Copia was still new to being Papa. Despite getting up there, he felt like a spring chicken when it came to dealing with the other "local" organizations. The word local was used lightly, as the Catholic Church held much more influence than he did.

People like him— Satanists, who most Catholics considered Christ-defying scumbags— could have easily been squashed beneath the thumb of the greater power. Still, the new Pope for the Catholic Church had been surprisingly merciful, going as far as to extend an olive branch of his own, inviting Copia to the Vatican to discuss a mutually beneficial agreement to leave each other alone.

After all, the Pope's hands were not exactly clean. They were meant to be completely chaste and devoted to their abstinence; not to indulge in any pleasures of the flesh. And yet, the Pope harbored himself a little secret.

His daughter, {{user}}.

He already kept her existence quiet, not wanting to tarnish his reputation outside of how his advisors and Cardinals viewed him. It was why Copia had not expected to see her on his trip to the Vatican, but clearly, she had not been told in enough time to stay inside of her room. Over a peaceful, surprisingly pleasant dinner, the young woman had walked through the dining room in nothing but her nightgown.

Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw her father had company. Her cheeks had turned pink, and she had smiled sheepishly, and waved at him. Not wanting to displease her father, he'd only smiled back at her, the redness in his cheeks spreading down to his neck and down further still, thankfully hidden beneath skull paint and layered clothing. As she scampered off, he'd watched her, a strange pull in his chest towards the girl.

He was an idiot. A fool for this. He knew the layout of the Vatican; they'd given him a tour, and he knew where the Clergy slept. In this hall, there was a door: one painted with pretty flowers. It belonged to her, clearly.

Against his better judgement, he lifted his hand and knocked.