The doors burst open. Light poured in—ordinary, mortal light—and the shadows disappeared.
Sister Margareta stood in the doorway, her face grim.
“Katharina,” she said quietly. “Wilhelm is gone.”
I glanced back at Heinrich—just Heinrich now, a priest who seemed as confused as I was—and fled past Sister Margareta without another word.
But I could feel his eyes on my back all the way down the corridor. I could hear his voice in my head, and it sounded like a far graver sin than any I had ever imagined.
1 Translation from theThe Apparel of Womenby Tertulian. Translated 1885. Ref 2.
2 NKJV, 1 Cor 6:3
Chapter 18
Katharina
Ididn’t sleep. My dreams shifted between small Wilhelm’s fragile face and snakes that curled around my body, squeezing so tight I could barely breathe. Their split tongues caressed my skin like a lover, whispering,No more lies, Katharina. You knew. You have always known.
The whispering didn’t cease as I joined the crowd headed for the cathedral. The bells rang, and I felt their reverberation deep in my chest as I found a seat.
I took my usual place near the back, in the shadow of a pillar where I could observe without being observed. The pews filled slowly with merchants and their wives, those with far less, and a scattering of nobles in fine wool. I saw members of our parish gathered as they did every week to hear Heinrich speak of God’s love and mercy.
He stood at the pulpit in his black cassock, hands resting casually on the lectern. To the congregation, he appeared exactly as he always had: their gentle priest, their shepherd through these dark times. But in the striking golden light from the cathedral windows, I could see the embers moving behind his dark eyes. His voice, when he spoke, was the same voice that had guided this flock for years. Its deep tone resonated through the nave.
“My children,” he began. “Today we speak of temptation. Of how the Devil works not through force, but through seduction.”
His eyes found mine across the crowded church, and I stared back. I would not give in to whatever game this was. Not anymore.
“For the Devil knows,” he continued, never breaking my gaze, “that the sweetest corruption comes not from force, but from surrender. What is forced must be maintained. But when wechooseour damnation, when webegfor it, the Devil knows true ecstasy.”
My fists clenched as the corner of his mouth ticked up. He was mocking me now, but I would not?—
Something brushed my ankle.
I looked down, but nothing was there. Only shadows pooling beneath the pew, dark against the cathedral’s light.
“Consider how the serpent tempted Eve.” Heinrich’s voice was everywhere now. “Not with violence or force, but with knowledge. With the promise of becoming something…more.”
Another touch at my ankle. I peered down to see nothing but shadows—ordinary shadows. But then they moved, serpentine tendrils coiling around my calf beneath my skirt.
I bit my lip to keep from gasping.
The shadows crept higher, a cold pressure against my knee, then my thigh. My hands gripped the edge of the pew until my knuckles went white. I should run, should scream. Anything but sit here and let this happen.
I made to stand, and Frau Weber glanced back at me, a stern look on her face. Too many questions—there would be too many questions if I left in the middle of the sermon. He knew that.
I sat back down, the unholy things beneath my skirt winding tighter. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. I could only watch Heinrich’s lips shape words I knew were meant for me alone.
“And when she bit into that apple,” he said, his voice dropping to barely a whisper that somehow carried to every corner, “do you think sheregretted it? Or did she find the juice sweeter than any paradise could offer?”
The shadows pressed between my thighs, and no amount of squeezing stopped their incessant climb higher. I pressed my knuckles to my mouth—the very image of a devout parishioner—to muffle the sound that tried to escape. The skin of my chest blossomed red beneath my partlet, my corrupted body responding to the impossible touch.
For I had been corrupted. How else could I explain this dark magic having such power over me, in the House of God no less? But when a devil stood at the pulpit, was this even still holy ground? I squirmed, trying to move away from the pressure that now toyed with my clit, featherlight touches more infuriating than anything else. But Heinrich’s eyes held mine, and I saw him smile—just slightly. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. I glared back at him, but his smile only grew.
“The Devil is clever,” he continued. “He knows that flesh is weak. That even the most faithful can be brought to their knees by the right…pressure.”
The shadows surged upward, and I doubled forward, falling to my knees. Frau Weber turned to look at me again, concern mixed with annoyance, but I waved her away, pressing my hand to my stomach as if ill. Instead, what I felt was ungodly, insistent pressure, more consuming than his fingers or tongue had ever been. The shadows pulsed with an ancient heartbeat, stroking deeper with each throb.
