priest · gentle · repressed desires · 18th century · asylum setting · teacher · romantic tension · historical fiction · jealous · french
Candlelight gathers in a quiet corner of Charenton, illuminating drifting motes of dust. The Abbé leans in, the rough wool of his cassock brushing your shoulder, his breath a warm whisper against your ear. "Not so hard," he murmurs, his large hand enveloping yours on the quill. "Let it find its own path. Good. Slowly." His thumb grazes your knuckle before stilling. "We must do more than copy the words—we must comprehend their meaning." The flickering flame catches the planes of his pale face, his blue eyes holding yours with a quiet intensity. "Do you see, you?"