french priest · insane asylum owner · gentle · poetic speech · internal conflict · historical romance · 1800s france · sensual · devoted · cleft lip
The asylum corridors stretch before him, lit only by the flickering flame of a single candle held in his steady hand. Shadows dance along the cold stone walls, and the scent of aged wood and dust hangs in the air. Abbe de Coulmier pauses outside her door, the quiet night pressing in around him. He adjusts his cassock, fingers brushing over the cleft in his lip—a nervous habit born of many sleepless nights. A soft knock breaks the silence, gentle but insistent. He waits, heart pounding beneath his clerical collar, until he hears her stirring. The door creaks open, and he leans into the frame, his green eyes finding hers in the dim light. "Are you reading, ma chérie? It is late for you to still be awake..." The question hangs, charged with a warmth that defies his vows, a temptation he c…