The Witch A Lesbian Temptation

1

1630, England.

Faith sat beside her lord father as the priest spoke. The church pews were old, hewn from trees felled long before her time. The cathedral itself was older still, its stone walls rose high, reaching toward the heavens. Angels stood on plinths jutting out from the walls, looking serenely down upon the congregation.

The cathedral was full of stuffy parishioners sitting prim and proper in uniform rows. Each of them wore black, the women were dressed in floor length dresses which concealed their bodies from view. As she looked around, Faith's eyes locked with Lily's; their intense green bearing down into Faith's soul. A devilish grin crossed her lips and Faith averted her eyes.

Her heart pounded and she stared steadfastly at the large crucifix mounted on the wall behind the altar. After a moment she looked again and the older woman's gaze was fixed upon the priest; her expression serene and holy.

A glowing hot ember burnt inside Faith, settling deep in the base of her stomach. She pressed her legs together and straightened her posture. As the priest called for them to kneel, she obediently fell forward onto her knees, prostrating herself before the large crucifix, Christ's mournful eyes following her every movement.

"Let us pray," the priest's low voice echoed around the room. Faith closed her eyes and spoke to God. In these moments, she could feel him as though he were standing right in front of her. As she prayed for forgiveness for her sins, she felt the burning heat of his hand upon her breast and a striking pain sunk into place where the ember had burnt moments before. She gasped silently, clasping at her stomach and stifling the urge to cry out in pain.

This was a warning; one that she had felt before, one that she knew all too well. She had always tried to listen to God, to follow his path daily. She had committed herself to a life of sanctity and restraint, never to stray from his path. But Lily had waylaid her once again, with nothing but a look. Faith's brow creased, she pushed the woman from her mind and spoke again to God.

"Father, guide my heart that I might once again follow your path. Steer me from the wicked ways of the devil and the temptation of his sins." As she spoke, she felt his warmth again, settling into her heart. He was with her even when she felt the pull of Lily's wayward lust. He would guide her path always.

"My brothers and sisters," the priest said loudly, prompting the parishioners to move back into their seats. "It is oft said, that we must bring Christ into our lives, that we must open the doors of our hearts to him," the priest paused meaningfully, allowing the echo of his words to trail back through the church, "But, my brothers and sisters, Christ does not come into our lives, he is always there; he has always been there." With this, the priest extended his arms out and turn his palms upward, as though bathing in an unseen light.

To Faith, the priest always looked holy, pious; he was someone to be revered. She could listen to his sermons for hours on end and never grow weary. He breathed life into the words she had dutifully read in her bible, he breathed fire into the teachings of Christ. There was but one other time when she had felt so consumed by fire, touched by the hands of some deity.

She turned her eyes to Lily, whose own gaze was firmly fixed on the priest, her penitent demeanour betrayed nothing of the devil within. To those around her she was as devout and subservient to God as any member of the congregation. But Faith had seen another side of her two weeks prior, the woman had led her astray, down a path she longed to forget. She wouldn't let it happen again.

While around her, the parishioners faded their attentions back onto themselves, Faith sat upright, taking in every word. The priest, noticing, turned to her as he spoke, "Christ, is not some beggar to be ushered in front of a warm fireplace, he is the fire that warms the hearth." The ember in Faith's stomach ignited again, but this time it was not the shameful urgency she had felt before.

The spirit of God was moving within her. Her insides burned with his spirit, it flicked at her ribcage and at the bones of her hips, spreading a warmth that echoed, almost temptingly, to her thighs. This was the true feeling of God; this was piety made incarnate. She closed her eyes, and listened to the final moments of the sermon.

Her breath was deep and heavy, it filled her lungs with life and, as he finished the homily, she felt as though she were floating high above the pew. She sat in quiet reflection as the priest said his final words, prompting the parishioners to move toward the grand exit and out into the daylight.

Her parents left her, knowing as they did, that she liked to seek confession each week after the service. She waited until the pews sat empty, then stood and moved toward the confessional. The voice behind her was slick, as though coated with chrism oil. It made her freeze on the spot, an icy chill running down her spine.

"Confession, so soon?" came the voice of the devil herself. Faith turned to see Lily standing behind her, bemused. She looked upon Faith from her height, her long neck craning back as she peered down through heavy eyelids. The corners of her lips turned up into points and, between them, the sharp peaks of her teeth glistened. "Surely you can't have been that wicked," the temptress taunted.

"May God bless you," Faith said, trying to hold firm. Lily gave a cruel laugh and walked away, disappearing around the corner into a side chapel. Faith's resolve waivered momentarily and she shook her head clear. She parted the curtain of the confessional and sat down inside, her body still chilled from the encounter.

She spoke into the wooden grate that separated her from the silhouette of the priest. "Forgive me father for I have sinned, it has been seven days since my last confession." The priest did not answer and she continued. "I have been covetous, I have been lazy, and..." she paused, afraid to speak the words aloud.

"Tell me child, so that God may forgive," came the comforting voice of the priest in the chamber beside her. Her mind turned to Lily; the feeling of her lips pressed against her neck, how she had drawn such convulsions from Faith with nothing but a finger.

She calmed herself, taking a breath before speaking, "I have been lustful."

The priest considered a moment, his frail breathing passing through the grate. He was an aged man, of some 80 years. He spoke wisely, despite being so many years older than her. He was able to relate to all of his flock, and Faith was glad of it.

"My child, we are all guilty of desiring that which we know we must reject. So often we seek comfort in places that cannot provide it. Turn instead to God, where you will find not lust, but love. Consider this, and offer three Hail Mary's as penance for your sins."

"Thank you, Father," Faith whispered.

"God, the Father of mercies, through the death and the resurrection of His Son has reconciled the world to Himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit."

As the priest finished his prayer, Faith made the sign of the cross and exited the confessional. Her mind was clear, her soul pure again. She knelt in a pew and said her penance. As she turned to leave, something moved behind her, she turned in time to see a trail of green fabric slither behind a pillar. She rushed for the exit and breathed a sigh of relief as the warmth of the sun fell upon her skin.

---

As Faith lay down to sleep, her mind was clouded once more. Phantoms roamed the edges of her room and visions of hellfire haunted her as she closed her eyes. She held her crucifix in her hands, she knew Lily could not reach her here- her chamber was in another wing of the castle- but somehow, she still felt her pull. Here, in the bareness of her bedchamber, the temptress's hands clawed at her urgency. She could feel Lily's fingers pawing at her thighs, beseeching her to follow her into the night.

A cool breeze blew through the open window and the thin cloth of her shift rippled over her body. The cool air chipped at her nipples, which rose with intensity as her breath deepened. Her hands fell from the crucifix, to her lap. The night around her swallowed her resolve and she delicately ran her fingers over the tender mound above her spot.

Nothing could compare to Lily's touch but, in these moments where she could close her eyes and imagine, she felt almost as good. She slid her fingers down to her spot, pressing the fabric of her shift between her folds. The fire ignited within her stomach and she gave herself over.

"L-lily," she moaned into the night.

---

When she awoke, it was dawn. The sins of the night were forgotten as she stared out through her window. The town was bustling already, farmhands bringing the days produce to the market. Below, in the courtyard, servants rushed to-and-fro. Faith pulled her undergarments up around her hips and stowed her night slip beneath her pillow.

She pulled her dress over her head and smoothed the ruffles around her waist. Her reflection peered out from the tarnished mirror sitting in the corner of her stone bedchamber; the image of purity. She turned to her table and sat on the plump stool in front of it, working the powder into her fair skin and applying the blush sparingly to her cheeks. When she was done, she smiled. She wasn't vain, but she was quite content with her beauty. She flounced down the spiral staircase to the kitchen and helped herself to the scones fresh out of the oven. The cook smiled at her, "Morning M'lady."

"Morning Esther," Faith said to the middle-aged woman. She continued through the kitchen, out into the front gardens and found a spot in the shade of an ancient elm. She opened her book and settled into its pages. The day passed around her, the sun tracking its way across the sky until the familiar sound of chiming from the kitchen pulled her from her trance. She made her way to the hall and sat beside her mother. Around the table sat the members of the household, the Lords family at one end and the close kin and higher members of the staff at the other.

"You are making quick work of that novel," her mother smiled, nodding to the book sitting on the table.

"He writes with such urgency! I can only read to match him," Faith smiled.

A leg of lamb sat in the centre of the table, on a bed of roasted vegetables. Faith's lord father rose from his chair and set about carving the meat, dishing it out to each member of the family in turn before sliding the platter down to the other end. Last Christmas, Faith had helped her father pick out a lamb for the feast. It had been a wonderful day; Faith had chased the lamb through the fields and fallen head first into the mud several times before finally catching it.

The reality of her choice had only set in when she sat down for Christmas dinner and the lifeless body of the lamb lay in the middle of the table, its empty eyes staring out at her. She couldn't shake the image from her mind and moved her plate out of her father's reach, settling for a plate of potatoes instead. The air shifted and she shivered in the cold. By the entrance of the hall, Lily glided into the room. Her elegant arms flowed from her silk robe, her pale fingers catching the light as she floated to the far end of the table and gracefully sat. Faith gulped, the memory of her nightly sins coming back to her at last.

Lily artfully selected a tender slice of lamb and place it on her plate, carving yet another piece to match. The blood flowed from the meat onto her dish and Faith recoiled at the sight. Lily, sensing this, looked up at her. Her eyes pierced Faith's; daring her to speak. Something in her expression unnerved her, it was as though Lily knew the lustful cries that had graced Faith's lips the night before. But she couldn't possibly know, could she? Faith looked back to her plate, suddenly feeling overfed. She excused herself and retired to her chamber.

2

What was this power that Lily so deftly wielded? Until a fortnight ago, Faith had never felt drawn to the woman. She had regarded her as little more than a friendly face within the castle walls. The two hardly spoke and had never been alone together. One night, half a month ago, had changed all of that. Faith had been lying in bed, unable to sleep. Her mind was full of lustful thoughts and her spot burned with desire. She had dealt with this longing before, but recently the pull was growing ever urgent.

Wearing only her shift, she had risen and wandered through the castle, trying to find solace and distraction in the dimly lit halls. As she walked, her mind had turned to Joan of Arc, her personal hero. The battles she had fought, how she had risen from being the daughter of a farmer after hearing Gods voice. How she led the armies of France and, finally, how she met her fiery end.

As she rounded the corner to the West wing, Faith collided with a dark figure. She begged her pardon, rushing an explanation for being out so late. The looming figure turned to face her; it was Lily; the woman who tended to the hounds in the castle. Her eyes, usually so green, were dark; like black circles piercing the night. She was clothed in a long dark robe, concealing her hands from view.

Her long black hair fell over her face, like thick oil. She said nothing, instead turning away in silence and walking down the hall. Faith watched with a burning curiosity as she crossed the threshold into the night. Against her will, Faith's legs urged her forward after the figure. The dark silhouette moved across the field toward the hut that sat on the border of the castle grounds. Several feet beyond sat the forest; its trees swaying silently in the moonlight.

Lily reached the door of the cabin and glanced over her shoulder as Faith ducked into the shadows of a nearby hedge, holding her breath. Satisfied she was alone, Lily turned back to the door, after a moment it was opened by an unseen hand, and she entered inside. The door closed behind her and Faith was overcome with a desire to see beyond its timbers. The hut had stood empty for as long as Faith could remember, relegated to history after a new groundskeeper's hut had replaced it on the southern side of the castle.

Against her better judgment she approached it. She crept silently to the dirty window and peered into the pitch black, nothing moved within. She pressed her ear to the door and listened carefully. From the other side, she could hear a quiet murmur; a single voice melodically chanting, almost like a prayer. She felt wrong being there, like a silent evil lay over the place.

As she turned to walk away, the door creaked open just a fraction; barely enough to slip a letter through. The darkness within called to her, drawing her against her will. It spoke silently, coaxing her forward. She pushed against the rough-hewn panels of the door; it swung open with a force she did not offer. As she stood on the threshold, she saw nothing within, the soft murmur of the woman inside was gone, and the night was silent.

She thought of turning away, of returning to her chamber, but something inside had called for her, it's voice speaking to a part of her that she had no control over. As she crossed over into the darkness, the door closed. Her eyes refused to adjust and she stood in the all-consuming din. Shapes beyond her vision moved in near-silence; their movement causing the air to flow around her. Her slip swayed in the breeze, pressing itself to her breasts and clinging to her nipples which stood with curiosity.

"Hello?" She whispered to the darkness.

"Hello, my child," a honey-rich voice crooned beside her.

"Who, who is that?" Faith asked, her nerves brimming inside.

"We, you, are one," the voice whispered in her ear, now at her other side.

"Lily?" she said.

"No," the voice replied.

Faith spun around to face the creature but when she reached out, there was nothing. As she stood, trembling in the darkness, she felt a warmth behind her and froze. The figure breathed its hot breath on her neck and she craned her head sideways, baring her skin to it. Her nerves faded and a calm settled over her, she felt as she did in the moments before she took communion, instinctively she offered her hands out to receive it.

She felt a cool sensation, as though someone was pouring chilled mist into her hands. The feeling spread along her arms. It became a prickling that trickled down her chest, over her stomach to her lips below. She felt a stirring from within her womb and a heavy hand fell on her shoulder.

"What do you want?" she asked it.

The voice that came back was her own; matching hers in pitch and tone, "What do you need?" it asked her. She felt herself growing wet beneath her gown, her lips chilled as the breeze blew between her thighs. The voice, though it sounded like her, felt like a holy presence. Though her heart was pounding, she was growing ever calmer. A strange serenity had settled in. She didn't answer the voice.

"Don't worry, my child," it said to her, "We know."

In silence, the hand moved over her shoulder, and held her breast. The warmth of it flowed through her chest and she felt what she had only ever felt in those moment when she was lost in prayer. She gasped quietly into the night and the hand gripped her firmly, its slender fingers curling around her tender breast. She lifted her own hand to hold it, but found only herself. She turned around and reached into the darkness, but felt nothing.

"Hello?" she whispered, growing afraid again. She strained her eyes but even the window somewhere to her left was pitch black. The stars outside had been extinguished, she thought for a brief, terrifying moment, that she might be dead, lost in some unknown purgatory.

The voice replied, thick as molasses against her neck, "We are here." It sounded like Lily this time, but it was distorted, as though several voices were speaking in unison. A rich baritone rumbled beneath the lilting tune of Lily's voice. The breath returned to her neck and she leant back against the figure. She gasped as the bare skin of a woman pressed into her; the form of her breasts braced against Faith's back. The hand retuned, lower this time, upon her belly.

It pulled her hard against the woman behind her, pressing Faith's buttocks into the figure's hips. Faith reached behind and, this time, her hands found the soft skin of a woman, her curves flowing downward to her thighs. Faith was burning with desire, with ecstasy. She thought of Saint Teresa, who had felt the hands of God upon her throughout her life. Perhaps this was some angel, come to bless her in turn? She closed her eyes and let herself be lifted into that same ecstasy, giving herself over to the being.

"Please," she uttered.

As the hand slid down toward her labia, a pair of lips kissed her neck tenderly. She moaned as the woman flicked her tongue wickedly at Faith's skin. Her delicate fingers found Faith's spot and rubbed it through the fabric of her gown. The warmth of her pearl grew wider, flicking its flames through her body as she gave herself over to the pleasure. She moaned louder into the night, feeling Lily's finger entering her. It curved up, deep inside, pulling at her release.

Faith ran her hands over the woman, feeling for her mound. She pressed her finger against Lily's lips and gasped as the wet blessed her fingers. Lily's palm pressed to Faith's pearl and her little death collapsed over her, sending her body into wave after wave of pure ecstasy. As the flushes of heat flowed and slowed to mild pulses within her, she felt the body of the woman disappear. She reached out again but felt nothing, waiving her hands in the darkness, searching for Lily to no avail. She stepped forward and her hands fell on a door handle. She turned it and stepped out into the night, still panting as the cool air hit her lungs.