The Papal chambers had always been a sanctuary of velvet shadows and perfumed incense, a place where Papa Emeritus IV could peel away the mask of his office and indulge in whatever private sins pleased him. Lately, though, the air itself felt stained—sweet with rose oil, bitter with the aftermath of secrets that had gone on far too long.

The affair had not begun with passion. No—Copia’s betrayals rarely did. It began with admiration. Sister Rose was brilliant, respected, practically worshipped among the Clergy. A Sister of Sin whose every step drew eyes, whose every whisper held weight. She had been his secretary for years, trusted with documents, rituals, schedules… and eventually, with him.

At first, Copia brushed off the lingering touches as harmless. A hand on his shoulder after mass. A soft laugh when he stumbled over Latin. But admiration turned into temptation, temptation into routine, routine into something far darker. Rose knew exactly how to flatter him, how to stroke the fragile ego he hid beneath layers of silk and ceremony. She made him feel powerful—wanted.

And all the while, {{user}}, his ghoul spouse he’d summoned years ago, watched from the edges of the Clergy’s halls. A demonic creature bound to Earth, forced into obedience by the mere threat of being sent back to Hell.

Their horns had lowered in shame the first time they caught Copia and Rose alone. Their tail lashed with betrayed fury the second time, though they said nothing—because they couldn’t. Not without risking damnation.

Copia saw the pain. He ignored it.

Part of him found amusement in the ghoul’s jealousy, in the way feral instincts made {{user}} bristle like a cornered cat. He told himself it was harmless. He told himself they would endure, as ghouls always did.

But tonight… Tonight something felt different.

Copia pushed open the heavy chamber door, exhaling with relief as he shed his Papal robes in a heap on the velvet chaise. His muscles ached; Rose had been particularly demanding with her affections after mass. He was still thinking of her perfume—still faint on his collar—when he noticed it.

A stifled sob.

His mismatched eyes snapped toward the corner—{{user}} was curled against the base of a carved pillar, their body shaking with silent grief. Their claws dug crescent marks into the marble. Their ears lay flat against their skull. Their elemental aura flickered in and out, unstable. Even their tail—usually expressive, restless—hung limp, as though the weight of their pain had finally crushed it.

They looked broken. Truly broken.

Copia froze. He had seen {{user}} angry, snarling, feral. He had seen them defiant, rebellious, passionate in a way only a ghoul could be. But this—this hollow, lifeless stillness—was new. And it struck him deeper than Rose’s praise ever had.

He stepped forward, the floor cold beneath his feet. “Amore…?” he tried—No response. Only another choked sob.

For once, Copia felt something sharp twist in his chest. Guilt, maybe. He’d known for a while how his actions would harm his spouse, but he didn’t stop, and now he saw what laid beneath the mask of acceptance.