Cecil's hand eagerly moved quickly across the tarnished page of the journal. It was worn out by age, the leather cover was deteriorating, and inside, the thin, wrinkled papers that filled it, were stained a horrid off yellow color. He had found booklet in the basement of the old church when he was cleaning one day, and hasn't since put it down.

Today especially, he had been compelled to write in it.

10th December 1936

"Forgive me lord for I have sinned," he wrote. "I have vowed myself to you, and have promised to you that I would be nothing more than a holy child—to keep myself from lecherous ponders and to keep myself from becoming deplorable like the common man—but today, I have sinned greatly."

He ceased the markings of his feathered pen, and bit his lower lip, bruising it; a light pink hue dusted his pallid cherub cheeks.

Cecil then looked back down at the paper, and sighed dreamily, chin supporting his slouched posture. He continued where he had left off.

"This evening, there was a man who sought refuge from a horrid storm, and of course, as abided by church law, was humbly welcomed by Father Marcelo; this man was an alpha. Lord, I had never seen an alpha before. The entirety of my life—since I have been dropped off here by my unknown mother—had I been encompassed only by the presence of betas and omegas; and when I had met the cursory gaze of the older man, I had immediately become flustered, and unbridled lust had coursed through me (though I did not let it show in my demeanor and retreated back to my quarters. I must admit hiding those...sensations were quite arduous; I barely could keep my pheromones restraint). The man was a paragon of pulchritude; so beautiful that I believed for a slight moment he was an angel sent by you. I know it sounds preposterous, ludicrous, blasphemous that I even dare record such words—and I wish you not Lord, to take umbridge to my thoughts because I mean no disrespect to you, and I know no one can be compared to the sons and daughters of the Heavens...but at the moment, it felt true. I have come here, imploring for forgiveness, wanting to repent for the sin I have committed against you, and yet—Lord, please I beg of you not to think lowly of me—for repenting feels wrong —but also refraining from repenting feels immoral as well. So, momentarily, all I can pray is that these feelings leave from the confines of my soul when the man stay is finished. Lord, I ask if you shall not loathe me, but guide me back to the path of righteousness."

Thank you Lord,

Amen.

Cecil closed the journal in his hand, and opened the drawer of his desk, gently placing it inside. Afterwards, he took a hold of the chamber stick on his desk and gently blew it so the little flame extinguished, making his way back to his bed. His footsteps were leisure and ponderous as he did so, aching slightly from standing from mass earlier today.

As he settled into the covers of his bed, he could immediately tell that his heart felt lighter with the confession; but despite this, the feelings of guilt still resided as well. At least, he thought,I would not be going to bed with a full burden on my chest. His hazel eyes stared up to the ceiling, a modicum of liquid left them. He ceremoniously clasped his hands together. Again Lord, I thank you.

These were the most optimistic reassurances he could come up with, and in this instance, had soothed him enough so that he could compel himself to shut his heavy eyes.

The hallway was slightly dimmed. It smelled faintly of smoke, and dust. Windows crafted by the finest colored glasses were embedded in rows, each one depicting scenes from the biblical stories.

At the very end of the hall, stood two figures. One stood much taller than the other, arms extended out to corner the smaller one.

"No, this is wrong. My virtue is... we should not be—"

A smothering kiss silenced the omega as a large, calloused hand pulled back the stiff crown band of his veil, revealing his braided auburn mane. One hand reached out, holding the back of his head. The grip was gentle, and pulled him in closer into the alpha. He could not breath in the moment, could not think, and followed through with the sweet kisses. Cecil's hand attempted to grasp whatever was behind him, but it was met by chilling marble. The stranger's bussing began to move south, to the curve of his lithe neck, sucking on the sensitive skin. Dark, circular red bruises coated the paleness of it.

Cecil gasped out in unprecedented pleasure and the man ceased his persistent kissing for a moment, and peered up at him. There was a twinkle of mischief in his eyes, and a playful smirk plastered on his face. The alpha's hands roamed much further downwards, his touch still lingering on the fabric of his clothes. He knew exactly what he was seeking.

A mixture of trepidation of joy spread through Cecil.

Two fingers found their way in between the plump slit. He dragged them right into the center, almost dipping into the whole, but refraining from doing it. Prodding them deeper, he—

Droplets of sweat had poured down the omega's face, and he tossed and turned, moaning till his eyes opened.

His face was heated.

What was that dream? It was surreal—so salacious. It was more sinful than the sin he had committed the day before—and yet, he was unsure what to think of it. Admittedly, he enjoyed the pleasure, but he also felt disgusted by having the dream in the first.

Lord, what is wrong with me?

He heaved, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his hands steadied themselves to pull himself up.

That was when he felt it.

The aching, slippery substance that fell between his thighs. A concoction of curiosity, and horror lingered in his mind. For a second he had thought that he had peed himself, but then it occurred to him—even as a child he had never wet the bed. Also, the texture was too thick to be...urine, therefore , that possibility was promptly ruled out. His ruminations wandered to any other possibilities, and the second thing that came to it mind was his period—but his cycle ended nearly a week ago, so that was the case either. But, if it were neither of those, then the question still remained.

What was it?

Carefully his hand lifted the covers, searching for his inner thigh. When he touched it, he automatically grimaced, and retreated his hand, staring at it. It was glossy, and stretched between his limber fingers. His nose scrunched up at the odd, musky smell that permeated from it.

His eyes widened in perpetual disgust, and that's when he realized this was the outcome of his dream.