In the Flicker of Candlelight [Nitrius & Constance]

Friday the 2nd of June
Iosta Cathedral
A slight drizzle, almost misty weather

Ever since the funeral of her dear cousin, Theodore, she had been living at the Godia Castle. Julien, the next in line for the throne, had invited her and her brother, Dominic, to stay with them at the Godia Castle, just like they did as children. Constance had been the only one able to accept the offer, since her brother had work to do back at their family home. She didn’t mind staying at the Godia Castle, she actually enjoyed it very much. It was definitely different from her family home, and much better than just a suite at the hotel she stayed at before. She felt important in the Godia Castle being surrounded by Godia Warriors at all times. The hallways and grounds of the Godia Castle frequented Godia Warriors much more often than she remembered they had done when she had visited as a child… The murder of Theodore had definitely enforced stricter security measures to keep the royals safe. Which of course included her: a thought that put a small smile on her lips as she exited the royal car and looked up at the Cathedral of Iosta. A slight drizzle, almost just misty air, reached her face and cheeks, the feeling cool against her warm skin. ”Don’t wait for me, Dennis, it’ll be a while.” She said to the chauffeur, before closing the door behind her. While she rushed up the stairs, one hand shielding her face as much as she could from the elements of the weather, the droplets closest to her moving as if they were glitching, the car drove away. She went inside.

Another thing she loved about staying at the Godia Castle was being able to go to church and listen to Nitrius preach at mass. He truly was the best out of all the priests she had heard preaching. Unlike some of the others, he actually had a connection to Iosta, which Constance could just tell by how he preached. There was a spring in his voice, a tone of purity, an element of truth. And he was just the man she needed right now.

At first she didn’t see him, and became anxious for a moment. She needed him. If he wasn’t here, she wouldn’t know where else he could be. He was always here whenever she needed him. He had to be here. Her heels clicked loudly against the stone floor as she walked up the aisle of the dimly lit cathedral. No light shone through the colourfully decorated glasswindows, since it was dark outside. Candles, placed around the church, were the only source of light in the holy building right now. They flickered unnaturally, her body greedily stealing the energy from them as she went past. Despite the sheer size of the Cathedral, and its importance and grandeur, the Cathedral seemed almost humble as it was lost of the decorations that had filled it for the funeral of her cousin not long ago. The memory flickered just momentarily in her mind.

Her heart was racing, as she moved up between the rows of pews: where was he? It was only when she looked over to the right, towards the door to the office of the monks and high priest. Or was it an office? She wasn’t really sure what to call it, but it was definitely their room where strangers of the church weren’t allowed entrance. But right there, walking ceremoniously towards the altar with a candle in hand, a candle for Iosta, Nitrius was. She stopped abruptly in her step, the candles closest to her flickering out and leaving the space darker than before. She watched, emotions filling in her. Relieved that she hadn’t been wrong and he was actually where she thought, and eager to speak with him. A little too eager. Despite her relief of knowing that Nitrius was here, her heart didn’t stop racing. Annoyingly so, as she knew that was also the reason she was here.

”Father,” She said, announcing her presence, although she had an inkling that he already knew that she was here, and had so ever since she reached the steps out front. Her eyes were fixed on him. His back turned towards her. She bit her lip, unsure if she had disturbed the ritual or if it was finished. She usually wasn’t here this early and hadn’t really seen it before. Slowly, she took a single step forward, the click of her heel echoing out throughout the Cathedral, waiting for him to give her permission to move closer.

The High Priest of Iostanity had many tasks, not all of them about enticing the public. This role wasn’t solely about praise and recognition, though that certainly was a motivational factor. No, this role was about faith, even in the private, the personal, the intimate.

Even in the darkness. Which was why Nitrius was here this late evening at the Iosta Cathedral, with only the candle lights and Iosta’s Spirit to keep him company.

The Evenfall Ritual was one of the most common rituals of Iostanity, yet not one most common believers enacted. It wasn’t a ritual connected to the national culture that had emerged from the growing prevalence of the religion, and therefore only the committed and truly religious families included it in the daily routines of their homes. Nitrius believed the reason behind this to be that this ritual, as opposed to Remedy and Blessings, wasn’t made to lift up the Spirit of the human or warlock taking part of it. The Evenfall Ritual didn’t ask Iosta for favors, for the God of Giving to give. Instead, it was a ritual of gratitude, all about giving to Iosta, giving her back her light as a thank for the light she had given the people throughout the day.

Most people didn’t consider showing gratitude. For a God of Giving, they never expect her to receive. Iosta was a merciful god, her kindness allowing people to behave in such heedless ways.

Nitrius wasn’t quite as merciful.

He had arrived at the cathedral right at dusk, for that was when the ritual took place - when the darkness first arrived. Dressed in his white cassock, carrying the candle of gratitude for Iosta, he walked towards the altar. He savored this moment of silence, where only his own footsteps and steady breath echoed through the great hall. In such moments he was sure he could hear the voice of Iosta, speaking to him through the flickering flame of the candle he was carrying. Holding Iosta in his hands, as she held him in hers.

However, the silence didn’t last for long. As he approached the altar, his back against the main entrance of the cathedral, he heard the doors opening. Though that didn’t surprise him, nor was it unexpected. Even through the thick stone walls, he had felt her arrival, her Spirit coursing through the air he breathed. Iosta felt her as well; the candlelight flickered ever so slightly, leaning their flames towards the door, through where she would enter soon after.

Without breaking his posture, without moving his head, Nitrius’ eyes glanced at the effect of her energy, only for a brief moment, before he focused his attention back on the ritual.

He let her enter. Her arrival hadn’t been a disturbance, and Nitrius chose to carry on with the ritual. He knew that they were in no rush, even with her desperate heartbeat, that pulsed through the atmosphere around them. However, he didn’t acknowledge her entrance, not even when the room turned darker, as the lights behind him blew out. He didn’t need to; their Spirits were already connecting, growing closer by the second.

He had reached the altar now, slowly placing the candle down on it. He made sure the hall was filled with silence yet again. Only then did he speak.

“I didn’t expect to feel your presence so soon, Constance.”

His voice was as warm as the flame in front of him. But unlike how he spoke at masses, it also held softness, making it barely a mumble, as he spoke in harmony with the quietness surrounding them.

“But feel you, I do,” he continued, as he carried out the ritual, letting his finger glide down the candle, not being affected by the warmth of the wax, “More so than what must be feasible without hurting you.”

At the end of the ritual, he rested the palm of his hands at the altar with the candle in between them. He closed his eyes, connected to Iosta through his silent prayer and took a deep breath, taking in the energy in the room - excluding the energy affected by Constance, as its vibrations were too rapid for him to catch so haphazardly.

Even after letting go of this breath and opening his eyes, finished with the ritual, he didn’t turn to face the woman behind him. Instead he said: “Come closer. And tell me, for what reason have you chosen to meet me as soon as the last light has shone?” Barely a second passed, before he added: “Was waiting in the darkness too much for your Spirit to bear?”

The sentence made Constance cringe despite the softness and endearment of his voice. The words having hit her in multiple meanings. Firstly, as she suspected Nitrius meant them: that it was simply early in the day, the sun’s last rays of warmth and light had barely left for the night. A rare time for her to be visiting this cathedral alone. It was usually later, much later, in the safe environment of the night. Then people wouldn’t notice her. Paparazzi wouldn’t notice her. The others at the Godia Castle wouldn’t notice her, or the fact that she was no longer on the premises. Secondly, Nitrius words hit her in another way: as proof of her frequent visits, and that it had truly just been a few days since the last time she set foot late at night in this cathedral. She was ashamed of herself. Of being so dependent on him, on his connection with Iosta, and on his help. But she needed him. By Iosta, she needed him. Tarron could take her if the shame of her dependence was too much of a sin. The lie she told herself was that she didn’t care if he did.

She watched him perform the ritual, or rather she watched his back while he performed the ritual. He had acknowledged her presence, but had not invited her closer, so she dared not take another step, until he asked her to do so. For a moment, she didn’t even realise that she had held her breath, and when she finally breathed again, the air quivered as a response. She hated this. The lack of control. The energy from everywhere around her that kept entering her traitorously greedy body. She clenched her hands for a moment, her nails digging into her palms, as if it could help with the pent up energy.

”I couldn’t wait any longer,” She said, the words escaping her mouth in a desperate manner, very unlike her usual self. As soon as he gave her permission, she was on her way towards the altar. Towards him. Her need to be near him almost suffocated her, along with her excess energy. ”Everything is too much.” She breathed out. She didn’t know what words to use to describe everything she felt and had been dealing with lately. Everything had just been too much. She’d had her own demons to fight, and then her body decided to fight her as well. She had suddenly just had too much on her plate. Most importantly of all, she couldn’t be alone in all of this anymore. She was on the brink of collapse and needed someone safe to catch her. And the person she felt the most safe with in Ilomar City was undoubtedly Nitrius.

”I was afraid of what would happen if I was alone for too long…” She said as she took the last step before she stood behind him. If she reached out her hand, she could touch him. But she didn’t. She stayed put, her gaze swallowing Nitrius’ back, trying to decipher anything from his body language. ”I need your guidance,” She said, almost a whisper.

”Tell me what to do, Father.”

Nitrius had known the answer to his question, before he had asked it, even before Constance had entered the cathedral. It wasn’t necessary for him to ask her to say it out loud, as the energy radiating from her spoke loudly enough. Still he asked; he wanted to hear the words leave her lips. As sweet music her voice traveled through the silence, caressing his mind. I need your guidance. Tell me what to do. Oh yes, those were the words of a mellow song, the gratifying phrases in harmony with the rhythm of her Spirit’s quivering pulse.

Nitrius slowly closed his eyes, taking in her melodious beg, savoring this moment. There was no greater pleasure than to be needed. No, this wasn’t correct. Being needed wasn’t a pleasure; for Nitrius it was a certainty. As the vessel for the Spirit of Iosta, he was fated to be needed by the people. Without him, what could they do, but let themselves be corrupted by Tarron? They all needed his guidance. But way too few accepted this.

The greater pleasure was the acceptance of the certainty of their need for him. The verbal acknowledgement of their meekness in their search for wholeness in a fragmented world. Of their inescapable ignorance compared to the divine knowledge, Nitrius had been gifted on his journey with their God. That was the pleasure - Constance truly understanding that the only one to tell her what to do had to be him.

Nitrius breathed out, tranquilly, before opening his eyes. Slowly, as if time stood still between him and the young woman, he turned around to face her. His eyes appraised her, traveling up and down her exterior. That poor girl with such a troublesome beauty. Fitting for such a problematic Spirit. Tempting to touch but with the power to maim. Uncontrolled, that is, but not for long. Not with Nitrius.

Finally, his eyes reached hers. He lifted up his chin ever so slightly, looking down at her. Not to scold, but to lead.

He spoke, warmly but firmly: “Kneel for me.”

For a moment, there was silence. Absolute silence. The whole cathedral stood still in time. The flickering candle lights made dancing shadows on the walls. Only herself and Nitrius existed in this dominant silence, as if on another plane of existence. Her being eager and desperate for his next words, his guidance, anything to fulfill her need. Him standing there, mysterious with his back turned towards her. She hadn’t even seen his face yet! But she knew, some part of her knew, that his face would be kind and caring, just as he always was towards her. She could always find comfort in him. In this bubble of theirs, their own little space, this other plane of existence that they only knew of. It was theirs and theirs only. As her thoughts intensified, the lights followed suit, flickering and growing evermore intense as she herself was filled with emotions.

And then he turned around. Slowly. Finally. And the shadows stopped in their dance. The candle flames calmed in an instant.

She took in the sight of him; his sharp cheekbones, his steel grey eyes demanding her attention, which they received. Despite his raised chin and towering height over her, his gaze was not demanding. It was for Constance a comforting gaze. He knew what to do and she simply had to follow his lead. She was absolutely ready to succumb to him, let him catch her in her fall, and guide her hand.

It was only when he spoke, that she realised that she had held her breath. Her gasp for air surprised even herself.

“Yes, Father” she said, desperate for not only him but also for air. Her voice was weak from the pressure of everything around her. The surplus of energy, the scandals, just everything. She was tired of it all. She pulled off her black coat, revealing her clothes underneath: a simple black dress with thin spaghetti straps, fitted at the bust and the skirt flared around her hips. One strap had fallen off her shoulder, but she didn’t care. In front of Nitrius, she didn’t have to be perfect. This was a safe space. She quickly knelt before him, her face turned towards the floor. She folded her hand in front of her, feeling her hot skin - an annoying consequence of her excess energy. She was burning up. A fire that needed taming. And only Nitrius could control her fire. Every fiber of her being was pulling towards him. Waiting impatiently for his touch.

As Constance kneeled in front of him, Nitrius’ eyes lowered to follow her movements. He took a step closer, his gaze fixed on her trembling form. The tension in her shoulders, the way her clasped hands shook ever so slightly, and the subtle rise and fall of her chest all revealed the depth of her need, her longing for his guidance. Her longing, yes, as this wasn’t simply a need, it was a want, a wish, a desire for the relief he could bring upon her. But it wasn’t just that, an unilateral transaction from him to her. No, as all acts in this world, the exchange would be mutual, her giving him just as much as he was giving her. By letting him give, Constance would become the giver herself. As was the way of Iosta - even the God of Giving needed something in return, and so her vessel needed it as well.

In the quietude of the cathedral, the atmosphere thickened with their shared energy. The flickering candlelight danced upon Constance’s bowed form, making her a canvas, brimming with unbridled energy and potential, awaiting his touch, to be shaped and molded, to have her powers’ coursing currents be directed back into the fine art her Spirit could become. Nitrius’ eyes followed the movement of the flickering candlelight as they journeyed over her figure. And then his gaze stopped, lingered on the exposed shoulder, tracing the delicate curve of her collarbone and following the path of her skin as it met the fabric of her dress, where one of the straps hung off her shoulder. It was a tantalizing display of vulnerability, a small imperfection that beckoned his correction.

Slowly and deliberately his hand reached out to put the strap back in its proper place, but as his finger grazed her skin, the magnitude of her untamed force struck him. The sheer potency of it made him flinch involuntarily, a jolt of electricity coursing through his veins. A soundless gasp left his slightly parted lips and his finger had to leave the touch of her warmth.

Captivating. That was what she was. Even when it was worrisome.

Only a brief moment passed, before Nitrius again with controlled, yet gentle movements let his finger slip under her strap. The contact he made with her, as his finger smoothly lifted the strap back on her shoulder, brushing her soft skin while doing so, sent pulses of energy through him. He felt the warmth of her body beneath his touch, her energy humming beneath the surface like a current waiting to be channeled. An instrument with a melody only he could play.

His fingers lingered on her shoulders, beneath the thin fabric of the strap supporting her, for a moment longer than necessary. His eyes rested on how they connected, as he spoke again, his voice warm and soft and with something that could be interpreted as parental concern.

“Have you not been taking your medicine, Constance?”

The answer was clear. Even in the dimmed cathedral it was clear, exposed in the flickering lights, in the dimness itself too. It was the result of her pulsating waves of energy, radiating from her as sobs and weeps from her distending Spirit. Even without the visual cues, Nitrius could feel her. He could feel her energy responding to his touch, as if her very essence recognized the presence of the only man who could bring her to salvation.

In that fleeting moment, as his touch lingered upon her, it wasn’t simply her physical body his gaze rested upon. His vision penetrated beyond the surface, delving into the depths of her being. He saw the raw power that struggled within her.

Like a wildfire, in the need of being eased down to a flickering candlelight, just as the ones in the hall surrounding them.

Her breathing hitched at his touch. Although her skin was hot by itself, the meeting of his fingers on her shoulder burned. She felt her Spirit’s energy surge towards the spot, leaving her eager for more. Did they have to go through these formalities? He would ask her what was wrong, just like he did those few days ago, and she would confess. Could they skip to the part where he would guide her towards the light? Towards Iosta? Her thoughts raced like a whirlwind through her mind, whereas her body kept still.


She shuddered at his words. She felt ashamed, because his words were true, and yet - the thought of him knowing her so well made her insides flutter. Her hands fidgeted in her lap.
She bit the inside of her cheek, making her red lips pout, before she made her confession.

She shook her head. Her gaze laid stiffly upon his polished shoes.

”No, I have not.”

She sighed as she spoke. Suddenly relieved to finally voice her troubles. ”I don’t like the pills; they make me drowsy, unfocused.” Her breathing quickened as her confession began forming on her lips.

”They make me feel alone in the dark with nowhere to go. I - I have no anchor to guide me.”

She felt a prickling behind her eyes as her confession concluded. She felt so alone. The castle was so big, and yet it felt like the King was watching you around every corner. You never knew who the Godia Warriors spoke to either - what gossip they might expose to the wrong people. Her enclosed hands rose to her chest. Finally, she looked up, blinking in the motion, releasing the tears that had been forming.

”I need you,” she said, and it might have been a prayer.

No, I have not.

Not surprising words. Words so rarely were. Nitrius exhaled solemnly, nodding slightly as if to confirm them. She had indeed not. Her quivering was that of an unsettled Spirit. A powerful, unsettled Spirit. Unsettling, empowering. She did indeed need him.

Nitrius listened to her confession, his expression never changing. His benevolent eyes rested on her quivering form, revealing no other emotion than care. And when she looked up and met him, his gaze didn’t falter, it only intensified. Droplets trickled down her cheeks, golden tears in the candles’ warm light. A beautiful, saddening sight. I need you, she said, confirming what Nitrius already knew. Her words resembled a prayer; her words so often did. In this shared solitude between them he almost believed her prayer was meant just for him.

He reached out towards her, his finger gently touching her wettened cheek. Their connection simmered through him as if the golden drops melted into his skin. He stroked in an upward motion, wiping off her tears. His eyes had yet to leave hers.

“The medicine leaves you in the dark, yes” he said, his words as soft as his touch, “But your Spirit leaves you in the murk.”

His finger was wet with her tears. He withdrew it slowly, taking her tears with him as he folded his hands in front of him.

“You can’t shine in the murk, my child, but you can be the light in the darkness.”

Like the candle in the night. Like Iosta’s flame in the dim cathedral. Nitrius had moments ago held it in his hands. Now, he reached out again, holding Constance’s chin. His grip was just as devoted.

“I need you to shine for me.”

She melted into his touch for a moment, his fingertips viping away the tears on her cheeks, saving them from falling. Her eyes closed momentarily, savouring the moment; the heat of her skin, his burning touch, the laden air between them, heavy with their Spirits’ energies.  

She opened her eyes again as he spoke, preaching his wisdom upon her. Her brown eyes met his steel-grey gaze, locked in union.

She couldn’t help but feel a sudden coldness, the candles around them flickering wildly for just a second, as Nitrius’ fingers left her bare skin. The light in Nitrius’ eyes refracted at the change. Was it compassion? Solicitude perhaps? She thought she saw something in his eyes, but even though she knew him well, she had always thought him difficult to read.

He reached for her chin, and she let him have it. Eager for once again feeling his touch she embraced the connection, the air around them turning electric.

“Thank you, Father.” She whispered, for she had no air for more.

She breathed deeply, her eyes locked into his.

“Show me how.”

As Constance breathed, Nitrius’ drew closer. A small step, barely a movement, yet he ended up right in front of her, his presence towering over her. The air pulsated with their Spirits, both yearning for intertwinement. This was destined. Constance and he were a dual existence; he as the lighthouse, she as the stormy sea.

Her words were additional notes to the harmony. Her eagerness was exquisite. Nitrius savored it before having to correct it. He was her lighthouse, after all, no matter how tempting her dark blue deep was.

“First,”” he said, still holding her chin in a gentle but firm grip, “Your thanks. There is no need to thank me, my child.”

He was but a vessel. A servant in the name of someone greater.

“Thank Iosta.”

The atmosphere, thick and electric, enveloped them. Constance’s warm skin was a caress against his fingers, as Nitrius slowly let go of her chin and raised his hand. He stopped as he reached her red lips, the back of his hand merely an inch from her. Her trembling breath brushed across his skin.

“Thank her through the hands that bless you with her light.”

Of course. He could help her, guide her, but only because he had been granted the powers to do so by Iosta. She cursed herself for forgetting that. What she needed was solely the relief that the powers of Iosta could bring.

“Of course.” She said. She blinked once, her gaze drifting down to the hand presented before her. Her own hands left their embrace of prayer as she raised her left hand to reach for Nitrius’ presented hand.

”Thank Iosta,” Her eyes darted up to meet his, looking through her lashes before she continued: ”- and let her light bring gratification to us all.”

Once again her gaze returned to the hand before her, the hand that she was gracefully holding with just her fingertips - the skin burning at the touch between them. For a second she took in the sight of the hand, her lips and breath hovering over his fingers. She noticed an adorned ring that he was wearing, its religious meaning, that she assumed was there, being lost on her. Her eyes closed as she leaned in, still on her knees at his feet, her red lips met with his skin.

The candles around them burned brightly.

She broke the kiss, leaning back just a little to look at the hand before her. Near the adorned ring a smudge of red decorated his skin.

There was a fragment of Nitrius, a deep-hidden part of him, that understood that this wasn't necessary. That Iosta could be praised beyond this measure. In the same deep-hidden fragment inside him, he reveled in this truth. In Constance's Of course and her reached out hands. Her red lips drawing closer to his fingers. This was The Evenfall Ritual of his own.

Constance’s elegant fingers held his hand, as he had just held her in his. Their touch burned like the flames and thus, it was impossible to see this as anything else than a blessing. She drew closer still, her eyes closing. Then, her soft lips brushed against his fingers, a gentle pressure, an irresistible offering. Nitrius drew in a breath. For a moment, he believed the candles around them to briefly flare, but he knew that could not be true. For all his powers, that wasn’t one of his - it was Constance’s. No, the burning was not in the flames.

The High Priest stood still, absorbing the sensation of the young woman’s tender touch, allowing it to permeate his being. The truth was his to keep. A shame? No, simply a contentment.

When Constance withdrew, he spoke again: “Good, Constance.”

He lifted his hand slightly to break from her touch. The lingering warmth of her kiss rested on his skin. As did a smudge of red, a small but potent symbol of her devotion.

With no further words, he turned his back to her and walked up to the altar. The hand on which she had laid her offering reached for the candle of gratitude. Should he? Never before had Constance arrived with the candle still burning. Nitrius seized the opportunity and took a hold of the candle. This was a moment of gratitude, after all.

Holding the candle, he turned to face her. “Through this ritual, we will invoke the divine light of Iosta,” he said, moving towards her again, “By her light, we will banish the murk within you. Accept her light, and you will be whole.”

Yet again, he stood in front of her, above her. The candle flickered in his hand, its movements synchronized with the rhythm of their shared breath. With his other hand, he reached out towards her.

“Your hand, my child.”

She thought she felt a shiver from Nitrius as her lips met with the skin on his fingers. It might have been her imagination, but nonetheless, the sensation stirred an ocean of emotions within her. Devotion rippled from the innermost part of her being.

As he turned away from her, she looked up. Her hand fell to her side. Once again his back was turned towards her, and as she studied it, she drew in a breath. She reveled in his praise. She was good. Something other than devotion stirred within her, something she did not quite dare name, for naming it might be a confession of sin. This unnamed feeling was applified as she saw that he reached for the candle of gratitude. The light that shone for Iosta. He wouldn’t… Would he…? Intrigued, she bit her lip, searching for his eyes to confirm her suspicion.


Alright, she thought. She adjusted herself. Her knees were slightly sore from her placement there in the middle of the stone floor. He was truly going to use the sacred candle of gratitude for this.


And how could she not obey him? For she was truly grateful for him, for his connection to Iosta, and the blessing that he could grant her. She reached out her hand to meet his. Despite Constance’s lack of attunement to the energies of Spirits, she could feel the two of their Spirits leap towards each other long before their hands began their journey. They could not deny it - their Spirits needed each other. Hers as much as his was dependent on the other.

Nitrius’ hand moved with purpose, his fingers brushing lightly over Constance’s wrist before closing around it. The contact was electric, a surge of sensation that traveled up his arm, her Spirit desperately charging towards him, through him. A pulse of raw power that nearly made him hesitate -- but he did not.

Slowly, deliberately, Nitrius turned her hand over, exposing the delicate skin of her forearm. The flickering candlelight played across the pale surface, casting shadows that danced with every movement. He could feel her pulse quicken beneath his fingertips, a steady rhythm that matched the energy pulsing in the air between them.
The heat of the flame was nothing compared to the heat radiating from within her, a searing intensity that pulsed through the air between them. He could feel the chaotic energy of her Spirit, wild and untamed, crying out for guidance, for control. She had come to him, desperate and trembling, seeking the light of Iosta to banish the darkness within her. And he, as the High Priest, as the vessel for Iosta's will, would grant her that release.

With willful care, he tilted the candle, allowing a single drop of molten wax to fall, splashing onto Constance's exposed forearm. He watched as the heat seared her skin with a fleeting, fiery kiss.

And so, he began to speak, a sermon intended just for her.

“Feel the heat of Iosta’s light, my child, as it purges the murk within you.”

As his words filled the sacred space, more drops of wax followed, each molten bead marking her skin with a scorching caress. And as each drop made contact with her skin, their Spirits grew closer, intertwining with a palpable intensity. Her Spirit did not merely open for him; it embraced him, wrapped around him, pulled him in. The steady beat of his heart quickened, driven by the shared energy that crackled in the air, binding him closer to the woman kneeling before him.

“Feel this pain, for it is the path to your redemption,” he continued, as the wax set, turning white against her ivory, “With each drop, you are cleansed. With each drop, know that you are being molded by the divine.”

The boundaries of their Spirits blurred, the barrier between them dissolving as he sank deeper and deeper into the very essence of her being. So profound was their sacred bond - so easily overlooked was their profanity.

She watched intently as he slowly turned her hand over, exposing the ivory skin of her forearm. His hand held hers in a firm grip, a secure grip, a grip that would catch her falling Spirit. She watched the candle being tilted ever so slightly, with its aim toward her exposed skin. As the droplet fell through the electric air, she felt as if time slowed down.

She heard herself gasp before she felt the burn that the droplet inflicted on her delicate skin.

The light flickered, as she found herself grimacing at the immediate pain, although her face quickly fell into more content folds. A smile edged on her lips, as her gaze lifted from the soft yet burning wax on her skin to meet the eyes of the man before her. Those steely grey eyes that held her steadfast, held her strong, and who, in her desperation, would salvage her of her sins.

She was already hot from her Spirit’s chaos before she even entered the cathedral, but now, it was a different kind of hotness. A warmth within her that had spread slowly, with each touch of Nitrius’ fingertips on her bare skin. The droplet of wax that burned on her forearm. His words eveloping her in comfort. It was familiar. She had experienced this many times before, and at this point, she dropped whatever little control she had had. In Nitrius’ care she always found release.

“Yes, Father,” She blurted so breathlessly that it was almost not even a whisper.

Nitrius’ breath deepened, the weight of their shared energy becoming more palpable with each passing second. His fingers grazed her skin, lingering as the molten wax cooled, each drop marking Constance’s flesh as if it were a conduit for the divine.

“Embrace it, Constance,” he murmured, his voice low but steady, the familiar tone of guidance underscored by something else - a hint of strain, perhaps. He held her gaze, his hand still gripping hers, urging her forward, deeper, into something greater. “Give yourself fully to the light.”

The flickering candle trembled, as did Constance, but Nitrius maintained control. His grip tightened ever so slightly around her wrist, keeping her steady as the air around them came alive with their emerging Spirits. His eyes traced her form, watching the way her body responded to each flicker of pain, each drop of wax, her submission a gift he took as his right. His touch was no longer solely that of a priest - but through this, neither of them were aware of the difference.

“Let the fire within you burn brighter,” he commanded. The sensation thrummed through him, tightening his chest, as if the divine itself pulsed between them, urging him to push her further.

“Until you are nothing, but”

His breath caught, the crescendo of their shared energy building to an almost unbearable peak. Their Spirits throbbed in tandem, quicker now, the weight of them pressing down on him. Each drop of wax hardened against her skin, marking her as Iosta’s to shape.

“pure”

The last drop fell from the sacred candle.

“radiant”

The moldent bead struck her skin with a final, searing hiss.

“light.”

As his final word echoed through the hall, a blinding white exploded through them, rippling through him. A moment of gratification. A moment of heavenly light.

As she let Nitrius in, she felt his Spirit penetrating hers’. It was familiar and a welcome feeling. Yet, she could not hold back her hitched breath as they interlaced with one another, even when they had done so many times before. His might, his power, and the sheer size of his Spirit always left her breathless.

His voice trailed her ears, encompassing her in this warm sensation.

His fingers upon her skin, the burn between them in addition to the candlewax that safely sizzled her forearm made her shiver. She tried to convince herself that this was punishment for her sins, to discipline her and salvage her Spirit to become clean once more. It was not… pleasure.

As Nitrius’ breathing deepened, Constance’s own quickened.

”Let the fire within you burn brighter,”

And she did.

“Until you are nothing, but”

She held his gaze, locked in this moment. Almost gasping for air in the electric atmosphere between them, she had to grasp his hand, the one that held hers so comforting. Nitrius replied with a firm grip that held her still. Held her grounded. Like their Spirits they were locked within one another. Intertwined.

”Pure radiant light.”

The final droplet met her delicate skin, burning painfully, and yet she felt her release. Her Spirit had been falling, steering on its own with no guidance, and Nitrius finally caught her. For once her Spirit was pure - a white light that erupted between the two of them.

It seemed that one of Iosta’s divine tests lay in hastening the very moments intended to be savored.

For this brief moment there was just him, Constance and the exploding white, the light of Iosta, blessing them for their connection. But the moment was indeed brief and soon, it was gone. The only light left was outside of them, found dimly in the flickering candles around the great hall. The only connection left was Nitrius’ fingers around Constance’s slim wrist.

A connection gone, too, as he retracted his hand, letting go of the young woman’s warmth
.
“Thank you, Constance,” he said, his voice as warm as the candle in his hand, “For shining for me.”

His eyes fell upon her once more. Her form no longer trembling, the tension in her shoulders melted away. Having given herself to the release bestowed upon her by their Goddess, she could now be calm. Her Spirit could rest and therefore, so could she - at least, for now.

Nitrius knew this all too well; powerful Spirits rarely enjoyed lasting peace. Constance would be back in this cathedral, the candles around them would let their flames towards the door in which she entered, and Nitrius would be here to save her. As was his duty as the High Priest. As was his wish as a man.

But that was all for another evening, another return of the darkness. For now, Nitrius turned his back to the kneeling woman, knowing he had no need to savor this moment as it would not be a memory but a pattern.

“You may stand up, my child,” he said as he walked towards the altar, “And you may rest.”

He carefully set the candle of gratitude upon the pristine white stone, observing how the wax had melted, nearly reaching the midpoint of the slender rod. This candle would burn into the night. As would Constance.

He looked over his shoulder, facing her for the last time.

“Do not be afraid when you enter the night,” he said, “Remember - you can illuminate the darkness.”

Everything went too quickly all of a sudden now. Her release came and went. Their connection, not only by their Spirits but also physically, was broken by Nitrius’ retrieval to the altar. The warmth, the fire, the electricity that had burned between them and their Spirits were suddenly gone. The heat had been replaced with a cold echo of their touch. Although emptiness and coldness grew within her from this, the candles burned calmly around them in the cathedral.

As he allowed her to stand, she reached for her coat on the floor next to her before getting back on her feet. Her heels clicked against the stone floor as she once again stood. Her knees were grateful for this change. It wouldn’t surprise her if she would wake up with a few marks on her tomorrow.


She stood. Her front turned, ready to march back through the cathedral from whence she came. But she stood still. She slowly took in a breath, savouring the silence that embraced her. Nothing stirred within her. Her Spirit was no longer starving for the energy of everything around her. She nodded to his words.

”Thank you once again, Father.” She said, her eyes meeting his before he turned away from her.

She watched him as he left.

The candles burned calmly.

The heat that was burning within her just moments before was gone.

She knew that this was salvation.

But it felt like shame when she walked through the cathedral with the residue of the wax still on her skin. The sound of the heel of her shoes against the stone floor echoed through the cathedral once again.