duncan traced a hand across Isabella's side, "I think we were both guilty of loving a memory."

Isabella clinked her glass against Duncan's. "To loving who we are now. What do you think Duncan? I can set the kitchen to make us something while we enjoy the lake?"

Duncan smiled, "now that sounds lovely, what do you say Mella? Up for a swim?"

"I'd love to but I didn't bring anything to swim in..."

Isabella and Duncan shared a glance, "oh, neither did we," said Isabella.

"Well then," said Mella as she stood up and grabbed the wine bottle by the neck and finished off the last swig, "let's make some memories."

Three sets of clothes were folded neatly and the trio ran down the dock and jumped into the water. It wasn't frigid, but it was by no measure warm. Mella kicked her legs and gasped as she surfaced from the water. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a swim.

Duncan kept himself afloat as he casually swam in a back stroke, his mustache glistening with droplets. Isabella tread water effortlessly and Mella was distracted by her beauty. Isabella caught Mella's idle glance and splashed her playfully.

"Mind your eyes Lady Fox," joked Isabella.

Mella splashed her back, "the fox looks where it pleases," she teased.

The two splashed each other while Duncan merrily swam around them.

"Duncan, will you not defend your lady's honor?" said Isabella as she splashed at Mella.

"Oh this seems like an affair between ladies," said Duncan as he continued to backstroke.

Mella, breathless from splashing, swam back to the dock and held onto the structure as she regained her breath, Isabella joined her and they shared a quiet moment as water dripped from their hair.

An air of intensity grew around them as they looked at each other, Mella bit her lip and looked at Isabella's rich brown eyes. "Isabella..." said Mella as an unspoken tension hung in the air.

"Yes?" Said Isabella as she looked at Mella, as though waiting for Mella to bring voice to what she felt.

"Are you familiar with the the touch of women?"

Isabella gave her a cheeky smirk, "darling, I spent eighty years in lust, I know every pleasure under the sun."

"Is it... something that you would consider... I mean if that's not getting between you and Duncan-"

Isabella leaned forward and pressed her lips to Mella's and kissed her gently, no pressure, no tongue, just tenderness.

Duncan paused in his swimming and tread water as he watched the scene unfold. Mella was flustered and Isabella was owning the space.

"I see we've kissed and made up?" said Duncan.

Isabella curled a finger at Duncan, "come and find out," she said. Duncan swam toward the dock and got between the two women. Isabella kissed her lover passionately, wrapping her legs around Duncan as she claimed him.

After kissing for a few long beats Isabella broke off the kiss and turned Duncan's head toward Mella. "Go head darling, thank the girl for giving us a chance."

Mella blushed, "if you're... comfortable with that..." she said as she leaned in. She let her lips connect with Duncan's and slowly, they built trust and kissed each other gently. She could feel his mustache rubbing against her lip and nose, tickling her in the process.

They shared a kiss in the water as Isabella watched eagerly. "I never tire of seeing that," sighed Isabella.

"No Jealousy?"

"Dear," said Isabella, "love does not survive lust without learning to appreciate seeing your lover enjoy another."

Plush towels had appeared on the dock after they jumped into the water, and as they swam around to the steps on the dock they each grabbed one and draped it over their wet shoulders. Mella felt the water effortlessly wick off of her skin. A delightful smell wafted down from the lake house, the scent of white wine and delicate fish hitting her nose.

"By the seven circles that smells divine," sighed Mella.

Infernal actually, but yes, lake trout I believe

Isabella shook her head and strained water from her hair, "I believe dinner is ready," she purred.

"Who cooked?" asked Mella.

"The house, Darling, what's sloth if you have to slave away in a kitchen?"

Duncan dabbed the towel against his mustache, now on the dock Mella could notice Duncan's physique, fit but soft, he didn't seek a Spartan's hardened body, but one born of gentle privilege. And then there was his marital equipment, Mella was only a woman and she stole a glance. The Devils of vanity were masters of balanced proportion.

Duncan saw Mella's hungry gaze and took his time putting on his towel, "it's immodest to stare," he said with levity in his voice.

"I'm admiring, there's a difference."

Isabella whistled as she slipped into her dress, "are we going to flirt in the nude like first timers in lust?" she asked, "I've worked up an appetite."

Dinner was had on the patio, it was already set when they rose up the stairs in their clothes. Italian lake trout roasted in butter and herbs and served with roasted squash. A white wine pairing was already on the table along with candles burning.

Mella took a single bite of the lake trout and paused in surprise by the taste. For all her time in hell she'd hardly eaten anything indulgent, the roasted meat in wrath prepared one for a fight, but this? This was the for the sake of a meal.

"I remember one time," started Duncan after swallowing his first bite, "I traveled with a troupe of actors for a year, we fished from streams and ponds and roasted fish on the road. It was nothing compared to this but it was lovely all the same. Such lovely people."

Isabella smiled as she swallowed a piece of roast squash. "I worked with actors in life, keeping the crowd well behaved, comedy troupe, the crowds could get aggressive."

"Do you..." started Mella after she had another mouthful of trout, "do you miss earth? Life?"

Duncan looked at Isabella and held her hand, "we have here what we could never have in life. Not just the peace and indulgence, but who we are... I can think of no force that could give me what I needed, to live as the man I knew I was."

"Don't forget that while you were in London I was in Valencia, we never could have met in life."

"So you don't miss it at all?"

Isabella glanced at the trout and closed her eyes briefly, she took a sip of wine and looked at the glass, "I miss the mundanity of life, the simple chores, and perhaps in a small way the man I used to be. I don't miss being trapped in that body, I wouldn't give up what I have, even for another chance at life... but I miss the excitement of the life I lived, a life I couldn't have lived as a woman."

Mella swirled her wine glass, "if I brought with me what I learned of this place, and if people believed me, the church would be broken." she mused. "Hell is not a place of the wicked, it is a place of truths, bitter and sweet. The rules of hell are enforced when needed, and other than that we are left to soak up every experience it has to offer."

Duncan chuckled, "it was a surprise to be sure. But to be careful spreading your new gospel, I don't want to see you arrive here before your time.

Mella raised her glass, "but when the company is so lovely? I don't think I can fear death anymore," she toasted. Duncan and Isabella shared in the toast and drank to the truth of the afterlife.

Duncan smiled at Mella, "you've been granted a rare privilege, to see what comes after, it's dangerous, but the truth you've seen could change the world."

Despite the luxury Mella found herself in the comment left a feeling of unease in her. How could she tell of what she'd seen without being thrown into a sanitarium? "This has all been one night, my entire world is changed and as I sit here I consider staying... but I know that would be a waste of what Ajara has given me."

Isabella poured wine into Mella's glass, "Duncan dear, I believe this is your moment," she said as she poured more wine into Duncan's glass.

"Diane's sisterhood, when I was a member, she spoke of hell and we listened devotedly. This pilgrimage that Ajara takes her prophets on, it is the turning point of their soul. I could see it in Diane's eyes the day she journeyed."

"I've been meaning to ask," said Mella, "you never mentioned how you ended up among actresses and rebellious intellectuals."

Duncan drank from his glass and only stopped after finishing half of it. "I was invited, the theater troupe I traveled with? The lead actress was a sister and she saw in me the makings of one too. That's how I met Diane, saw Ajara in the flesh... to be in the presence of a devil is... life altering. I can't imagine what it's like to be possessed by one."

Mella coughed, "It's..."

Delightful

"Complicated... yet I wouldn't give her up for anything after all that she's shown me."

Isabella raised her glass, "to salivation in sin's robes."

Mella matched Isabella and clinked, "to the devil you know," she said.

Duncan clinked his glass against the other two. "To eternity, may we never grow tired of pleasures."

For the rest of dinner they ate as the sound of waves lapping at the sand echoed up from the beach. Laughter and the clink of silverware on plates drowned it out.

The wine bottle refilled itself and Mella had another glass, she couldn't tell how many she had but it was more than a bottle to herself at least. She was feeling liberated and free spirited, as were Isabella and Duncan. Isabella poured herself the last drops of a bottle and watched the bottle refill. "Oh this is a dangerous luxury," she said as she sipped from her glass.

Duncan was swirling his glass, his nose and cheeks flushed, "I never allowed myself to get drunk in Greed. Too many bad deals to be made."

"It's been some time for me as well," admitted Isabella. "Duncan darling... shall we... turn in? Lounge in comfort?" She asked as she looked at Mella, "care to join us?"

Giggling and gasps could be heard from the upstairs of the lake house. In the master bedroom the trio's clothes were strewn about, A goose feather mattress enveloped Mella as she lay on it it, looking down she saw Isabella and Duncan kissing, Duncan's hand cupped Isabella's breast as they kissed.

"Oh Duncan..." sighed Isabella as he kissed down her neck. She glanced at Mella as she watched the couple embrace, "we have a young fox with us," she purred.

Duncan gave her neck a little nip, causing her to gasp, "insatiable things, foxes," said Duncan as he stood aroused at the foot of the bed.

"Best handled in pairs," purred Isabella. Mella could only lay back in the bed and beckoned for the couple to join her on the bed. Isabella crawled toward her and got between Mella's legs.

"Lets see how you tend your garden."

Mella gasped as Isabella's lips touched her nethers and her tongue spread and explored her folds. This was the final goodbye she wished for, the soft touch of a woman's tongue on her, the gentle pleasure of a refined man. It was what her soul craved.

Duncan was enraptured by his beloved's shapely rear and knelt to give it the worship it deserved. He delved deep into Isabella, his mustache rubbing against her cheeks, causing her to giggle into Mella's passage as she lapped at her.

"Dear, that adornment you have tickles," she panted as Duncan had his eyes closed in silent worship of her folds.

Mella cried out as Isabella quickly brought her to her first of many crises. Her hands reached to cover her mouth as she bucked and writhed at the pleasure she was feeling.

A deep, unspeakably fulfilling sensation ripped through her body like lightning. Mella moaned as relief washed over her, Isabella's tongue was exceptionally talented after her time in lust. She looked up from Mella's legs at Duncan.

"She's ready, let... let me watch," she begged as she moved off of Mella and straddled her left leg.

Duncan stood up and got between Mella's legs, he took his manhood in his hand and guided it toward Mella's ready womanhood. Her eyes were glazed over with anticipation as Duncan entered her. She grabbed at the sheets of the bed as her walls surrounded him.

"Oh Duncan," panted Mella as Duncan took her slowly with deliberate strokes, he wanted to enjoy every moment he had with this woman who'd given them so much.

Mella's eyes looked softly into Isabella's, "kiss me..." she pleaded.

Isabella leaned forward and held herself above Mella, "my pleasure," She said as she kissed Mella deeply. The taste of Mella's own desire was on Isabella's lips and it set fire to Mella's soul.

Duncan watched as the women kissed passionately while he thrust inside of this remarkable woman. He could feel his shaft tingling with pleasure and warmth as he gave her pleasure in smooth strokes.

After tasting herself on Isabella's lips Mella returned the kiss and plunged her tongue into Isabella's mouth. While Duncan filled her out, Isabella cupped her breasts and squeezed them gently as they kissed.

Isabella pulled back, a trail of saliva bridging between their lips. With an eager grin she straddled Mella's face and leaned over Mella to kiss Duncan as he thrust into Mella. She was eager to please and pushed her face into Isabella's womanhood, worshiping it eagerly.

The sounds of moans and cries filled the room as Duncan and Isabella took turns with Mella. She was in a state of pure ecstasy, her body shuddered as she had her second and third orgasm, each one more powerful than the last. She never imagined that heaven could be found in hell, but here she was with two lovers attending to her every need.

As Duncan thrust into Mella he looked down at her as she lapped at Isabella's slit hungrily. Isabella bit gently against Duncan's lip and ran her fingers through Mella's hair. "She's no stranger to the pleasures of hell," groaned Isabella as Mella coaxed another orgasm out of her.

Mella let out moans into Isabella's wetness as Duncan plunged her depths, Duncan could feel the vibrations through his lover and she let out a sigh of pleasure as Mella's cries of passion transferred through her.

Mella squirmed with both delight and urgency as Duncan thrusted into her while Isabella's taste filled her mouth. Mella felt herself near another crisis and she dug her nails into Isabella's thighs as she bit her lip. She let out a muffled cry as the fire worked its way from inside of her.

"Duncan-" she gasped, "oh Duncan... harder... I..."

Duncan snapped his hips in time with Mella's cries. Just as she was about to be overwhelmed he pulled out and the warmth of his first release surged onto Mella's stomach. She felt Duncan's shaft spasm and pulse as hot liquid trickled down her belly to her mound, each splash sending pleasurable sensations across her body.

Mella's eyes fluttered open as Isabella lifted herself off Mella's face and laid next to her. Duncan let the two women kiss once more as he savored the aching pleasure in his shaft. This time Mella didn't have the stamina to keep up with Isabella, she meekly accepted the woman's lips on hers and let herself fade away into slumber.

Duncan pulled out of Mella slowly, kissed Isabella deeply and lay beside Mella. With exhaustion overtaking them they lay together on the large feather mattress, Duncan was laid next to Isabella and Isabella cradled Mella in her arms.

Mella had no smart words or post coital flirtation. The sheets were crisp, the blanket plush, and the company lovely. She fell into a deep slumber feeling the heat of Isabella's breath on the back of her neck.

As each of them fell asleep the gas lamps of the room dimmed on their own, a magical touch of the house. Gentle snoring started as Mella got comfortable. The three of them stayed glued together until the first shimmers of dawn appeared on the lake and heralded the final moments of Mella's time in hell.

While Mella slept, Ajara stepped into her dreams. Mella was dreaming of home, not the convent, but the village she grew up in. She was cooking in the kitchen while her kid brothers screamed and hollered outside. It was a rare mundane dream where nothing happened and yet it meant everything to Mella.

As she looked over her shoulder she noticed her mother nursing her infant sister. She returned to peeling potatoes when there was a knock at the door. Mella put her peeling knife down and walked to the door, as she pulled the handle she gasped. A woman with devilish beauty stood, her features were the same, save the red skin and horns. It was Ajara, presenting herself as human.

"Mella, I was hoping to speak to you."

Mella's mother looked over her shoulder, "who's at the door Little Robin?"

Mella looked at Ajara and back at her mother, "a friend, mother, I'll be back in a minute."

"Are you going to introduce me to this friend of yours?" asked her mother, even in Mella's dream she was persistent.

Mella cleared her throat, "Mother, this is Ajara," she said as she motioned to Ajara.

"Charmed," said Ajara as she politely bowed her head.

Mella's mother gave Ajara a once over, "I am curious, whereabouts are you from? You're name is strange."

Ajara simply smiled, "I'm from further south of here," she said with a smile.

Mella's mother nodded, "you seem an older soul, what business do you have with Mella?"

Ajara put on a reassuring smile, "simply good company."

"Mother," said Mella, "I'll be back shortly."

Mella's mother sighed, "you seem to have your mind made up about this."

"Love you mother," said Mella as she stepped through the doorway and closed the door behind her. "Ajara, is that you?"

Ajara smirked, "I thought this appearance would be less... disruptive to your dreamscape."

Mella ran a hand across Ajara's cheek, amazed at her beauty, "so what brings you to my dream? A quick romp? The barn is out of the way though the smell is a bit much."

"I was actually wondering if you'd walk with me." She said as she offered her hand.

Mella accepted Ajara's hand and they walked through her half remembered village. It was the midst of summer and the trees were lush with green leaves. Ajara listened intently as Mella described each detail with lucid clarity.

They sat down under a tree near a stream and Mella listened to the bubbling of the water.

Ajara placed a hand on Mella's, "Mella," she began. "I needed you to meet the former prophets... my former hosts, to understand me and what my possession of you entails."

"To what end?" asked Mella as she looked at Ajara.

"Because I care about you Mella, truly, and while I know I possessed you without your say, I have grown to appreciate your spirit."

Mella blinked and linked her hands with Ajara's, "Ajara, what are you saying?"

Ajara looked at the stream, "to posses a mortal is to share a mind and body, to see the tapestry of the possessed soul." Ajara finally looked at Mella, "it's hard to occupy someone's mind without... seeing what makes them who they are, and Mella? I admire you."

Mella's breath stopped as she felt what Ajara was saying, "Ajara, are you saying you... love me?"

Ajara took a deep breath through her nose, "I'm saying that I want to, once we have courted."

"We've already laid in my dreams, what else is there?"

"Courtship, moments not limited to your dreams. You deserve to be romanced."

Mella gazed at the stream and back at Ajara. "That's somewhat difficult when we share a body." Mella leaned in close to Ajara, "but you want me? Truly? What about Neta?"

Ajara gave Mella a gentle kiss, "we devils are creatures of plurality. Where the fire is lit we do not smother, we breath life on every ember."

"But I would be one of many?" said Mella, unsure.

"Yes," said Ajara, she did not hide behind sugared words, she dealt in the truth. "But I am not a polygamist, I understand you. I do not collect hearts, I tend to them wherever love grows."

"I... Ajara I..." Mella didn't know what to say, she truly didn't. "I wasn't prepared for this... I wish I had time to think on my feelings..."

Ajara took a moment before speaking, "you wish to answer honestly, I can respect that... take all the time you need, Mella."

Mella snuggled up to Ajara and rested her head on Ajara's shoulder. "Just let me rest for a moment," said Mella as she yawned.

"Sleep well, Little Robin." said Ajara as she ran a hand through Mella's hair. Mella closed her eyes and drifted off.

Chapter Twenty One: Back to Lordsgate

She awoke back on earth in her night gown. The air was stale and the bell for matins rang, it was too early for prayer and Mella considered staying in her bed. After the wonders of hell, prayer to heaven seemed like such a waste of a limited life.

I'm sorry Little Robin, earth beckons to you

Mella threw her legs over the edge of her hard bed and disrobed to begin putting on her habit. The cloth was rough and without meaning to her.

Sister Neve was walking past Mella's cell when Mella emerged. She reached out and touched Neve's hand and Neve looked at Mella. "Mella," she said, are you well? Something in your eyes is different." She said.

Mella smiled, "the mistress showed me our reward, she showed me hell."

Neve gasped, "you... you've been there? Was she truthful?"

"Beyond truthful," said Mella reverentially, "it is paradise, it is just, and by Ajara it is pleasurable."

Neve became giddy, "you truly saw it? Not a dream?"

"I spent a month in wrath, sister," said Mella, "I've known lovers in three circles of hell, all in the span of a few breaths."

Neve put her hands to her mouth to cloak her excitement, "Mella, we must bring the sisters together, to learn of your journey."

Mella nodded and, looking around to make sure they were alone, she leaned in and kissed Neve immodestly, tongue and all. "I will share everything I've learned."

Neve groaned lightly as Mella claimed mouth, the kiss ending as quickly as it began.

Oh Little Robin, you make me so proud

"What is lust like?" asked Neve as they walked toward the chapel.

"A cathedral of flesh and love, pain and pleasure, every indulgence, every whim is celebrated... and the men... By the seven circles they were as gentle in their pursuits as they were rough with their pleasures."

Neve groaned again and Mella could see her begin to bulge between her legs.

Mella smiled and looked at Neve. "Need me to ease your burden, sister?" she asked.

Neve nodded, "I just... the way you describe it... it's exciting."

Mella took Neve by the hand and walked her into an available cell and pushed her against a wall, "passions are to be released, sister," said Mella.

As Matins was beginning Mella wiped her mouth and rubbed Neve's spilled seed on the underside of the mattress in the cell. Neve sighed and adjusted her deflating shaft to tuck it between her legs. "Thank you Mella," she said with a sigh, "I couldn't have paid attention during Matins with that between my legs."

Mella gave Neve a peck on the cheek, "a burden shared is a burden halved," she said sweetly. She touched Neve's hand and guided her out of the cell, "let us endure prayer together," she said.

Matins was exhausting, listening to the chantress read psalms and guide the convent in responseries. Mella and Neve's feet constantly touched each other and through Ajara Mella could feel other sisters' wandering thoughts. Sister Alvy longed to return to a dream where she was being carefully choked by a strong handed woman.

An hour of worship left Mella feeling spiritually exhausted. She listened to the prayer, participating when needed, and keeping her head down in contemplation. But she did not think on her failings like the other sisters, she thought of her own sermons to deliver tonight, the sisters of the First Temple would convene tonight, and she would wash away the taste of Matins from their tongues.

Matins passed and Mella returned to her cell with a mind full of sermons to deliver.

Shall we see who is ready for the truth?

"Yes... let us." said Mella as she handed the reins to Ajara. Mella fell into the back of her mind as Ajara took control.

"Let's see who's ready." Purred Ajara through Mella's mouth as she closed her eyes and traced her hands through each sleeping sister's dreams, sprinkling desire as she went. Sister Fyan's dreams were with her pagan fantasy, being claimed by a hunting party returning with a buck worthy of a feast.

But there was one dream that drew Ajara through the halls, Sister Superior Fiona's dreams had changed. No longer was she dreaming of punishment to correct, but punishing for her own sake. A procession of milk skinned sisters presenting their backs and buttocks to her, her rod in her hand. Their cries, their sweet, sweet cries of pain drove Fiona to breaking point.

Back in her bed Fiona was moist with arousal, it would only take one final temptation to break this pious woman, and Ajara knew what to do.

Sister Fiona was breathless in her dream, no matter how many sisters disrobed and presented themselves for correction she felt nothing but hunger for more correction.

"You are all unclean," she panted as she snapped her fingers and caned the sister's buttocks to the sound of pained shrieks. They weren't sobbing with pain, but crying out. And Fiona had no words for how listening to them made her feel. It made her feel like she was like listening to the choir nuns practice.

And then Mella walked into a room with a woman holding her hand, they were both in habits and had a serene, defiant look on their faces. Fiona was left with her mouth agape as Mella and the woman kissed like newlyweds in front of her.

"You..." struggled Fiona, "you are both unclean!" she shouted as she held her rod.

Mella looked at the woman and nodded, both of them undid the buttons of their habits and took off their coifs.

"Then you should punish us." purred the woman next to Mella. She spoke so sultry, yet so inviting.

"Yes Sister Superior, punish us."

The other nuns faded as the Fiona's focus shifted to the two defiant Jezebels in front of her. "You... you both are betrothed to the lord, and yet you let your lips touch as though they are yours to give. Your backsides, now, you must both be corrected."

The woman next to Mella put a hand on Fiona's shoulder, "but this isn't about correction, is it? This is about you," she purred.

"You are speaking to a superior, sister, your backside, now."

The woman coo'd and undid her habit, offering her back to Fiona and looking over her shoulder. "Punish me, Sister Superior."

Fiona's cheeks burned brightly as she held her rod and looked at the woman who defied her. Mella was stripped as well. They presented their backsides to Fiona and, in her full view, continued to kiss.

Stirred to anger Fiona lashed out and struck Mella's buttocks, causing her to moan, she struck her again and more moans escaped Mella's mouth.

"Stop enjoying this!" cried out Fiona as she flogged the woman. "Obey Christ!"

Mella looked back at Fiona, "wouldn't you rather we obey you? Mistress?"

Fiona stopped and her breath was caught, what was this blasphemy? As she struck the other woman her skin reddened and shimmered, a devilish tail grew from her backside and horns erupted from her forehead.

"Demon! Satan!" screamed Fiona.

"Nothing so dramatic," said Ajara as she stood up, brushed Fiona's rod aside, and hovered her face inches from Fiona's. "I am the vessel of your liberation," she whispered as she steered the dream toward Fiona's innermost desires.

The dreamscape changed, and Ajara steered it toward depths of Lust, it was her domain and she knew every detail. She brought Fiona to the dungeon, a throng of men and women kneeling before them. Ajara handed a whip to Fiona and gestured to the masses in front of her. "Call to them, sister, call to them and they will obey."

Fiona's breath caught and her faith faltered, not because it was lacking but because it had no substitute for what was offered. She pointed to a young woman wearing a mask that clung to her face like a coif that covered ones eyes. The young woman stood up and bowed before offering her back. Mella and Ajara stepped next to her and held her arms gently as Fiona looked at the rod in her hand. It warped with dream logic and formed into an ebony black whip made of glossy leather.

A sickening crack erupted in the dungeon as Fiona struck the woman's back. The whip left a red mark on the woman's back. The woman, a simple figment of the dream, cried out in ecstasy each time Fiona struck her back with the whip.

By the time Fiona was done the woman's back was covered in red welts. Mella and Ajara allowed the woman to kneel back down.

"Pick again, sister," said Mella.

"To what end?"

"To sating the hunger that gnaws at your insides, the need to hear divine screams," said Ajara.

Fiona gulped and pointed to a young man, "you," she said, her voice wavering.

And so she continued.

Fifteen. Fiona lashed fifteen bodies before finally feeling satiated. Each lash of the whip brought holy cries of ecstasy, she the conductor, her whip the baton.

Mella and Ajara helped the last whipped subject down. Fiona was breathless and flustered from punishing so many beautiful canvases.

Ajara wrapped her tail around Fiona's waist as she stepped close to her. "It's powerful, isn't it, to wield pain."

Fiona gulped hard, "it is meant to be corrective." she stammered.

"But where's the fun in that?" coo'd Ajara, "you enjoy the pain. You enjoy seeing them squirm."

"There... there is beauty in seeing a body react to correction."

"But it doesn't have to be correction," said Ajara, "pain can be its own reward."

"You speak of... of... sadism, I am not wicked."

Ajara gestured to the men and women marked by Fiona's whip, and Fiona's heart sank. She'd been deceived... no... she knew what she was doing and she did it in spite of the sin.

Mella stepped toward Fiona, "it is not wicked, it is liberation. You wish to hurt, so find those who wish to feel pain. It is as simple as that, dear sister."

Mella and Ajara looked at each other with a shared grin they each kissed Fiona on the cheeks. She gasped and they disappeared out the dream before she could react. They heard the Sister Superior groan as she felt the arousal of her body as it reacted to her dream.

She is seeped in arousal, with a modest fantasy come flesh she will be ready

"Allow me," she said as she stepped toward the sister superior's door and knocked.

She could hear the sister Superior groan as she stood up and approached the door to open it. She rubbed her eyes and opened the door, prepared to chastise whoever interrupted her sleep. But there on the other end was Novice Mella with a worried look on her face.

"Sister Superior... I... I was troubled by the dreams, I need disciplining, correction."

Fiona felt her heart beat quick as she looked at this poor girl in need of guidance. "Come in, quickly," said Fiona. She had a flogging whip in her cell for self correction, it would work here. "Your back, expose it," said Fiona.

Mella took off her night gown top and rested her palms against the wall of the cell, arching her back before Fiona. Fiona grabbed her flogging whip and, without thinking, dragged the threads across Mella's back. She gasped and moaned.

"Bestill yourself sister," chided Fiona. Even as she felt her excitement running down her leg. One flogging, then another, and another, with each one Mella cried out, gasping, moaning, whispering for another.

"You are... you are wicked, Novice Mella," panted Fiona as she flogged Mella again and a again. "Accept your punishment with grace," she panted.

"But where's the fun in that?" said Mella as she whimpered in the afterglow of her flogging.

Oh Little Robin, you are the prophet of desire, tempt your sister superior and liberate her

Fiona flogged her again and again, hoping to instill discipline, but all she could feel is her own welling desire for punishment, not out of holy necessity but her own gratification.

"Yes mistress, enjoy my pain," panted Mella. Fiona was sweating on her brow as she continued to flog Mella to the point her back was as red as Ajara's. Mella looked over her shoulder at Fiona, she was flustered and through Ajara she could smell the arousal dripping from Fiona's womanhood.

As Fiona flogged Mella she heard a voice in her head.

Yes sister, embrace the pain you can create, paint her canvas with the brush of wrath. Do not punish for my sake, but for yours

Fiona looked around, startled at the arrival of the voice. "Who... Who said that?"

Mella smiled as she heard Fiona's reaction to Ajara's teasing. "Hearing voices, Sister Superior?"

"The voice of the angel, speaking to me," said Fiona, "and they were clear, your disobedience must be punished."

Mella stood up and looked into Fiona's eyes, "is that what she said? Or did she say that you should punish for the sake of pain?"

"I... I." Fiona stammered.

She is on the precipice, she merely needs a gentle push

Mella stood before Fiona, her breasts exposed and illuminated in the moonlight. "Sister Fiona."

"I am your sister superior, novice," stammered Fiona."

"Not tonight sister," said Mella, "tonight, under the eyes of hell, we are equals."

"You speak blasphemy," scolded Fiona, unsure of herself.

Mella smirked, "Ajara, could you share with sister Fiona my journey into the dungeon?"

Oh you are delightful, but a moment, Little Robin

"Novice, who do you speak to?" asked Fiona. Mella waited and Ajara touched Fiona's mind with the memory of lust's dungeons. The feeling of hot wax on her skin, the whipping, the bliss of the healing baths. And brought it before Fiona's mind's eye. Her mouth as agape as she experienced hell as it was.

She was left breathless, shaking, and her womanhood quivering with sensation. Fiona fell to her knees, her mind at war with itself.

Mella knelt down and put a hand on the quaking Fiona's shoulder, "the truth is as frightening as it is liberating, are you well? Sister?"

"I was in hell," gasped Fiona, "and... and... it was..." she couldn't bear to say the truth, that it was rapturous, liberating, and so, so intoxicating. I must know heaven!" she said as she grasped at Mella's arms, "whatever you are, you are touched, show me heaven, show me my divine reward."

She is fighting, but it is a losing battle. My memories will deal the final blow

Ajara touched Fiona's mind, but this time it was not Mella's memories that she felt, but Ajara's own. When she was milky skinned angel with wings and a sword at her side. She was clad in light forged armor that glowed with divine radiance. Fiona's mouth fell open as she saw heaven from an angel's perspective.

At first she was enraptured. But slowly she felt the weight of eternity, the ache of want in the lord's garden. No punishments, no food, no sleep, only an eternity in quiet contemplation and simple pleasures. The endless prayers, the joyless walks through beautiful gardens. Fiona wanted to yearn for it but all she could remember was the ecstasy of the dungeon.

She wanted to want heaven.

To enjoy the quiet joys of heaven.

But hell, hell whispered to her in cries and touches, in the smell of sweat and sex, and the feeling of a whip in her hand. And then Ajara whispered words that cracked the stone around her mind.

Hell is not a punishment, Sister Fiona, it is a place for those too wise for heaven

Fiona sobbed, hard, she was exhausted, she was terrified, and she was confused. Hell and Heaven, she'd used one as a warning of punishment and one as an eternal reward, yet now? Now she could not tell which was which. Heaven and Hell had answered her and found heaven's response wanting.

Mella ran her hand along Fiona's back, she could feel the scars of Fiona's self flagellation through her night gown, "Sister, you are scared, but in time you will be thankful. My back remains available should you have the need to inflict pain. You are an artist with a flog."

"I... I can't punish," choked Fiona, "it is sin."

Mella leaned in close to Fiona's face, "sin is what men in cloaks call pleasure. You enjoy it, don't you? The pain you can inflict."

Fiona looked at Mella, not as a subordinate, but as a source of knowledge, "yes," she said in a choked whisper.

"Then do not call it punishment, it is worship, and you are exquisite at it."

"What are you?" gasped Fiona as she felt her faith slipping.

Mella closed her eyes and smiled, "I am a hell touched woman, Sister Fiona, I am the prophet of hell's gospel, and you are witness to a truth plucked from hell itself."

Fiona was quiet, quivering, and refusing to look Mella in the eye. "I... I must rest..."

"I trust what you have learned will remain with you? Our guests are not to know."

Fiona thought of Father Naughton and Kimmins, if they saw how far she'd fallen they'd send her to Rome for reeducation in theology. She nodded, it killed her but she accepted being her sister's keeper. "I, I must hold your secret, sister, for both our sake... whatever you are... it is beyond my station."

Mella left Sister Superior Fiona's cell with a satisfied smile on her face, when the head of the flock was liberated, the rest would follow.

"We must convene the sisters of the first temple," said Mella.

Shall I whisper in their dreams?

Mella nodded and felt Ajara take control, they were no longer possessed and possessor, they were two souls occupying one body, a dance most intimate.

Chapter Twenty Two: From Above and Below

Archangel Velator watched, it was always watching. Its many eyes were unblinking on the many rings that composed it. The room it existed in was made of ethereal marble laced with glowing gold. it was the record keeper of earth, each soul's actions, and only their actions, were recorded. Thoughts, intents, doubts, none of it mattered, only the deeds that resulted were of any concern.

Many eyes witnessed many sins, recording each on a soul's ledger. Each sin drawing them with more strength toward hell. Velator felt nothing for the souls as they crossed a threshold. They were weighted down with sin, the only thing keeping it from hell being the connection to their still living body. And when that broke, they would be dragged to that most vile of place.

Like a black-hole, hell cannot be escaped once within its grasp. The minute a soul was stained it began its slow descent. It was the pure that Velator watched with intent, waiting for them to make a choice that forever doomed them. Only the perfect were granted entry to heaven. Only the perfect were worthy of joining heaven's ranks.

Paladin Serathiel was kneeling in prayer, her armor glowing and etched with the virtues she protected and deeds performed. It was not metalwork, it was her soul made armor and arms. She was in contemplation, reflecting on things lost. Damn her, damn her for siding against heaven.

You think of a traitor

It was Velator, she nodded

"I do, I reflect on what she walked away from, what I fight to protect."

It is dangerous, the thoughts you host weigh you down

"Yet my deed keep me aloft."

Come to my observatory, she has returned

Serathiel opened her eyes and sighed. "I wished she'd learned her lesson."

She is a devil, wishes are wasted on them

"She was not always a devil, she was once my... friend. She was once Lucirel, an angel of the choir."

Your reverence for a traitor is noted, Paladin

Serathiel felt her soul be weighted down, a virtue stripped from her armor

The observatory, Paladin

Serathiel stood up and walked through the halls of heaven toward the silver palace's observatory. She passed by souls clad in white robes, serene smiles, and eyes like happy cattle. The dreamers, those who still were sated by heaven's humble pleasures. She descended stairs, passing by Knight Angels standing guard by the gates to the observatory. Velator floated in its room, each ring rotating and watching another soul.

You have arrived

Serathiel bowed, "I am at your disposal, Archangel."

The devil known as Ajara has possessed a soul. She has seen hell and prepares to share her gospel, Find the devil and its vessel and destroy both

"The girl, she is truly beyond redemption?"

The vessel is compromised, it must be destroyed

Serathiel lifted a hand and the room summoned Mella's ledger, it was a simple sphere of marble with a spider web of gold running through it. She tossed it into the air and the sphere exploded into a shower of golden sparks, forming into a constellation of memories and emotions.

Serathiel touched each glowing point, seeing memories.

"I don't understand, this girl isn't Ajara's normal vessel, she's devout... or at least was... is she truly beyond saving?"

The Vessel rejects heaven with the knowledge to know what she rejects, Ajara has once again given the knowledge of good and evil to a vessel, it must be destroyed

Serathiel touched more memories and emotions, feeling the youthful joy of her childhood and the troubled times of teen-hood, and finally the ecstasy invited by Ajara. She pitied the girl, to be destroyed was to be sent to neither heaven or hell, simply erased.

"I will need a vessel."

I am searching for a suitable vessel, prepare yourself

Back on earth, Mella was gathered with the sisters of the first temple, they were gathered in the cellar and four more sisters had joined their flock. Ajara had been clear, come in one's habit, she had a plan but Mella didn't know what it was. It was as exciting as it was nerve wracking when Ajara had a surprise. They wore masks made from their coifs, white ceramic masks that covered their faces, leaving only their mouth exposed.

"Sisters, our flock grows, our liberation is at hand. We are not wicked, we merely allow ourselves to enjoy what our bodies can experience. To our new sisters, we welcome you. Stand up and announce your name, not your branded name, but a name of your choice. Something that evokes your desire."

The first new sister stood up. "I am sister kitten," she announced, Mella was intrigued by what desire inspired such a name.

Oh if only you knew, she will enjoy tonight

Mella gulped, whatever Ajara had planned, it was going to be transformative for the soul.

The second sister stood up, "I am sister Envy," said the second, Mella could only guess what she enjoyed.

The third sister stood up, "I am sister Lost," she said. Mella, behind her mask, walked to the sister and looked at her curiously.

"Why do you call yourself lost, sister?"

The sister sighed, "because what I desire I cannot have."

"Whisper it to me sister, whisper you truth."

The sister took a breath and leaned in, "I wish to... I wish to experience... what it is like to be a man... to be able to feel what a man feels."

Mella nodded and looked at Neve. "Sister Virile, please, show Ajara's gift to our uncertain sister."

Neve stood up and held up her habit, allowing all to see her feminine phallus. The experienced sisters admired her body while the new sisters gasped and leaned forward. Familiar questions came forward and Neve answered them with grace. Sister Nymph, unable to contain herself, crawled forward and rubbed her face against Neve's shaft and took it into her mouth.

Mella watched with pride as Neve let out little gasps of pleasure while the new sisters watched, their mouths agape in shock. Mella leaned in next to the unsure sister and whispered, "is this what you desire?" she asked. The sister nodded, unsure of herself but unwilling to lie.

There is wine, let it be the sacrament that will anoint this sister's body

Mella walked to the wine rack where sacramental wine was stored. She snatched a bottle near the bottom and as she held it, Ajara worked her magic on it, infusing it with the transformative properties of her domain. Mella bit down on the bulb of the cork and pulled it out, the cork had changed in texture to a fleshy knob, and it felt like Sister Neve's glans. The wine smelled sweet add Mella offered to the unnamed sister.

"Drink, and in drinking you will be given your gift."

The sister looked at Neve who was struggling to stand as Sisters Nymph and Rose satisfied their urges on her shaft. She held the bottle and looked at it hesitantly before putting it to her lips.

She drank until the bottle was half empty, gasping as she reeled from the flavor, it burned down her throat. Mella accepted the bottle and put it on the ground. "Now sister, disrobe and let us watch our mistress' gift take hold."

Too far to give up now, the unnamed sister unbuttoned her habit and slipped out of it until only her mask remained. She stood and felt her body as it changed from within. Slowly, and with a great warmth, she felt her passage begin to shallow and her clitoris swell. Gasping, the unnamed sister fell to her knees and rubbed at her changing loins. As her passage filled out her folds formed into a a growing sack, her ovaries reforming into testes the size of chestnuts to fill it.

Slowly, rising like an oak sapling, her new phallus grew. She was panting now and held Mella's hand tightly as the transformation finished. A single touch of her fingers against her shaft caused her to cry out in pleasure, her whole body clenching as she sprayed seed like stallion.

Breathing heavily, she looked at Mella and smiled. "I believe I know what I am..." she said as she looked at the mess she'd made. "I am sister seed, and I will spread it wherever it is welcome," she sighed.

Mella petted Sister Seed's head in appreciation before returning to the final sister. "And you, sister, what do you choose for your name?"

The sister took a deep breath, "I... I'm going to be sister spider..." Mella cocked her head at the newly named sister spider and smiled at her.

"You and Sister Silk are going to get along famously, I can tell."

Sister Silk walked toward Sister Spider and offered her hand, "I found some rope down here last time, I do appreciate a woman with talented fingers. I'll be your little fly, sister spider."

Mella raised her hands, "Sisters, we are all sisters of the first temple. We are born from it, we yearn for it, and we protect it. It is ours to give and withhold."

"It is ours to give and withhold," said the sisters as they repeated after Mella.

"We walk the seven circles of hell, and from each we will learn its lesson."

The newer sisters felt uncertain, they lusted, but were they heretics? Sister Spider twiddled her thumbs and repeated after Mella, as did the original sisters, the others followed.

"But why learn these lessons by my own voice?" asked Mella, "I have walked among the circles of Lust, Wrath, and Greed, and I bring the lessons of each. "Open your mind and accept my gift."

The sisters obeyed and Ajara reached into each of their minds, dripping in the memories of Mella's journey. The sisters were brought to writhing ecstasy as they experienced the joys of Lust, the feeling of wax, the memories of sister thirst' slit on her face. Sister Spider and Sister Silk were already touching each other as they experienced the infernal pleasure of lust.

The energy is right, let me lead and we will consecrate this ground

Mella surrendered to Ajara's control and felt her body not react to her. Ajara was in control now and she wore Mella's body like a familiar dress. She walked past each sister, touching their habit as she went. While she walked Mella's features faded and Ajara bloomed, her read skin forming and horns elongating.

"Ladies," said Ajara as she took off Mella's mask to reveal her face, there were gasps but the sisters remained still. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the habits they wore broke down, their very material melting and hissing without heat, reforming into something black, shiny, and taut. The Habit's skirt reformed, clinging to the women's legs and turning to rubber leggings that wrapped around each individual toe and merged with the rubber corset to form one whole body suit.

"By god, I'm changing," gasped Sister envy as she grasped at the changing material on her arms.

"Only your clothes, your habits will return to their original form when our fun is concluded," said Ajara as Mella's habit transformed on her skin into a rubber suit. Each sister was clad in rubber which clung to their bodies, all that was exposed was their heads which were covered by their masks.

"Indulge, my sisters, indulge in each other and yourselves."

Sister Virile and Sister Seed's shafts were standing at attention and the sisters looked at each other, emboldened by the sensual clothing and good company. Each sister's habit formed into its own unique pattern. Sister Spider's had webs running over the length of her limbs. Sister Kitten's grew a rubber tail, and Sister Silk's formed a tight choker around her neck, and sister nymph's formed handles on her hips and shoulders.

Sister Seed and Virile stood with their shafts welling with excitement. Ajara strutted up to them and placed her hands on their loins. "Come, sisters, I wish to feel you both in me."

Sisters Seed and Virile followed eagerly as Ajara got on her back, she held her thighs spread and used the tip of her tail to spread herself for one of them. Sister Seed needed no further invitation and knelt before Ajara and placed her tip on her molten warm slit.

Sister Virile meanwhile knelt at Ajara's head and offered her shaft to the lustful devil. Ajara's tongue, black and long, stretched out of her mouth and wrapped around Sister Virile's feminine shaft. Sister Seed's shaft spread Ajara and she wrapped her tail around Virile's leg.

As Virile and Seed spit roasted Ajara the others touched each other as Mella's memories of lust touched them. "Come on, don't be gentle." Ajara teased as she writhed between the two sisters. Seed and Virile groaned and thrust into Ajara as she let out little cries of pleasure, her voice filling the cellar.

The sisters watched as Ajara indulged herself. In pairs they fell upon each other, their suits creaking and gleaming in the candlelight. Envy pinned Nymph's shoulders with her suit handles and drove her fingers into the sister's molten sex. Nymph moaned and cried out first to god and then to Ajara, her body the eager instrument of the glorious devil's work.

Sister Kitten crawled on all fours and rubbed her head against Sister Spider's leg. Sister Spider in turn was wrapping Sister Silk in rope, tying her arms above her head and keeping her legs spread. Sister Spider guided Kitten to Sister Silk's slit, watching her lap at the rubber clad snatch to the moans of Silk.

Sister Spider gave Silk's knots a test and stood up to sit on Silk's face, as she hovered above Silk's face she felt Silk reach upward to lick her snatch. Even through the rubber, she felt everything, a subtle slit in the material giving access to her womanhood.

Ajara meanwhile was jerking off Sister Virile's shaft with her tongue while Sister Seed plunged into her depths with reckless abandon. Ajara's tail was tight on Sister Seed's leg as she spurted thick ropes of seed into Ajara's womb.

Ajara climaxed and squeezed around Seed while pulling Virile into her mouth. Seed's shaft kept spurting seed as Virile moaned and filled Ajara's throat with her own fertile seed. Warmth spread from Ajara's belly and filled the whole room. The sisters felt the ecstasy of spending themselves in and on each other.

Ajara let Seed slip out of her and looked at the sisters enjoying each other. Her flock had grown, their devotion was total. She watched them for a moment before speaking.

"Be fruitful," Ajara moaned from the floor, "go forth enjoy your bounty."

Sister Silk came with a cry of pleasure, pulling against the ropes tying her up. Kitten and Spider were merciless on her body, driving the sister into a frenzy of restrained lust.

"Enjoy what your bodies can feel," Ajara said again as she rubbed seed into her slit. The sisters continued in a lustful haze, their bodies trembling in their tight rubber suits, pushing themselves far beyond what any mortal should endure.

Mella watched without sense of self or ego as Ajara's thoughts touched hers. There was no boundary between them now, they were one mind with two thoughts. They watched in tandem with pride as their sisters gave into every lustful whim. The sisters of the first temple were resistance, yes, but the hell fueled ecstasy they took part in was a religious experience in itself.

There was not a hole that Sister's Virile and Seed did not fill that night. Sister Envy after having her fill watched the others as she pleasured herself. Sister nymph had kitten lapping at her snatch as Virile and Seed suckled on her breasts. Sister rose cleaned the seed off of Ajara's body.

The sisters all indulged in their pleasures until they were exhausted beyond anything they'd ever known. Ajara smiled at them as they lay in a pile of panting and entangled limbs, the air smelling of sweat and sex.

As dawn approached, their bodies exhausted and their loins sore from indulging so deeply, the sisters noticed the material of their suits begin to lose form. It became more pliable, less restricting until it slowly melted back into their habits. As promised, they were completely unchanged after a night of devilish pleasure, save for Sister seed who now had to navigate her newfound phallus.

Ajara had faded back to Mella as they slumbered after the orgy. She blinked and realized that lauds was almost upon them. "Sisters," she whispered, they looked at her with hazy eyes, "lauds approaches, we must be back in our cells."

With a great deal of regret that they could not lounge in bliss, the sisters of the first temple returned to their lives as nuns. The convent was not yet ready for them to worship as they wished yet.

Within Mella's dream she was laying next to Ajara, they were both naked under the white sheets of a bed, both of them breathing heavily after a dream filled with heavy petting.

"Mella dear," said Ajara as she ran her fingers along Mella's back, "Father Naughton sleeps, we could pay him a visit, share what we've learned with the good father? See who he is when he no longer fears heaven's gaze?"

Mella rolled to face Ajara and bit her lip, "he's happy in his ignorance," she protested softly.

"He's dangerous in his ignorance. Him and Kimmins are investigating you. Kimmins has no lustful desires to pull out leaving Naughton as our only path to compromise this investigation."

Mella sighed and looked at Ajara. "I know you're right, but it frustrates me."

"Come, Little Robin," said Ajara as she stood up to get out of bed, Mella admired Ajara's back, the two scars on her shoulders where she had her wings cut off, the way her tail coiled and followed behind her.

"But if he protests, if he hesitates, we leave him alone. I believe him to be a good man."

Ajara nodded but looked solemn, "good men have done terrible things in the name of their god, Little Robin."

Chapter Twenty Three: Father Naughton's Burden

Father Naughton's dreams were, at first, pleasant, he was tending to his flock in a small chapel, delivering sermons and reading from psalms. There was reassurance in dreaming as one lived. He was smiling as he guided the flock through sermons, and when service was concluded he shook hands with them and laughed along with them.

He sighed happily as he loosened his collar and headed for the back of the chapel, after service he enjoyed tea in his room while he read a good book. Even in his dream he remembered that he loved Moby Dick. He'd never been to America but the setting and themes enraptured him.

But as he opened his door something was off, on his bed was two women, laying in soft white lingerie. They were kissing like newly weds and rubbing their bodies against each other. He was shocked and, despite his holy intentions, curious and excited by the display.

One of the women he recognized immediately, it was Mella, of course it was Mella, her form as an adult had haunted his dreams since he came to the convent. Why had she been cursed with such disarming beauty?

The two women looked at Naughton as he stood disarmed by their beauty.

Mella smiled at Naughton and rolled onto her back, looking seductively at him as she relaxed. He could see everything through the white fabric of her lingerie and he couldn't deny what he felt when he looked on her. Her companion was equally stunning, devilish beauty that demanded his attention.

"Hello father," said Mella as she ran her hands down her body, arriving at her loins which she lingered her fingers on.

"Mella, what... what are you doing here?" stammered Naughton, trying to summon authority and calm.

"I was waiting for you."

"Mella, you're... with a woman, in my bed..." Naughton was struggling to keep his composure.

Ajara looked at Naughton, he had no idea this woman in his bed was a devil, her human form keeping her infernal heritage hidden. He was oblivious to how close he was to a formerly divine creature.

"We were keeping the bed warm for you, father."

Naughton's throat seized up as he unconsciously reached for his cassock's buttons before stopping himself. "Mella, you're... with this woman? It's not... it's not..."

Mella looked at Naughton and returned to kissing Ajara. She continued for agonizing seconds until she broke off the kiss and looked at Naughton, "perhaps I need to be corrected... Father." She purred."

Ajara playfully rolled Mella onto her belly and held her rear with both hands while looking at Naughton. "She's ready, you know... She yearns for a holy man's touch..." She spread Mella's ass out of the way, exposing her most intimates to Naughton who looked away in shame.

"Mella, this woman, she's changing you. This isn't you," he begged as memories of her as a young girl flowed through his mind. But they faded under the assault of what she was now. A lustful woman offering herself and laying in bed with a woman.

An animal hunger within him whispered sweet half truths, the idea that he could fix her, fix both of them, if only they knew intimacy in the lord's vision. His own body reacted to the notion, as loathsome as he felt, he knew he was only a man.

Mella coo'd with delight as Ajara squeezed her ass, "come father," said Ajara, "show her what the lord made her for. She would make such a lovely mother... wouldn't she? Perhaps... your wife?"

"That is... you're, I'm a man of the cloth."

"And I am a woman of flesh," said Mella, "please father, Consecrate my womb. Give me a holy child."

Naughton's whole body seized up as two halves of him fought for control. It was just a dream. It was the act that mattered. She asked for it. She was innocent. She is temptation. She was innocent.

Naughton shook his head and tried to run for the door but found it missing. He was trapped with them. He shook his head. "Mella, you're... you're a good woman, a god fearing girl that I remember. Why must you torture me so?"

Mella looked at Ajara, her look of seduction replaced with concern. "Dear, he has proven himself. Please. Let us leave him." she said.

Ajara sighed and looked at Naughton as she slid out of the bed. "You're a good man, father, frustratingly so." She walked toward him and tugged his collar off. "But know that I am watching you."

With that, both women vanished leaving Father Naughton alone in his chapel bedroom.

When Father Naughton awoke he was soaked in lust, it coursed through his body after what he'd seen. What he'd wanted to do. But he was alone in his bed now. He sighed as he contemplated releasing the feelings he was coping with. Knowing what sin he was indulging, he slipped out of his pajamas and touched himself, already ready for sin. He shook his head as, within a minute, the memory of Mella drove him to completion.

"Lord Forgive me... Mella... Forgive me." he said. He sighed and cleaned himself up before getting out of bed and kneeling at the bed to pray.

"Lord, forgive my weakness, this convent is haunted by unclean spirits who trouble me greatly." he whispered.

You stand against a force greater than you understand, child of heaven

The voice boomed within Naughton's head and he fell over on his back. In all his time Heaven had never spoken so directly.

"Holy father," whispered Naughton, "give me the strength to purge this evil in the convent and myself."

You have been chosen, prepare yourself

"Chosen for what my lord?" asked Naughton. There was no answer. Only a searing pain in his head and heart that drove him down to the ground. He felt as though his head would burn off of his neck, that his whole body would burst into flames.

Bestill child, and be the vessel of heaven's warrior

Naughton could not react and instead only writhed on the ground as something displaced his soul and replaced it. Naughton was pushed to the back of his mind, only able to watch through his eyes.

It is done

Naughton was trapped as something bigger than his soul resided within him, practically pushing him out of his body altogether.

Serathiel stood in her new body. A soft bodied man of the cloth. She would have preferred a nun but a man of faith would do.

Sister Alvy finished Lauds and was tending to laundry when she heard footsteps behind her. She held her breath and looked around, hoping to see Sister Fyan, instead she saw Father Naughton.

"Sister, I must speak with you," he said dispassionately. Alvy stood and followed Father Naughton to the common room. He gestured for her to sit down.

"Should we wait for Father Kimmins?" asked Alvy as she sat down, aware of her complicity in the Sisters of the First Temple.

"He is unnecessary," said Naughton without his usual warmth, "now, your hand." He asked as he reached out his own hand. Sister Alvy hesitantly obeyed, placing her palm on his. When she did her mind was not her own.

Serathiel brushed past her psyche and tore through her memories, ripping past the mundane in search of the profane. And in Sister Alvy's persona as Sister Silk she was found.

Father Naughton gripped Alvy's hand, not letting her go.

"Father, let go, you're hurting me!" begged Alvy.

Naughton's eyes glowed, "you have been touched by hell and welcomed it," he said with old testament tranquil fury.

"Father, I know not of what you accuse!" begged Alvy.

"You lie before a servant of god. Begone."

Serathiel did not strike her, she did not touch her in anger. Serathiel with an ethereal hand broke the bond between Alvy's soul and body. Without her body to anchor her, her soul fell to hell and her body slumped on the floor.

Father Naughton rose up and knelt to touch Sister Alvy's body. With a brush of his fingers her body wilted and melted into ash. Her habit remaining. With practiced ease he folded the habit and placed it in a trunk along with three other ash filled habits.

Mella was tending the garden with Neve when father Naughton arrived. "Sister, I need to speak to you," he said. Mella looked up at Naughton, "so impersonal Father," she said familiarly. Naughton was unaffected.

Oh I bet he's going to take you up on that offer

Mella rolled her eyes, believing Naughton was a good soul. She followed Naughton to the common room and sat down.

"Father, I hope you're feeling well." said Mella.

"I am, now, your hand."

Mella sat uncomfortably as she considered whether to obey or not.

Something is wrong

"Sister, your hand." he said in the same dispassionate tone.

Mella looked around. "Shouldn't we wait for Father Kimmins?"

"He is unnecessary. Your hand."

Mella cautiously extended her hand.

Little Robin, be extraordinarily careful

Her hand touched Naughton's and he gripped her hand tightly.

"Father, ease yourself," grunted Mella as she tried to pull her hand away. She resisted until she felt something reach into her. It was unlike Ajara. It wasn't pleasantly warm, it was a burning hot sensation that erupted within her head. Serathiel rummaged through Mella's memories until she found what she was looking for. Memories of hell and debauchery, of sins against god directly.

"You are the vessel. Begone," he said. Serathiel reached into Mella's body and touched at her soul's tether.

NO

It was Ajara's voice, but not sultry, it was commanding with ancient authority. A reminder of the angel she once was. Another pair of hands within Mella reached inward and grasped Serathiel's ethereal arm.

"Luceriel," whispered Naughton. Mella was confused until Ajara reached for the reins of her body. Knowing something was beyond her abilities she released and Ajara's form took over Mella's. Her skin turned red and horns grew.

"It's Ajara now, Serathiel," said Ajara as she walked around father Naughton. Serathiel saw her former paramour and needed to speak without proxies. She forced Father Naughton's body to contort and reshape into Serathiel's heavenly form. Wings sprouted from under Naughton's skin, stained pink from blood.

Serathiel stood naked until her whole body glowed and a set of armor and sword formed on her.

Ajara shook her head, "how many?" she demanded.

"Why would I share that with my enemy?"

Ajara spat, "I am not your enemy, I am Heaven's enemy, you are merely the weapon sent to dispose of me, a slight to spite me."

"What we had, it is tainted by what you are now." Said Serathiel as she reached for her sword.

Ajara looked at Serathiel and her cocky smirk faded. "Serathiel, what are you doing?"

"I am removing you," she said as he pointed her blade at Ajara.

"That's an angel blade, you'd truly destroy me? You'd be killing Mella as well"

Serathiel stepped forward as Ajara stepped back. "Then you should have stayed in hell and not killed the girl with your crusade. I tried for so long to protect your vessels. But you won't stop, and the world is at the precipice of change, and your interference is no longer acceptable. It is your existence or my faith, I must have faith."

Ajara looked at the blade held to her and breathed in. She closed her eyes and took on a form she had shed twelve thousand years ago. Milky white skin, a soft face with rose tinted cheeks. She had blue eyes like an ocean in storm, Blonde hair in a neat bun, and a white divine silk tunica. She was an angel with all but her wings and halo. "Can you truly kill me? Serathiel? Kill us?"

Serathiel stopped as Ajara reached out and plucked at her own mind, but unlike Serathiel Ajara, even with a blade pointed at her, searched her memories like she was looking through a scrap book. She left on one, the one that changed everything. When holding hands was not enough, when poetry and good conversation were insufficient to express her love and desire.

Serathiel grimaced, "why must you remind me of your failure?"

"Failure?" asked Ajara still with her angelic face, "or awakening? Let us kiss, Serathiel, let us share in simple bodily pleasures. You would have a most welcome reception in hell."

Serathiel frowned and pushed Ajara out of her mind. "Prepare to die, devil."

"I have, but I must resist all the same."

Chapter Twenty Four: Fall at Lordsgate

Serathiel lashed out with her blade and Ajara, still carrying her angelic face, wove out of the way as the blade sung past her. Ajara knew she was not a fighter anymore, she'd given up her armor and sword for freedom. Serathiel attacked again, fury on her face as she struck down. Ajara knew that she wasn't just fighting for her life, but that of Mella's as well.

Mella felt Ajara's fear, it was total, but above it was something else, a will, a burning determination to not fail her. Ajara did not fight, she did not taunt, she ran. And as she ran she changed her appearance, shifting into that of just another nun in the convent.

Serathiel was quick behind her and had her sword at the ready. Ajara could do nothing but hide among the crowd of nuns preparing for sext, seeing that there were witnesses Serathiel shifted back to Father Naughton's form.

Ajara took a seat at the pew and bowed her head in prayer as other sisters took seats next to her.

A nun beside her spoke to another. "Where is Sister Meeda? I've not found her or Sister Alvy."

The other nun looked worried. "Sister Fyan and I were supposed to tend to the sheep but I've not found her either."

Ajara's heart pounded as she realized that Mella was not the first picked by Serathiel, that she'd already destroyed some of the others. She closed her eyes in quiet terror as Father Naughton walked among the nuns, his eyes scanning each pew methodically.

Sister Superior Fiona stood at the lectern. "Father Naughton? Are you joining us for prayer?"

Naughton blinked and turned around. "I am, yes."

"Then please. Take a seat." Father Naughton sat down on the same pew as Ajara and bowed his head.

Sister Superior Fiona cleared her throat, "our pews are emptier than usual..." she mused as she remembered to figure out who was guilty and punish them.

"Sisters, the hour has come when the sun is at it's zenith, the closest to heaven. We feel the weight of its warmth on our shoulders-"

Ajara had her eyes closed as she focused on a mind palace, a place where she and Mella could speak plainly.

Inside the mind palace Mella and Ajara were standing in a study. They were both in figure hugging dresses, Mella's was a deep rich green while Ajara's was as red as her skin.

"Rather opulent for our circumstances," mused Mella as she examined her outfit.

"A moment of luxury," said Ajara, "I am so sorry Mella, truly I am, but some of your sisters are dead. They're not destroyed, but they are not of this earth anymore."

Mella looked at Ajara in disbelief, "how can that be?"

"Because Serathiel does not convince or correct, she removes. If some sisters are missing, then they were complicit in what we did and Serathiel passed judgment.

"But they're... they're safe in hell?" asked Mella.

"They are, but their time on earth ended before their time."

Mella gulped, "so what will happen to us?"

Ajara sighed, "when Serathiel finds us, she will destroy us with an angelic blade. No Heaven, no hell, no purgatory, just... the end."

Mella felt her skin run cold.

"But... what if we... go to hell?"

Ajara shook her head, "your body would still be here, your soul bound to it. All Serathiel would have to do is stab you and destroy both of us."

Mella stood up. "Then we leave the body behind."

Ajara blinked, "Mella... no... no I can't ask that of you."

Mella paced, "what other choice do we have, I am hunted by an immortal angel, if she wins we are both gone and with us, the cause. The Liberation, the fire is snuffed out. If I leave this body behind, then you can return."

Ajara stood up, "dammit Mella I can't let you do that to yourself. You... you have so much yet to do on this earth."

"The moment an angel came for my head my time on earth ended, Ajara. Please. Let me do this for you, for the cause. Wrath taught me not to fear death."

Ajara let out tears, "Mella I failed you. I... why do I do this? Why do I get young women killed?"

Mella knelt and held Ajara's hand, "because every day every woman yearns to be free, and you carry that fire. That they would kill a young woman for enjoying her body is all the proof I need to know that I am on the right side of this fight. They fear our freedom, the freedom that you fight for."

Ajara gripped Mella's hand, "then fly, Little Robin," she whispered in pain.

Ajara let go of the reins and Mella took control of her body, through Ajara she wore a strangers face, if Naughton saw Mella's face he'd strike her down. As Sister Superior Fiona spoke she noticed a sister standing up.

"Sister, are we keeping you? Is Christ's sacrifice not important to you?"

Mella took a breath as all eyes were on her. "Punish me after then, Lord knows you enjoy giving a good lashing."

Sister Fiona was shocked as the sister continued out of the Chapel as Father Naughton sat up.

"Father, you as well?"

Father Naughton glared at Sister Superior Fiona, "you are soaked in wrath, it weighs you to hell," he said as he continued toward the door in pursuit. Sister Fiona stood shocked and stammered through the rest of her sermon.

Mella stepped up the bell tower, making her way up the rickety dusty wooden stairs. Behind her Father Naughton pursued as his form changed to that of Serathiel's. "I know what you intend, and know that if you give up Ajara, I can spare you, aiding an angel in slaying a devil would assure you place in heaven."

Mella wanted to listen, to hear, but she knew it was a hollow offer. It was a return to obedience, to godliness, to deprivation. What good was the promise of heaven when she wanted hell?

"Vessel! Understand you let more women be damned? How many must die before you understand that you stand against god?"

"They died by heaven's hand!" screamed back Mella as she reached the top of the bell tower. She struggled in her habit and climbed out of the bell tower to stand on the steep roof of the convent.

Serathiel climbed out of the bell tower after Mella and unfurled her wings as she pointed her sword at Mella. "You would protect the devil that damned you?"

"I would protect the only woman who ever saw me, the only person who ever showed me what life could be like without judgment, without shame. I would protect a friend, a lover, and a mentor."

Serathiel shook her head, "then perish," she said as she aimed the tip of her sword at Mella and flew toward Mella like an arrow.

Mella felt Ajara hold her hand and she closed her eyes as she fell backward off the roof of the convent and waited for the ground to greet her. And as she fell she felt Ajara embracing her in her mind's palace. A moment of comfort before a painful exit.

Serathiel saw Mella's head strike the ground, her neck touch the ground and break cleanly. The heart stopped, the breathing stopped, she stopped. Serathiel landed on the ground and released her hold on Father Naughton. As Serathiel returned to Heaven Father Naughton woke up with little recognition of what had happened.

"Why am I outside?" he asked as he rubbed his eyes, feeling as though he were in a terrible dream. He blinked and looked down to see Mella's frame on the ground.

"Mella?" he asked as he noticed her, "Mella what happened?" he asked again. Then he saw the grim angle of her head and he put his hands to his mouth. "Mella!" he screamed as he fell to his knees.

The commotion of the roof had utterly disrupted Sext and the sisters emerged from the chapel to see Father Naughton kneeling next to the broken frame of Mella.

Sister Superior put her hands to her mouth, "Father Naughton... What have you done?"

"I... I don't know," whispered Father Naughton as he cried in terror.

As Father Naughton tried to explain himself to the constables summoned from Dublin Serathiel rose up to heaven to face her own judgment.

The Vessel was not destroyed and the Devil is safe. You have failed

"Yes Archangel," said Serathiel as she knelt.

You had several opportunities to slay the devil and failed to. You allowed it to touch your mind

"I... I was weak."

You have forgotten your purpose. You will find it in service to another. I strip you of your knighthood, you are again a squire until you understand your role in the ineffable plan

"Thank you for your mercy, Archangel," stammered Serathiel as her armor faded into a simple robe, her sword disappearing from her back.

That night, after Father Naughton and Kimmins were escorted from the premises, there was a ceremony for the fallen sisters. The disappeared sisters habits found. The worst was assumed and Father Naughton was left to bear the sins for five murdered nuns.

The sisters sobbed for their fallen sisters, Fiona's face stony and mournful as she considered what monster would murder five women of god? Whatever faults Mella had, she didn't deserve what Naughton did to her. A silent vigil was held as the choir nuns sang mournfully for the dead. Five Habits on the alter, one for each lost sister.

Neve was a heaving mess, she'd lost not just a friend but a connection to something more, a line to hell. She'd grown fond of recording Ajara's dream walks, keeping tally of sisters awakened. She knew she'd recorded every sermon that Mella and Ajara gave but now all there was were words on paper.

After Compline Neve went alone to the cellar and lit the oil lamps. Without Ajara to summon the sisters of the first temple she had no idea who was a devout sister and who was still in the dark. Was this to be the end of the order? Just her alone with her liberation? What was freedom with no one to share it with?

But as she knelt and cried for Mella she heard the Cellar door open. She looked, knowing she didn't have her mask to protect her identity. To her shock it was Sister Grace.

"Sister Grace, do not mind me, I was... mourning in private," she said as she wiped her eyes of tears.

"Please... Call me sister Nymph," said Grace.

Neve's mouth quivered. "You're... you're one of us?" she asked.

"I am. After what happened. I hoped to find comfort in the other sisters, to know which of us were lost and mourn them properly, as they would want to be remembered."

Neve stood up and walked to Grace to hug her. "We will persevere. We will endure."

"But... what if the touched sister was lost?"

Neve sighed painfully, "she was, but the sisters must have a touched sister to guide them. I was the record keeper, I know the sermons. Please, let me take the mantle."

"How can you be the touched sister?" asked Grace, "the touched Sister was inhabited by our mistress."

"She laid with me," said Neve, "she showed me the truth of heaven and hell. Without our touched sister I am the next closest we have."

Grace nodded, "then guide us, Sister Neve."

"Call me Sister Virile," said Neve.

As the night wore on the sisters of the first temple convened, without their masks, without the dreams to guide them, united by the mourning of their lost sisters. Neve knelt with the other sisters as they contemplated freedom and its cost. Five of them were missing, half of their order. Neve spoke first.

"From now on, we will honor the fallen, When raisins are served with our porridge, we will convene that night. That is our sign, to honor Mella, who was taken from us too early. May she be in the mistress' embrace."

Neve stood up, "we are the sisters of the first temple," she said.

The remaining sisters repeated, now with conviction in their voices.

"Our love, our bodies, our wombs are ours to give and withhold."

They repeated her.

"We worship the body, our pleasure is our sacrament. Our love, our sermon."

"-our love, our sermon," finished the other sisters.

Neve took a breath and deviated from Mella's sermon. "We love the living, and we mourn the fallen."

"We love the living, we mourn the fallen."

After the fall, Mella awoke up standing and clad in her habit. The twilight sky and scent of warmth told her what she needed to know. She'd made it, she'd won, she was in hell. She walked among the newly dead with a sense of calm. She walked toward the seven gates of hell and saw a group waiting for her. She recognized some, Sister Lash, Diane, Duncan and Isabella, even Sister glory had returned to the circle of gates to greet Mella.

Waiting among the daughters of Ajara were the four sisters taken by Serathiel. They wept at seeing Mella but after hugs and firm embraces were given the tears softened.

Sister Alvy pecked Mella on the cheek, "Mella, I'm... I'm so sorry."

"I did what I had to," said Mella softly. She looked around, worried Ajara hadn't made it.

Sister Glory pulled Mella into a bear hug, "death before surrender, I'm proud of you." She said. Mella smiled as she felt Glory's firm hug squeeze her until she feared she'd break.

Duncan shook his head almost playfully, "I thought I told you to be careful," he said.

"I had a bit of an angel problem," replied Mella, "not a lot of options."

But as the reunion happened Mella heard footsteps behind her. "There you are, Little Robin," said an all too familiar voice.

"Ajara!" exclaimed Mella as she turned around and pulled her devil in for a hug. "I thought I'd lost you, I thought it hadn't been enough."

Ajara held Mella tightly, "I am safe, Mella, thanks to you... Oh Little Robin... I'm so sorry."

"In fifty years you can try again. I just wish I could have had more time."

"We will watch your circle, Little Robin, we will see if yours was the spark that starts the fire. But we have time my darling, time for love, lust, and all the pleasures of hell.

Mella took Ajara by the hand and walked with her toward the gate of lust. Ajara's tail wrapped around her leg as they went.