˳ 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗥𝗗 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 ✶  𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙼𝙴𝚁 𝙰𝙽𝙶𝙴𝙻 ♱

❛   a former angel corrupted by impurity

the voice becomes reason.                        ❜

THE RAIN FELL HEAVILY, cloaking the world in a cold mist, the streets glistening with pools of water under the flickering streetlights. It wasn't just a storm; it was as though the night itself was washing away everything, turning the world into a blur of shifting shadows and fractured reflections. The streetlamps cast an eerie glow, their light dancing in the water that pooled at their feet, creating a mosaic of fragmented images. The air smelled of wet concrete and damp earth, thick with the scent of the city after the rain. Everything felt suspended, like time itself was caught in the downpour, unwilling to move forward.

Father Charlie, soaked through to the bone, moved through the wet night with purpose. Each step was measured, but his heart was racing—too fast for the calm, collected man he prided himself on being. He wasn't sure where he was going, not really. His thoughts were disjointed, caught up in something far less tangible. The thoughts fluttered and scattered, pieces of a puzzle he couldn't quite fit together. The streets were deserted, the usual hum of the city subdued under the relentless pounding of the rain, but inside him, something thrummed with restless energy. It was as if something, or someone, was calling to him, drawing him forward. The quiet hum of the storm seemed to echo the chaotic pulse of his own thoughts, every drop of rain in rhythm with his heartbeat.

And then, through the mist and the blur of water, he saw her.

She moved like a shadow, almost ghostly, her figure materializing from the gloom like something not quite real. She walked with an almost hypnotic grace, her every step deliberate, fluid, as though she was in tune with the rhythm of the night itself. Her coat, dark and clinging to her slender frame, swayed with each movement, the fabric absorbing the rain but never weighing her down. The hem fluttered against the backs of her knees, as if the fabric was reluctant to leave her skin, and he found his gaze lingering on the curve of her hips as she walked, unaware of his eyes tracing her every move.

Her hair—dark, almost black—hung loosely around her face, wet strands clinging to her cheeks, framing the delicate angles of her face. The rain slicked the strands to her skin, but they only added to the allure, making her seem ethereal, untouchable. Her face, half-hidden beneath the veil of rain, was still a perfect study of sharp angles and soft curves, as though nature itself had taken time to carve her features, each one more arresting than the last. And her eyes—he couldn't see them fully yet, but the way they were obscured, the way the water ran down her face, only added to the mystique. They were hidden, but they were there, pulling him in even as they remained out of reach.

She seemed untouched by the world around her, the downpour failing to disturb the fluid elegance with which she moved. She walked like someone who knew she was the center of attention, even though she was blissfully unaware of anyone else's gaze. Like someone who had never known doubt, her every step exuding a quiet confidence. She was alone, but never lonely—every inch of her body spoke of independence, of solitude chosen, not forced.

And yet, despite the impossible calm she radiated, Charlie couldn't shake the feeling that she was somehow tethered to him, that she was the magnet drawing him forward, unwilling to let go. It was something he couldn't define, some deep-rooted instinct that had nothing to do with logic or reason.

He couldn't stop staring. She wasn't merely beautiful; she was the kind of woman who felt forbidden, the kind who made his pulse quicken and his soul tremble with the weight of temptation. Everything about her—her deliberate movements, her unyielding grace—seemed designed to call forth the parts of him he fought hardest to bury. His feet, seemingly of their own accord, began to follow, one step at a time. He wasn't sure what it was about her that made him so... desperate. It wasn't just the way she moved, the subtle sway of her hips as if she had no idea of the power she held, or the way her hair seemed to cascade like a dark waterfall down her back, slick and glistening. It wasn't even the rain, that somehow softened the world around her, making her appear like a vision, a mirage. No, it was something deeper—something he felt in his bones.

The streets around him had dissolved into a blurred landscape, the flickering streetlights and wet pavement fading into the background as all he could focus on was her. His thoughts were chaotic, disjointed. There was an urgency to his actions now, a raw, unspoken need to close the distance between them, to get closer. And yet, every step he took seemed to push him further into the unknown, further into something he couldn't comprehend.

She was walking so deliberately, each step measured and graceful, as though she had nowhere to be, as though she had all the time in the world. And yet, with every step, she seemed farther away, slipping through his grasp. The rain seemed to blur her form, the darkness swallowing her until she was only a silhouette against the pale light of the streetlamps. He followed, knowing he had to—he couldn't stop himself. His heart was racing, a wild, frantic rhythm he couldn't understand. The storm was deafening in his ears, but all he could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat and the soft patter of her footsteps in the rain.

He was closer now, so close he could almost reach out and touch her. He felt the space between them closing, the tension tightening in his chest, the pull between them stronger with every step. He could feel it in the air, an invisible thread connecting them, something he couldn't name, couldn't define, but it was there, undeniable. He wanted to speak, to call out, but no words came—only the beat of his heart, erratic and wild, pushing him forward. She didn't seem to notice, lost in her own world, absorbed in her own thoughts, moving as if no one else existed in the world.

He knew he shouldn't follow her. He knew it was wrong, sinful even, this pull that ignored reason and the vows he had made. But in that moment, he couldn't summon the strength to resist. Her presence felt like a test, a lure crafted with precision to expose the cracks in his armor. And it was working.

The closer he got, the more powerless he felt, as though he were unraveling with every step. He had no plan, no words, no justification for why he was trailing her. He only knew that he couldn't stop. It was primal, this need to follow, to be near her. The rain soaked through his clothes, chilling him to the bone, but his focus never wavered. His thoughts, his breath, his very being felt consumed by her.

Each step toward her felt like a descent, an acknowledgment of his own weakness. Was this what sin truly was—this mix of desire and shame, this hunger that refused to be quelled? He thought of sermons, of warnings about the fleeting pleasures of temptation and the eternal price of giving in. But right now, he couldn't think about the price. He could only think about her.

His footsteps quickened, almost instinctual, as though he was being drawn into her orbit. His breath caught in his throat, uneven and ragged, and he felt the tightness in his chest deepen—a physical ache that resonated with the weight of his choices.

When she turned down a quieter alley, Charlie followed, barely aware of the rain soaking through his clothes. The narrow passage felt suffocating, its walls closing in, the air between them charged, electric. He knew this was wrong—his pursuit, his fixation—but he couldn't resist. And the truth he didn't want to face was that he didn't want to.

She stopped so suddenly that Charlie nearly stumbled, the soles of his shoes skidding slightly on the slick cobblestones. Her back remained turned to him, her figure illuminated faintly by the glow of a flickering streetlight. For a moment, he thought—or hoped—that she hadn't noticed him. That his sin, his transgression, could go unseen.

But then she spoke, her voice cutting cleanly through the steady rhythm of the rain, sharp and soft at once, like the edge of a blade wrapped in silk.

"Following me, Father?"

The word Father felt like a blow, a reminder of the life he'd promised to lead and the path he was straying from. Her tone wasn't accusatory—it was almost playful, as though she already knew the answer. As though she was daring him to admit it.

His breath caught in his throat, a short, sharp gasp that he couldn't suppress. His heart thundered against his ribs, loud and insistent, and for a moment, the only sounds were the rain and the quiet hum of her words echoing in his mind.

She turned slowly, deliberately, every movement carrying a weight that made his stomach tighten. The wet strands of her hair clung to her face, framing it like a halo made of shadow and storm. And then her eyes locked onto his.

It was like being pierced clean through. Her gaze was startlingly direct, unflinching, and so full of knowing that he felt exposed, like she could see past the collar, past the rain-drenched exterior, straight into the depths of him. His body reacted before his mind could catch up, his chest tightening with a pang of something primal, something he wasn't supposed to feel.

He tried to speak, to justify himself, to deny her claim. "I didn't—" The words caught, weak and stilted, like they were strangled before they could fully form.

Her head tilted slightly, her expression unreadable but her eyes glittering with something that felt dangerous. She took a step closer, the puddles at her feet rippling with each shift of her weight.

"Then why are you here?" she asked again, her voice quieter now, but infinitely more powerful.

Charlie's hands twitched at his sides, fingers curling as though he could physically hold onto the composure that was slipping away from him. Her gaze flickered, slowly tracing the lines of his face before dipping lower, past his collar, lingering for a beat too long at his chest before drifting back up to meet his eyes again.

The rain ran down his face, dripping from his hair, and he didn't know if the warmth rising under his skin was from the cold or the intensity of her scrutiny.

"I..." His throat felt tight, every word an effort. He felt ridiculous, like a boy caught in a lie, stripped of the authority and poise he was supposed to have. "I just—"

"You just what?" she pressed, stepping closer still, the space between them evaporating into nothingness. The faintest hint of a smile curved her lips, but it wasn't comforting. It was dangerous, intoxicating.

The storm inside him raged harder, louder, and the truth clawed at him, desperate to be spoken. But how could he admit to her—to himself—that he didn't know why he'd followed her, only that he couldn't not follow her? How could he confess that her presence ignited something in him that felt both sacred and profane, that he felt helpless against the pull of her?

"I don't know," he whispered finally, the words slipping from him unbidden. His voice was hoarse, raw, and entirely too honest.

She didn't look surprised. If anything, her expression softened, though the danger in her gaze remained. "You don't know," she repeated, as though testing the weight of his confession.

The silence between them stretched, filled only by the rhythm of the rain and the thunder of his pulse. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, she reached out, her fingers brushing against the sleeve of his coat. The touch was featherlight, but it sent a shock through him, his breath hitching audibly.

"You don't know," she murmured again, her tone quieter now, almost a whisper. "Or you're afraid to admit it."

Her hand lingered for a moment longer before she withdrew, her expression unreadable once more. Charlie felt rooted to the spot, torn between retreating and stepping closer, between his duty and the undeniable, impossible desire that was consuming him.

His body hummed with nervous energy, a tension that coiled tighter with every breath he took. The rain around them softened to a steady patter, as if the world itself had quieted, waiting to see what he would do. The cold dampness clung to his skin, seeping through his soaked shirt and into his bones, yet all he could feel was the warmth radiating from her.

It wasn't just the physical warmth of her presence—though even that felt overwhelming, almost magnetic. It was the way she seemed to draw him in, her very existence demanding his attention. That warmth blurred the lines of reason, of duty, of faith. It made him want to reach out, to close the unbearable distance between them, to touch her, to know her in ways that he knew he shouldn't even imagine.

"I need to talk to you," he said suddenly, the words breaking free without his permission. They sounded raw, unguarded, almost like a plea.

Her head tilted ever so slightly, her dark hair slipping forward to frame her face in damp, gleaming strands. A faint smile touched her lips, but it wasn't a smile of kindness. It was knowing, edged with temptation and something he couldn't quite name. She didn't respond right away, letting the moment stretch, the weight of her silence pressing down on him like a physical force.

Her gaze moved then, trailing over him in a way that made his throat tighten. It wasn't a casual glance—it was deliberate, thorough, almost predatory. Her eyes started at his face, taking in every line, every drop of water sliding down his jaw. Then they moved lower, tracing the contours of his rain-soaked collar, lingering for a breath too long on the place where his clerical collar sat snug against his throat. It was a look that made him feel stripped bare, as though she were undressing him with her gaze alone.

When her eyes finally met his again, they burned with an intensity that left him breathless. "I'm listening," she said, her voice low and impossibly smooth, like velvet sliding over his skin.

The words sent a shiver down his spine, but not from the cold. Her voice seemed to wrap around him, pulling him further into the gravity of her presence. His pulse thundered in his ears, a rapid, chaotic rhythm that matched the storm inside him. The rational part of his mind screamed at him to stop, to turn away, to pray for strength and walk in the opposite direction.

But his body betrayed him. His feet inched forward, closing the already narrow space between them until he could feel her presence like a tangible force against his skin. His breath came in shallow bursts, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with hers.

She was so close now that he could see the rain clinging to her eyelashes, the droplets sliding down her cheeks like tears. The faint scent of lavender lingered around her, intoxicating and utterly disarming. It mixed with the earthy tang of the rain, creating a fragrance that made his head spin.

He could feel the tension in his muscles, the way his body ached with the need to close the gap, to give in to the pull that had drawn him to her in the first place.

But her expression remained calm, unreadable, though her eyes told a different story. They gleamed with something sharp and unrelenting, something that made him feel unsteady. Like she already knew every thought racing through his mind, every forbidden desire he was too ashamed to name.

"What do you want to say?" she asked finally, her voice breaking the silence like a whispered challenge.

Charlie opened his mouth, but no words came. He didn't know how to explain what he was feeling, what he wanted, what he needed from her. The space between them no longer existed. They were close enough that Charlie could feel the heat radiating from her body, cutting through the damp chill of the rain-soaked air. The tension that hung between them was oppressive, suffocating, as though the very atmosphere had condensed into something tangible, pressing against his chest.

He wanted to reach out—to touch her, to bridge the unbearable chasm between want and control—but he fought it with every ounce of restraint he had left. He had to fight it. For his vows, for his faith, for the man he was supposed to be.

But something deeper—a need he barely understood—overpowered reason. Without thinking, his hand moved. It wasn't a decision, but an instinct, a reflex. His fingers closed around her wrist, trembling with the force of his desperation. The touch was not harsh, but it was firm, unyielding, like a man clinging to the edge of a cliff. Her skin was impossibly soft under his fingertips, warm despite the cold rain that still fell in steady sheets around them.

That simple act of connection, the barest contact of flesh against flesh, felt like striking a match in the middle of a storm. A crack formed somewhere deep within him, and from it surged something raw, uncontrollable, and utterly consuming. His breathing quickened, shallow and uneven, as though the very air between them had thickened, leaving him struggling for oxygen.

"What do you want from me?" he whispered, his voice low and ragged, the words carrying the weight of his unraveling. His breath ghosted over her damp skin, warm against the chill that surrounded them. He hadn't intended to say it, but the question tore out of him, primal and unrestrained.

She didn't answer immediately, and her silence only deepened the chaos in him. Her gaze flicked down to where his hand gripped her wrist, and she didn't pull away. Instead, she looked at him with an intensity that made his pulse stutter, her eyes dark and unreadable, yet filled with something that both terrified and electrified him.

His chest heaved with each labored breath, his heart pounding so violently it felt like it might shatter his ribs. He leaned closer without realizing it, his body betraying him. The scent of lavender and rain filled his senses, intoxicating and all-consuming. It wasn't enough—he wanted more. He wanted everything.

Her lips parted slightly, as if she were about to speak, but no sound came. The curve of her mouth caught his attention, and his gaze lingered there for a fraction too long. He felt the pull like gravity, an invisible force dragging him closer, tempting him, undoing him.

The rain trickled down his face, mingling with the heat that burned under his skin. It should have grounded him, reminded him of the world beyond this moment, beyond her. But it didn't. The world had narrowed to just the two of them, to the aching space where their bodies almost, but didn't quite, touch.

His fingers tightened slightly around her wrist, not in force but in need, his trembling unmistakable. He was unraveling, and he knew it, but he couldn't stop. He didn't want to stop. "Tell me," he said again, his voice quieter this time, the edges of it frayed. "What do you want from me?"

The question wasn't just for her—it was for himself, for the storm inside him that refused to calm. But she didn't answer, not right away. She just watched him, her gaze flickering with something that made the tension coil even tighter. And as the rain fell around them, washing the world in gray, he knew he was standing on the edge of something he couldn't come back from.

She didn't speak. Instead, she stepped closer. It was such a small movement, subtle yet earth-shattering, the kind that demanded his attention and shattered any resolve he had left. Charlie's grip on her wrist tightened instinctively, as if releasing her now would plunge him into a darkness he couldn't bear to face.

Rain poured down in relentless waves, the cold droplets sliding down his temple and pooling in the hollow of his throat. His clothes clung to his body, heavy and suffocating, but none of it mattered. All he could feel was her—her warmth, impossibly close, radiating through the cold like a forbidden beacon.

Her voice, when it came, was soft but edged, a blade hidden in velvet. "I could ask you the same thing," she said.

The words hit him like a current, sparking a tremor that ran through his body. Her tone wasn't accusatory—it was teasing, intimate, as if she already knew the answer but wanted to hear him stumble through the lie. His chest tightened, and he couldn't stop his eyes from tracing the curve of her lips, their softness juxtaposed against the sharpness of her gaze.

Her presence overwhelmed him. She wasn't just a woman; she was an ache, a pull, a sin given form. Every instinct told him to step back, to sever whatever invisible thread tethered him to her, but his feet refused to move.

The space between them disappeared completely, and when she leaned in, he felt her breath against his neck. It wasn't a touch—not yet—but it might as well have been. His body responded as if she'd pressed her palm to his chest, her fingers curling around his racing heart. He shivered, not from the rain, but from her.

The faint scent of lavender mixed with the dampness of her hair, an intoxicating blend that filled his senses and obliterated reason. The world around them faded—the cold, the wet, the distant sound of the city swallowed by the quiet chaos roaring in his mind.

Her eyes, so unwavering, held him captive. They weren't merely looking at him; they were pulling him apart, stripping away his layers, revealing things he didn't even want to admit to himself. He felt bare, exposed, vulnerable in a way that terrified him.

He felt the weight of her presence as if it were a hand pressing against his chest, and yet it wasn't unwelcome. If anything, it drew him in deeper, despite the alarm bells ringing in his head.

"I don't..." he started, his voice trembling, the words barely audible above the rain.

Her lips curved into the faintest smile. It wasn't comforting. It was sharp, knowing, and designed to unravel him.

"But you want something, don't you, Father?" she asked, the title falling from her lips with deliberate weight.

His breath caught. The way she said it—as if it weren't a sacred role but a temptation, a taunt—made his stomach twist. She tilted her head, and her lips brushed against his ear, not quite touching, but the sensation was there nonetheless.

"Don't lie to me," she whispered, her voice low and velvet-smooth.

The words tore through him, their softness belying the power they held. His grip on her wrist faltered for a moment, his fingers trembling against her damp skin. The rain pounded harder, but all he could feel was her warmth beneath his touch, the delicate curve of her wrist fitting perfectly in his hand.

Charlie's mind churned with conflicting emotions. The rational part of him screamed to let her go, to step back, to salvage whatever fragment of control he had left. But the other part—the part that had been clawing at him since the moment he saw her—refused to listen.

What do I want? he thought, his heart hammering against his ribs. The question felt unanswerable, too big, too dangerous. He couldn't tear his eyes away from hers, couldn't stop himself from leaning closer, his body betraying every ounce of restraint he tried to summon.

The tension between them was suffocating, a weight that pressed down on his chest and made it impossible to think clearly. The rain slicked her hair to her face, the damp strands framing her features like a painting brought to life. Her skin glistened under the dim light, the faint sheen of water making her seem otherworldly.

Charlie's chest heaved, the tightness like a vise gripping his ribs, making each breath a battle. His pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out the steady drum of rain that soaked through his clothes and slicked the cobblestones beneath his feet. The world around him was dim, muffled, like everything had fallen away except the faint echo of her footsteps retreating into the shadows.

He didn't move. He couldn't.

His hand fell uselessly to his side, and as she began to pull away, he was left standing there, breathless, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. She stepped back slowly, her eyes never leaving his, the unspoken promise of something more hanging in the air between them.
With a final glance, she turned, her footsteps echoing in the alley as she disappeared into the night.

Fingers curling into a fist as if to hold on to the memory of her touch, the delicate warmth of her wrist beneath his trembling grip. It wasn't enough. The absence of her presence was like a physical blow, leaving him hollow, disoriented, and raw.

The rain poured harder, icy drops sliding down his face and mingling with the heat that still burned beneath his skin. His soaked collar clung to his throat, suffocating, yet he made no move to loosen it. His legs felt unsteady, as if they might give out beneath him, and his chest—God, his chest—ached with something he didn't have a name for.

She had unraveled him, undone him in ways he didn't think were possible. Every piece of his carefully constructed armor, every wall he had built, every rule he had clung to—it was all in ruins, scattered at his feet like ash.

He couldn't shake her eyes from his mind, the way they had pierced through him with unnerving clarity. They weren't just dark—they were endless, like they had seen through his soul and found every hidden weakness, every secret sin he had tried to bury. And she had smiled. Not cruelly, not kindly, but with a certainty that made him feel as if she already knew the answers to questions he couldn't even bring himself to ask.

Her words still clung to him like smoke, suffocating and inescapable.

"Don't lie to me, Father."

The way she had said it, so softly yet so devastatingly, had hollowed him out. It wasn't just a challenge; it was a declaration. She knew. She knew, and yet she had leaned closer, pulled him further into her orbit, until he didn't know where he ended and she began.

As her footsteps faded, the silence she left behind was unbearable. The alley felt colder without her, the shadows darker, the rain heavier. It was as though she had taken something vital with her—something he didn't even realize he had offered.

Charlie's throat tightened as he dragged in a shaky breath, the taste of the rain metallic on his tongue. His lips parted, but no sound came out, no prayer, no plea, no cry of despair. He had nothing.

He should have followed her. The thought hit him like a lightning bolt, sudden and undeniable. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to move, to chase her into the night, to demand answers to the questions that clawed at his mind.

What was she?

What is this?

But his feet stayed rooted to the ground, as though the weight of his guilt and confusion had chained him there. He couldn't move forward. Not yet.

The air still hummed with the tension she had left behind, crackling with an energy that made his skin prickle. He could feel her absence like a wound, deep and aching, and he knew—he knew—this wasn't over.

Slowly, his hand rose to his chest, where her palm had pressed against him just minutes ago. Even through the rain-drenched fabric of his shirt, he could still feel the ghost of her touch, warm and searing, like it had burned through to his very core.

What was he supposed to do now?

His gaze fell to the ground, to the cobblestones glistening with rain, and he let out a broken, uneven breath. The fire she had ignited inside him still raged, consuming and insistent, refusing to be extinguished. And yet, there was no relief, no solace—only the unbearable weight of everything that had just happened.

He had wanted her. He still did. And that desire—raw, unyielding, and wholly forbidden—threatened to undo him entirely.

Charlie's hand fell to his side again, and he took an unsteady step back, the sound of his boots splashing in the puddles beneath him breaking the suffocating silence. His movements were mechanical, his mind a chaotic swirl of emotions and thoughts that refused to settle.

He looked up, his eyes searching the dark alley for any trace of her, but she was gone. The emptiness of the space around him felt vast, overwhelming, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he had just stepped over a threshold he could never cross back.

The rain continued to fall, cold and relentless, but it didn't wash away the heat, the tension, the sin that clung to him like a second skin.

And as Charlie turned to leave, his steps slow and heavy, he realized with a deep, painful certainty that this was just the beginning.

author's note !!!
it's one a.m. i'm really tired and i'm studying genetic for my exam. thank you for the attention and sorry for all the mistakes. i needed to update this, dying for them 😫.

let me know what you think!!! leave a comment and a star ⭐️ to support !!! 🩷🩷