The Monsters in us all ( Dark!/Yandere! Hetalia x Reader )

Dark France x Reader ~Holy~

A/N: Again, transferring this from paper to an online text took its time. Either way I hope you'll enjoy the story I've cooked up this time. France is one of the characters that I wrote about earlier on, but decided to take his story down because I wasn't happy with it. Now, I'm taking a completely different approach.

Since it has been a long time since I last asked this and because I've very keen on your opinions: Which of these stories are your favourite, which do you like the least and why?

Warnings as per usual, if you've read the previous posts you should know what I mean.

And thus I clothe my naked villainy

With old odd ends stolen forth from holy writ

And seem a saint when most I play the devil.

[Shakespeare's Richard III, Act I Scene 3]

Once, you had been pious, devout to the church, unwavering in your trust – that had been your mistake. There had been a time when you had gladly attended sermons in the cathedral at the city's centre. You had always been told that the Lord was almighty and omnipotent and benevolent. Now you the doubted that last one.

The might of God was easy to believe when you resided in the holy place. With a kaleidoscope of colours falling though dozens of windows and the skeletal design of the gothic masterpiece you feel small and insignificant, like how you would fell upon standing in front of your maker once you pass off into the next realm.

Once you had been of the opinion that it would be more than enough to humble even the proudest man.

But the devil plays more with mortals than any deity does.

You are disgusted by the hand on your head as well of the cloying perfume that enveloped the pastor like a noxious cloud, not to mention the hundreds of eyes burning into your back. Had you the courage, or better said the shamelessness, then you would stand up and scream this injustice to the heavens.

Yet you don't, you remain kneeling in simple piety before the altar, eyes closed as you mumble prayers as you hold a rosary in your hands. As much as you despise this humiliation you remain docile, since in certain aspects you are evidently lacking and because you don't want to make things worse for yourself.

Francis softly stroked your hair, his movements so minute so that nobody else could see what he was doing. There was a triumphant smirk on his visage, one that could be interpreted for a gracious smile. You weren't fooled, how could you be after all that had happened?

He had you exactly where he wanted you and he revelled in that fact.

Admitted, he was a handsome man with his clean-cut feature and his golden hair. People said of him that he was an angel. You objected; he had long fallen from grace, more a demon than a heavenly servant – Lucifer.

The priest is so alike the hellish being, the most conniving and revolting amongst the holy because he knows to hide his true colours. Actually, the others should know that there was something fishy about him. The finest clothes and foods that the community could offer were just adequate for him and that sly smile and glint of greed in dark blue eyes were a dead giveaway.

Peering up at his face like you had a hundred times before, you muttered "Amen" in a solemn way and he inspected you from head to toes as if he yearned to devour you. From experience you knew he did and dark satisfaction would replace his welcoming expression whenever he obtained what he desired.

Even if you were oblivious to the look of rapacity, he was granting you, the implications of the things he liked to whisper in your ears was crystal clear and it made your insides itch with revulsion. Only his words caused you to feel sullied with sin.