𝙴𝚁𝙾𝚃𝙸𝙲⠀& 𝚁𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙶𝙸𝙾𝙽 ͏ ♱⃬ ͏ ͏
⠆ ͏ 𝓜𝙸𝙳𝙽𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃 𝙼𝙰𝚁𝚃𝚈𝚁 ¿
⠀❲⠀⠀♱ Vincent Rien wasn't just a man of God.
He was a wolf draped in a shepherd's cloak.
In the quiet corners of Spring Falls, the devil
could spe...
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❝ ... ❞ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
♱
A month had slipped by since Father Rien first arrived in Spring Falls. Life kept its usual rhythm, slow and sticky as molasses, with folks lingering on front porches and gossip rolling through the air like a faint, familiar hymn. Nothing much had changed, not really, except for the quiet unease that had settled itself into Jacqueline's bones since Vincent's arrival. It was a feeling she tried to ignore—tried to pray away—but it only grew stronger with each passing day.
One night, lying sleepless and restless in her bed, Jacqueline saw a figure moving across the yard. She crept to the window, and there, in the dim light spilling from the church down the road, she saw him. Vincent. He wasn't alone. A woman clung to his arm, her laughter ringing out softly as if they shared some secret joke. Jacqueline felt a jolt of something electric tighten in her chest, as though a low flame had been kindled in her ribs.
She pressed herself against the window, peering out through the veil of curtains, watching as Vincent led the woman up the steps of the old rectory. His hand was at the small of her back, guiding her, his head bent close to hers as he whispered something Jacqueline couldn't make out. She felt her breath catch, her pulse quicken. It was like witnessing something intimate, something meant to be hidden. She should've turned away, let the curtains fall, and gone back to her prayers, but instead she leaned closer, her forehead nearly touching the glass.
A strange, hot shame crept over her as she watched the way he touched the woman's arm, the deliberate care in his movements. Jacqueline's skin prickled with longing she didn't quite understand. It was a low ache, nestled deep beneath her belly, and as she watched Vincent disappear through the rectory door with the woman at his side, that ache twisted itself into a knot of bitter envy.
Her eyes stayed fixed on the empty porch long after they were gone, her thoughts unraveling in a dark tangle. It was a terrible thing, she knew, to covet a man like that. Especially a man of God, a man who stood before the congregation every Sunday and spoke with such authority about sin and redemption. But as she stood there, her breath fogging the windowpane, Jacqueline couldn't stop herself from imagining what it would feel like to have his eyes on her the way they'd been on that woman, to be drawn close and made to listen as he spoke in that low, deliberate voice, his lips so near to her ear.
