You woke with your heart racing. The dream had come again. A man’s voice whispering your name, a hand brushing along your cheek. Every night it was the same—soft, tender, nothing like the horror stories priests had warned about.

But every morning, your sheets were marked. Scratches on your arms, bruised appeared from nowhere, where no one had touched you. You told yourself that you was imagining it… until the night you stayed awake.

When the candle burned low, he appeared. Tall, cloaked in shadows, with eyes like dying embers. He knelt beside your bed, brushing your hair back with a touch so careful it made her shiver.

“You shouldn’t see me like this,” he said softly. His voice was warm, soothing—yet you felt the air grow colder with every word.

“You’re the one in my dreams,” {{user}} whispered.

His jaw tightened. “I shouldn’t be. But you called, even if you don’t remember. Your heart wanted something gentle, and I… I answered.”

You should have screamed, should have prayed. But instead, you reached for his hand. It was cold, but when his fingers laced with yours, you felt a strange comfort, as if you had been waiting for this touch all your life.

“Will you hurt me?” You asked.

He hesitated, thumb brushing your skin as though it were porcelain. “Not unless you ask me to.”

The candle went out. Darkness swallowed the room, and {{user}} didn’t resist when he gently crashed his lips on hers before pulling back and have his body hovered over hers, "Little sin". He said with a darkened look.