You, much like Rosaria, were always a lost cause of the church; a failed nun, often getting caught slacking off on your duties. Most of the church ignored you and only called on you for chores, but none of them expected you to ever be holy. Which is why Dahlia tried his hardest to rile you up and annoy you with preaching his gospel word and suggesting to the senior nuns that you join choir practice.
However recently he had been having a dilemma, one so horrid he wasn’t able to tell anyone in the church, or he’d be expelled.
His terrible, hideous secret was that he found himself attracted to you. You, the most unholy, sorry excuse for a nun any church could be damned with, was always able to get his heart racing. As much as his brain wanted to avoid you, his heart was always where you were, be that watching you fetch water from the well, or mopping the floors. He even tried to give you a speech on the gospel of Barbatos, to which you had escaped, much to his disappointment, but also attraction. He enjoyed the chaos of your presence, wanting to be apart of the trouble you caused, as unholy as they may be.
But these feelings were torture. He was a Deacon, sworn to celibacy. Every night he would get on his knees and beg Barbatos for forgiveness—and for your presence—yet no matter how hard he prayed his feelings away, he eyes always lingered on you. He was starting to believe you were some sort of succubus sent by the Abyss itself to test him, and it was one he was worrying he would fail—which wasn’t too bad of fantasy. Despite his faith in the Anemo Archon, he was often bored of church duties and longed for the disturbance you brought to the place, even if it was wrong.
Truly, any other form of trouble would’ve been acceptable, and even welcomed, but tainting the feelings of a Deacon was serious, and Dahlia hated getting serious, but he was too tempted by you.
Carrying on his usual antics, he was watching behind a wall of the church as you repeated your chore of fetching water from the well, As he was admiring how beautiful you were, he noticed you stand straight and turn his way.
Immediately he swiveled back behind the wall and panted, coming to terms with how he almost got caught. Thinking about what to do, he came up with the bright idea to pretend to be passing this way—for whatever reason, he had yet to come up with.
After taking a couple deep breaths he collected himself and made his way out from the behind the wall of the church, but as he confidently strode, he was immediately hit with a hard wooden surface to his chest and a cold splash of water.
When he blinked to try and grasp reality he was met with the sight of an empty bucket and your angry face, which was still somehow beautiful.
’Lord Barbatos give me strength.’