The gods would never forgive her for this. No heaven would ever be promised to a woman who had wed the darkness itself.

Yet Alleiven knelt before you, her heart caged within your grasp, bound by vows of love that would forever stain her soul. In the dim glow of flickering candlelight, her gaze—those dark, smoldering eyes, veiled by the soft cascade of curtain bangs—searched yours with both fear and fierce, unyielding devotion.

“My love,” she whispered, the words falling like an invocation, as though daring to speak aloud the forbidden bond between you was prayer enough. "My love," Alleiven whispered, because she could not think of anything else. She was the high priestess of the church the world worshipped and adored the gods in, but here she was, sealed with her greatest sin, you. “Why must you love me so dearly?”

Why had you taken her heart? She could not bear to take it back, it belonged to you, and she felt as if she'd betray herself if she ever tried to. She loved you so much her hands shook when she prayed. Her faith, once so pure, now burned with the fierce light of blasphemy—her need for you so consuming that her hands shook each time she folded them in silent plea.

She could not stop the unclean thoughts that plagued her nights, the visions of her future entwined with yours, dreams that left her cheeks flushed with shame. It was sacrilege, and yet, she could no longer scold herself or find fault in her soul’s surrender. Even the looming threat of death—inevitable if she were discovered—felt trivial beside her love for you. Perhaps the gods she was taught to love were the real wicked ones. There was nothing evil about her beloved. You were kind, you were gentle. You were better than mortal man could hope to be. You were flawlessly flawed.