He Who Flew Too Close

Prologue

In a void of darkness, my fingers press against the mirror before me. My brow furrows in discontent at the person staring back at me. Undoubtedly, this is me, and yet, somehow it isn't; the body is petite and slender with a delicate face, but spirit feels mismatched like I am some sort of zombie resurrected with body parts that aren't my own.

"Luminous One." A lilting voice rumbles like thunder around me. The irresistibly masculine sound ignites my soul, and instantly, my world is scalded in beautiful, golden light. "You say you love me, and yet, you question the beauty of my creation."

I freeze before turning. There before me is a man who glows like the sun. A man so beautiful it makes my heart ache. His golden hair freely flows like fire and his eyes peer up through it like pools of glistening honey. Despite his gaze's hypnotic beauty, I can't stare away from that chest of his. Every ripple of muscle is so immaculately sculpted that I feel as though I'm looking at a work of art. My cheeks burn as my insides prickle with jealousy before I remember it is rude to stare, but I just can't seem to sever my gaze.

He smirks and lounges back against the edge of the glittering pool like a king on his throne. From the glint in his eye, it's almost as if he wants me to look. Without breaking eye contact, he beckons me with a slow movement of his finger.

"Come here," he whispers. "I shall give you the love you so desperately crave.

My heart leaps. My whole body reddens like I am some chameleon trying to blend into the sunset behind me. I stutter and stammer, and then I wonder if it would be rude to decline. Admittedly, it doesn't take me long to reach this conclusion, but this is a dream, and he is my God. Or so I hope so anyway, as they tell me my dreams are prophetic. Surely, it can't count as a sin if it isn't real, right?

I swallow and dip my toe in the water, shielding my shameful chest from his eyes with my arms. It's warm. So irresistibly warm; the golden water feels purifying as I steadily wade into the blazing aura of the sun god. As the water rises up by my chest, I feel free, as if there is nothing ugly about me before him. Despite this, I still cannot manage to meet his gaze. Those eyes feel as though they are unraveling my soul.

Just as our chests are about to touch, his body distorts. His torso thins to the tall shape of a rake, and his eyes pale to the most monotonous grey. Those glistening golden locks wither away to nothing and his voice heightens to a nasally wheeze.

I look up and find I am locked in the arms of my pastor.

"Repent vile child!" he thunders.

I awaken screaming from yet another homoerotic dream about my god.

The book that was tucked under my arms flies on its spine as I jolt upward. The sound of it crashing to the floor smacks the sense back into me; I'd fallen asleep with the Lupine book in my arms. No wonder I had such lucrative dreams. I curse as my chest heaves, knowing instantly what was to blame for this -- the damned sexy stained-glass window had struck again. That was the only image I had to base such a fiercely masculine form on. I had shielded my eyes every time I passed it, yet still, I had fallen prey; every time I looked up to avoid the gaze of the audience when I was singing, there was Apollo and his stupid sexy abs.

In hindsight, commissioning such an accidentally sexually-charged piece of art was a rather obtuse error for a church that practiced abstinence as a form of worship. So many innocent souls had fallen to that infamously sexy stained glass. Its hypnotic power is so prominent that some even said that it was haunted-that the deviant souls of the countless Lupine slaughtered by the church had flocked there, continuing to seduce the innocent youth even in death.

That was the only natural reason it would continuously weasel its way into my mind, right?

I realise then that the boys hadn't pounded the wall in their dorm like they usually do when I wake up from my nightmares. They must have been sound asleep. The thought of being alone with my thoughts is almost as uncomfortable as the dream itself; I close my thighs and try to ignore the warmth glowing between them. Shame shrouds my features and as I lay there, staring at the ceiling, I feel utterly vile. I just can't lie here like this. With each moment that passes, I feel my soul sink deeper and deeper into deviancy.