Dawn had just touched the stained glass windows of the chapel. Pink light broke through the pattern of roses and angels on the stone floor, but the beauty could not calm the heart of the Reverend Maria. She sat in the front pew, her white robe fluttering in the morning breeze. In both hands, the rosary rustled without rhythm—more restless than prayer.
Ever since the moonflower incense that night, her sleep had changed. Every time she closed her eyes, her dreams were filled with soft sighs, warm breath in her ear, and her arms locked in the embrace of a man with a vague face. She knew that face: Ren—his smile was soft, his gaze warm, far different from any man she had ever met. Waking up in the morning, her body was still filled with a sweet sensation that reddened her cheeks. Then came the guilt: a priest was not worthy of thinking about worldly desires, let alone a servant.
Her hands trembled as she turned the beads of the rosary. "Lord of Light," she whispered, "forgive me… why did my heart betray me?"
The door to the chapel creaked. Maria almost jumped, hastily wiping her eyes. Ren stood in the doorway, carrying a basket filled with freshly washed altar cloths. The light filtered through the stained glass, making her silhouette look like part of a painting.
"Excuse me for interrupting," she said softly. "Father Gideon asked me to bring clean cloths."
Maria lowered her head, her face heating up. "No… you're not interrupting."
Ren walked slowly, setting the basket down beside the pulpit. He stared at the rosary in Maria's hand. "You pray so early in the morning. A restless heart?"
Maria held her breath. Every word Ren said was like her own push and pull: she wanted to run, but she wanted to be heard. Finally, she closed her eyes. "I… committed a sin in a dream."
Ren didn't sit too close; he chose a seat across the aisle, showing patience. "Can a dream be called a sin, when our hearts unintentionally invite it?"
Maria bit her lip. "But that dream… made me wake up with… a warm feeling." The word "warm" was almost choked out, her cheeks flushed pink. "And when I opened my eyes, I could only remember one name."
Ren lowered his head, his voice as calm as candle soot. "That name…?" She knew the answer, but waited.
Maria stared at her rosary, her fingers trembling. "Ren."
Silence fell between the pews. Far away on the altar, the morning candle flickered, as if holding its breath. Ren took a deep breath, then said, "To be honest… I had a dream too." This time he looked at Maria; the light from the stained glass made his eyes seem warm like embers. "A dream where I held the hand of a holy maiden, but not to defile her. I just… didn't want to let go."
Maria squeezed the rosary. "Why… why did you say that?"
"Because maybe," Ren continued softly, "God showed me that two people's hearts can touch even before their lips."
Maria closed her eyes. She felt warm tears welling up, not of sadness, more of fear mixed with relief. "I… was afraid to let that dream come into the light. Afraid of losing my purity."
Ren stood up, taking a step closer—close enough for Maria to feel his shadow on the floor. "Purity is not a wall," he whispered. "It can also be a bridge, if crossed with a sincere heart."
Maria looked up; tears hung at the tips of her eyelashes. Ren didn't wipe them away. He just looked up for a moment, holding himself back. Then he held out his palm—open, not forcing. "You can share the burden. Take my hand… or refuse, and I'll stay here, listening."
The rosary slipped from Maria's fingers, falling silently to the bench. Her trembling fingers reached for Ren's hand—slowly, as if afraid of burning. When their skin touched, the warm swish of the night's incense seemed to rise again, spreading from her fingertips to her arm, through her chest.
Maria took a shaky breath. "Your hand… is warm."
Ren let go of her grip, then sat down beside her—no more than a hymn's distance away. "You can tell me, or just sit. I won't judge."
Maria turned her head, her brown eyes moist. "In my dream…" Her voice trailed off, embarrassed. "…you held me. And I surrendered completely. I felt… a kindness so sweet it felt like a sin."
Ren shifted his hand, his thumb stroking Maria's back; the movement was gentle, reverent. "What felt so sweet, perhaps it was born from the love you harbored. Love is never a sin if it comes from a sincere heart."
Maria looked away, but didn't let go of his hand. "I am a priest. I live for God… not for… desire."
Ren paused for a moment. "Are you sure God rejects honest desire? Didn't He create love so that humans could help each other?"
"Love?" Maria repeated, her voice barely audible.
Ren leaned forward just a little, enough for Maria to see her reflection in his eyes. "Love that looks at you unconditionally. That understands your every doubt, but still holds your hand… like this."
Maria blinked. Her lips parted—as if she wanted to ask something—but only the sound of breathing came out. Ren did not kiss her; the boundary was still guarded. But their fingers were intertwined more tightly, as if they had made a wordless promise to each other.
Time dragged on the quiet minutes. The morning prayer was about to begin, Maria had to prepare. She pulled her hand away slowly, but before she let go, Ren closed their palms, kissing the back of Maria's hand briefly—gently, respectfully.
Maria's skin burned from that fleeting touch. She couldn't speak. When she stood up, her knees were shaking. Ren bent down, picked up the rosary, and returned it to Maria's hand. "Your prayer is more meaningful now," he whispered. "Because it was prayed with a living heart."
Maria held back tears, not of sorrow but of emotion. She turned toward the sacristy, her steps unsteady but light—as if she had just learned to walk with a heart that was no longer empty.
Ren stared at her back until the door closed, then let out a long breath. His grip was still warm. Unconsciously she held her own chest, feeling a beat that was not entirely fake. She turned to arrange the altar cloth, but her smile could not be hidden.
In another hallway…
Hiro walked quickly, last night's report in hand. He stopped the guard who was about to greet him, his eyes sharpening as he watched Ren exit the chapel. Ren bowed respectfully; Hiro replied briefly, but his gaze lingered longer than normal.
What was a servant doing in the chapel before dawn? he thought.
Ren walked by quietly, but there was a thin curve at the corner of his lips. Hiro felt his chest tighten—a mixture of suspicion and jealousy that he had not yet had time to name.
That evening, Maria lit the moonflower incense herself—without asking for help. She closed the door to her room, whispering in front of the mirror:
"God… if this feeling is wrong, give me the strength to reject it.
But if it is right… let me dream one more time."
Silver smoke swirled, and in the courtyard outside, Hiro stepped toward the window of the priest's room, attracted by the strange scent that permeated the wind.