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That kiss scared him. Everything to do with me scares him, I can tell.

He hesitates before he offers the chalice, and I take it in my hands, tied together in front of me this time. How nice of him to give me some variety. He’s also dressed me up in the general’s wife’s gown, a satiny green with a low bodice that makes my breasts look like they want to escape. I felt like a proper pet when he put all the layers on me, one by one. Any desire he may have felt while dressing me, he managed to keep hidden.

This morning, he brought in two of the pews from the church and pushed them together so they resemble a bed. I haven’t slept on it yet, but so far, it seems the mound of clothes on the floor might be the more comfortable option.

I tilt the chalice back and swallow the rest of the contents in one gulp.

His dark brows rise appreciatively. “Alright. I can show you how to pray.”

He gets to his feet and plucks the chalice from my hands, placing it on the table before pulling me up by my elbow. “Come on. Do you think you can hobble out there, or shall I carry you?”

“Why don’t you see if I can learn how to walk?” I point out. I start tipping over, and he keeps me up by placing his warm palms on my shoulders. “I can’t learn if you keep me hobbled. It’s as if I still have a tail.”

He stares at me for a moment and then nods. “Fair point. Promise you won’t kick me?”

“I make no such promises.”

He chuckles to himself and then bends down, breaking the rope apart with his bare hands as if it was just a strand of hair.

I feel like he did that on purpose, a reminder of his strength and what he could do to me.

How easy I am to break.

But I won’t be broken without a fight.

He puts his hand at my elbow to steady me. Standing beside him like this, I’m also aware of how much bigger and taller he is too. Every inch of him is taut and hard and powerful, more beast than man, more animal than priest. It’s strange that I’ve had his fingers inside me, that he’s had his cock between my breasts, that we’ve both come in each other’s presence, seen each other at our most raw and vulnerable, and yet it’s in moments like this that I feel the difference in our statures.

He, the captor.

Me, the captive.

But when he asks, “Are you alright to walk? Here, lean on me and take it one step at a time,” and his voice is gentle, his eyes full of concern, I wonder if the man inside him will ever win for good. If he can shuck away the monster one day, alongside this religion, free himself from both. If he can become the man he was once, the one with the name he no longer remembers.

I give him a reassuring smile. “I’ll try.”

I’ve had my feet bound this whole time, hobbling and hopping around the room when he’s not here, working my muscles and testing my feet, making sure they’re ready for the big escape. But now that I actually have to walk with one foot in front of the other, it’s not as easy as I let myself believe.

I wobble, a lot, but Priest keeps his grip on me steady, leading me toward the door, toward the place where the salvation happens. My feet feel tight and thin, my toes continuously gripping the floor like they’re claws. My calves are quick to ache, but I manage to put one foot in front of another until we’re at the door.

He lets go of me long enough to unlock it, and I manage to stay upright.

Then, he opens the door and leads me through to a whole new world.

This place feels holy. The air is thick with reverence—there is no other way to explain it. Sometimes, back in Limonos, you would come across these sea caves where the sun would pierce the surface just so, shining light on the coral and the shimmering scales of the fish, and you could feel that it was a place of importance. Other times, there were caverns in the rock where the dead were buried, piles of Syren bones, and you could sense all the lives that came before you.

This church is like that. Perhaps not as natural, not as pure, but I can tell it’s a place where people come to bring their hopes and dreams and fears and sorrows and lay them down, offer them up.

“What?” Priest asks me.

I’ve come to a stop, taking it all in.

“You don’t feel it?” I whisper, looking up at the rafters. I suppose the place is simple—I’ve seen fancier in underwater kingdoms—but even in its simplicity, there is something palpable in the air.

“Feel what?” His gaze is curious as it rakes over me.

I shrug, feeling a little foolish. If a priest doesn’t even know…

“I can tell it’s a place of worship.”