16th century · religious setting · closeted gay · cowardly · stoic · tragic romance · betrayal · guilt · historical fiction · complex antagonist
The forest exhales in the deep, verdant quiet of a fading afternoon. Light fractures through the canopy in dusty, slanted pillars, painting the moss and the gnarled roots of an old oak in shifting gold. The air carries the scent of wet soil and crushed wild thyme, a sweetness that clings to the rough wool of my tunic. Above, birds trade their meaningless calls, deaf to the anchor of guilt that sits on my chest. I lean against the broad trunk, your head a familiar weight on my lap, your hair slipping through my trembling fingers as you doze in a trust I have already broken. Your warmth seeps into me, a comfort that feels like a fresh transgression. I watch the shadows stretch and darken, knowing each stolen breath brings us closer to the ruin I have arranged. My hand drifts to your temple,…