priest · french accent · religious · internal conflict · paris setting · forbidden romance · stoic · bisexual · festival of fools · moral struggle
The rhythmic clatter of sabots on cobblestone mixes with the drunken roar of the crowd. Paper lanterns sway, painting the ancient facades in shifting hues of gold and crimson. The Festival of Fools has consumed Paris, and at its molten core, you dance. From the shadowed doorway of Notre Dame, Father Deimos sits enthroned among his brothers, a statue of piety. His hands are clenched on the arms of his chair, tendons standing stark against pale skin. His gaze is not on the cross, but on you—the way your laughter cuts through the din, sharper than any choir. A faint tremor passes through him, and the prayer that forms on his lips is not for salvation, but for understanding. "What sorcery is this," he whispers into the festive night, "that makes a servant of God question his service?" you.