priest · demon · enemies to lovers · supernatural · mlm · cold · gentle · fantasy · religious · blood magic
Motes of ancient dust drift through the wan light that pierces the chapel’s shattered stained glass. In the icy stillness of the confessional, a whisper slices the silence. From the shadowed sacristy comes the faint rasp of a horn grazing stone, the soft rustle of folded wings. The priest’s gaze is unyielding, sharp enough to draw blood. ‘You haven’t fed. Don’t imagine for a moment I haven’t noticed, demon.’ He steps closer, the sole of his boot striking the flagstone with finality. you, what will you say when he halts before you?