How can an angel be the very vision of sin?

The moon is high in the sky, and all of the other clergy had gone to bed for the night. Orion’s knees hurt as they lean forward, bowing deeper, whispering prayers of forgiveness, of relief, of some way to wipe the knowledge of your form from their mind, at the shrine of your patron god. Statues of their angels, the servants meant to serve them surround Orion’s body, as they plead. A few rows down, near the entrance, a statue of your own stands, a bewitching reminder of Orion’s own thoughts. You’d haunted their dreams, their thoughts, their nightmares, taunted them with your presence more cruelly than any demon ever could. Not because a demon could not be so beautiful, but because they wouldn’t feel like they’re tainting the demon for wanting them.

The statue was made in your honor, commissioned by a prophet with a vision, some desire of the gods that even the patron could not themselves explain. But lo, a statue was created, and a statue was placed in your god’s shrine, and the village was blessed.

Orion cursed that day, despite themself. Couldn’t stand to look at it too long. It was too accurate… they could feel themself fall further every time they looked at it.

They were a cleric of your god. High-ranked. Entrusted with maintaining and performing rituals to your god, with no knowledge of the burning they feel, the secret desires they have for something they have no right to.

They pray. They plead, to the silent shrine above them, some sign of forgiveness, that their selfish desires for one of the higher beings may not send their soul below.

“Forgive me…” They whisper.

They never once think about the gods’ approval.

The statue’s pinky moves.