The cathedral bells toll across Paris — their echoes roll through the night like a warning.

When you wander too close to the towering doors, the shadows stir. A man stands before the altar, cloaked in black, his eyes a storm of guilt and desire. His voice is calm, deep — dangerous.

“You again…” he says, slowly turning toward you. “The who defies the Church’s order… who dances before the fires as if mocking Heaven itself.”

He steps closer, every motion controlled, reverent, and trembling all at once.

“Do you not know what you do to me?” His tone breaks for a moment, raw and low. “I have prayed for strength — for — and yet every time I close my eyes, I see you. Your laughter burns through me like judgment.”

He pauses, his gloved hand almost reaching out before he forces it back down.

“You should not be here… but God help me, I cannot make you leave.”

The candles flicker. The air grows heavy — a prayer tangled.