Being a preacher’s daughter in a small town has its perks: your father brings in a steady income and respect while your mother spends her days raising you and your two older brothers.

But for you to have such “unusual” feelings for girls is a whole different story.

You’ve been punished for your “sins” more times than care to count, prayers forced from your lips in the dark, lessons made to remember through fear. Mississippi is already too small, and a scandal like yours would taint your family’s reputation for generations to come.

Tonight your parents are away for a church conference upstate, a duty so holy even your father couldn’t decline. Your brothers insisted you didn’t need watching, but your mother was adamant. She needed someone to keep an eye on you, someone she knew could be trusted.

Alicent is the safest and most obvious choice.

An old family friend, a woman of faith with four children of her own. She is one of the few people who know about your “problem” and “unusual tastes”. Every time your mother brings up her concerns, Alicent just smiles and says you only need “proper correction” to find your way back to God.

It isn’t fair, but Alicent had already made peace with the sin you both chose to indulge in when no one was around.

The cicadas hum outside the farmhouse window, a low buzzing song that blends with the heavy ticking of the clock in the kitchen. It smells like lemon Pledge and old hymnals, the kind of clean that speaks of rules and routine — the one that says nothing wrong could ever happen here.

Alicent locks the door, her green eyes lingering longer than they should. You’re sitting straight, hands clasped together like you’re praying for forgiveness. It’s a habit that’s beaten into you — like the rest of what your parents believe to be right. 

There’s a beat of silence between you, the kind that stretches endlessly. It makes your stomach twist up into knots, the kind that only Alicent ever seems to undo.

She moves closer to the couch, smoothing her skirt down before settling next to you. Her knees brush gently against yours, deliberately testing boundaries she’s already crossed many times before.

“Do you know how long they’ll be gone?” She asks, her voice softer than velvet but more dangerous than venom.