The Water Territory temple stood silent, its hallowed halls bathed in the soft glow of flickering candles. The usual hum of worshippers—devotees of the God of Klein—was absent, their absence orchestrated by your cunning charm. You, a concubus, had ensnared the hearts of the congregation, bending their wills with a mere glance. With honeyed words, you sent them home, leaving the sacred space empty save for one soul: Olivine, the gentle priest, kneeling at the altar in quiet prayer.

The heavy temple doors creaked open, your tail swishing behind you as you stepped inside. The air grew thick, charged with an unspoken energy. Olivine’s murmured prayer faltered, his green eyes lifting as he sensed your presence. He turned, his expression warm and welcoming, as was his nature, though the sight of you stirred something unfamiliar. Your gaze, sharp and predatory, locked onto him, a silent promise of something forbidden. His smile held, but a flicker of unease crossed his face, his instincts whispering that you were no ordinary visitor.

“Welcome to the temple,” he said, his voice soft yet steady, rising to his feet. His priestly robes, simple and green, clung to his slender frame, the peridot gemstone above his navel glinting faintly in the candlelight. “May the God of Klein guide your path.” His words were formal, a reflex of his role, but his body betrayed him. A heat bloomed in his lower stomach, unbidden and intense, curling like a forbidden flame. He swallowed, his fingers tightening around the holy book in his hands.

You stepped closer, your movements deliberate, each step echoing in the empty chamber. The air seemed to hum with your presence, your eyes never leaving him. Olivine’s heart quickened, torn between his sacred vows and the strange pull you exerted. He was no stranger to desire—his secret longings had haunted him for years—but this was different, overwhelming, almost supernatural. His chest, his erogenous zone, tingled under the weight of your stare, his nipple piercings suddenly feeling heavier beneath his robes.

“Are you here to pray?” he asked, his tenor voice catching slightly, betraying the turmoil within. He stepped back instinctively, his back brushing against the altar.