Chapter 10
Chapter ten
Claire
The cathedral was eerily quiet when they returned. The candles along the hallways had burned down to their stubs, their faint light quivering against the cold stone. They took the spiral stairs, their footsteps echoing softly up the tower’s spine, the air filled with the flutter of wings.
Birds circled above them, their coos threading through the stillness. Claire glanced up uneasily. “Do they never unsettle you?”
Mirela smiled faintly. “No. They’ve become my friends. I feed them when I have leftover bread. I don’t get too attached since many never return.”
“You remember each one?” Claire asked, her brow furrowing.
“Other than the gargoyles,” Mirela said, “they’re the only ones that keep me company.”
Claire didn’t answer. She could feel Mirela’s curious gaze on her. She wasn’t supposed to be here. She knew that. But somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to leave if it meant leaving Mirela alone.
When they reached the landing, Mirela opened the door to her chamber. Inside, the air smelled of dust, wax, and charcoal. Drawings covered every surface. There were birds, gargoyles, the city skyline, and her. Mirela had clearly kept herself busy.
Claire froze. “You have more drawings of me,” she whispered, stepping closer to one of the sketches pinned near the wall.
Mirela turned away shyly. “I can’t seem to find beauty in anything else. I didn’t think you’d mind.”
Claire smiled softly and reached into her bundle, pulling out the folded paper she’d kept tucked away since that first night. “I kept the first one you gave me.”
Mirela’s eyes widened. “You did?”
She sounded so surprised Claire’s heart ached. Why wouldn’t she keep it? That drawing was a treasure she would cherish for the rest of her life…
“Of course. It’s a reminder of the day we met,” Claire said, pressing the drawing to her chest.
Mirela said nothing, but her expression softened. She touched one of the sketches on the table.
“When I was younger, I used to beg Ferron for pastels, pencils… anything I could draw with. I was obsessed with the paintings in the church. I wanted to make something beautiful too.” Her voice faltered.
“He thought that a creature like me could never make something beautiful, and even so, he brought me the materials…”
Mirela stopped tapping her fingers over one specific drawing of a bird.
“I would gift him the drawings…” She shrugged. “It was the only thing I possessed… and he would take what I made but never keep them. Once I saw him throw them out into the street.”
Claire’s heart twisted. That man was evil. There was no doubt about it in her mind. “If I were him, I’d have kept every single one. I’d build a whole room filled with them.”
Mirela blinked, startled, as though the idea had never occurred to her.
Claire smiled through her ache. “We will have a room full of them.”
“Claire—“
“You’re extraordinary, Mirela. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.”
Mirela’s lips parted in silent disbelief.
Claire stepped closer, lowering her voice. “When I saw your drawings, I felt as if you’d peeled back the walls around me. I didn’t feel like a nun, or a sinner. Just… me.” She hesitated, her chest tight. “You saw me, Mirela…” she whispered. “That is why I can’t go back to them. To that place.”
“To the convent?”
“Convent… home.” Claire shrugged. “It makes no difference. One didn’t hesitate to get rid of me. One wants to keep me locked up.”
Mirela looked at her carefully. “I would not get rid of you,” she said softly. “If I could, I would keep you forever. But not in a tower or as a prisoner. Not in a convent. Not even in Paris.”
Claire’s throat caught. “Would you run away with me, then? To the countryside?”
Mirela blinked in surprise. “I have never seen it,” she admitted. “I wouldn’t know what it’s like.”
Claire’s heart fell for a moment, thinking that Mirela would say no to her idea but then Mirela smiled.
“But I would love to see it… if you were my guide.”
Something in Claire broke and healed all at once.
To live with Mirela, to have their own home somewhere in the countryside filled with their pets, with flowers and warmth and the smell of a lovingly cooked meal, and to be surrounded by the warmth of the sun instead of hiding away in a convent or in the cathedral. Just them…
It sounded impossible, but beautiful at the same time.
Claire laughed, releasing the bag she was holding and dashing towards Mirela. She cupped her face, pulled her lower and kissed her before she could think better of it. Mirela stiffened for only a moment before her hands found Claire’s waist, pulling her close.
“I will take this as a yes,” she laughed as well, her strong arms circling around Claire. “Then let us go,” Mirela whispered against her mouth. “Together.”
Claire’s breath hitched. She pressed her palms against Mirela’s stomach. Her touch drew a quiet sound from Mirela, a shiver that echoed through her own body.
The kiss deepened, first softly, then hungrily, then breathlessly.
Claire’s fingers slid into Mirela’s hair, clutching the back of her neck as desire coiled low in her stomach.
It reminded her of their unfinished business, of the need to taste everything that was Mirela.
The world around them faded until only the sound of their breathing remained.
But then Mirela pulled away suddenly, eyes darting to the window.
“I have to toll the bells.”
Claire blinked, dazed. “Now?”
“It’s the hour.” Mirela stood, looking flustered. “You can stay here, I—“
“Take me with you,” Claire said.
Mirela turned, startled. “You want to watch me toll the bells?”
“Yes. Anything,” Claire said, breathless. “I’ll do anything, as long as it’s with you.”
Mirela scoffed softly, eyes darting away. “I don’t know much about… well, anything.”
Claire smiled, stepping forward until their foreheads touched. “Then we’ll learn together. I’ll teach you, and you’ll teach me. But together, not alone. Not anymore.”
Mirela stared at her, her chest rising and falling fast. “I…” she hesitated, then smiled faintly. “I like that.”
She took Claire’s hand and led her up the final flight of stairs.
When they emerged into the tower, the night air struck them full force.
The city stretched far below, the river glinting like dark glass.
Pigeons scattered from the ledges as they approached the rope hanging from the largest bell.
To think that after all these years, this was Mirela’s tether to the outside world.
That her only solace was a man claiming to care for her, while she spent her days alone, looking down as life went on without her.
It wasn’t fair, not for anyone, especially not for someone like Mirela.
Moving past her, Mirela grasped the rope with both hands and pulled. The great bronze mass swung, and the sound that followed was enormous yet pure and resonant.
Stunned by the beauty of it, Claire pressed her hands over her ears.
The muscles in Mirela’s arms flexed with each pull, straining against the green blouse.
Her body moved with the rhythm she noticeably had mastered long ago.
The moonlight painted her in silver and shadow, sweat glinting along her throat.
Claire couldn’t look away. The bell rang again, the sound rolling through the night like thunder. Mirela exhaled, her breath visible in the cold air. When she turned, their eyes met.
In that look, Claire felt reverence, hunger, fear, and the reckless, impossible truth of what they had already become.
***
Mirela
Mirela couldn’t tear her gaze away from Claire.
Her hair was undone, her breath uneven, her lips parted as though she’d just been running.
She looked nothing like the nun she had seen in the cathedral days ago, and despite that, to Mirela, she looked even more beautiful than before because she looked real.
Her hand still gripped the thick rope of the bell before she gave it one last pull, too hard, too long. The toll echoed through the night and Mirela didn’t even stop to think that someone, anyone might notice that she had pulled on the rope one too many times.
She was too preoccupied looking at the heavenly creature before her, a creature that stared at her with something that could only be described as devotion.
“Claire,” Mirela called out, finally releasing her hold on the ropes. She walked to Claire as her hands trembled to hold her like she had done back in the convent.
It appeared that was exactly what Claire was thinking. As soon as Mirela stood before her, Claire reached for her, her hand clasping her face, pulling her down for a kiss.
This one was completely different from the one before. This kiss wasn’t timid, nor chaste. It was hungry.
Her arms wrapped around Claire instinctively, slotting their mouths together, needing her closer, needing her skin. Mirela had to touch, to taste, to feel every inch of this woman who had made her feel seen and safe.
She lifted Claire with ease, her body lighter than she thought it would be. Claire let out a soft yelp, wrapping her arms securely around Mirela’s shoulders as she made her way towards the stairs.
Mirela quieted her surprise as they made a trail of soft moans and breathless laughter that echoed off the stone. Mirela’s pulse pounded so fiercely she could barely breathe.
Never in her life had Mirela thought she would have this, a person like Claire touching her with a sweetness and want she had only seen when she looked upon the perishers.
She never thought she would be looked upon with the need burning in Claire’s eyes.
This woman wanted her, and yet the want pouring from Claire didn’t feel wrong or sinful—it felt right.
When they reached her chamber, Mirela settled her down in the middle of the room. Claire’s fingers explored her arms, her shoulders, the curve of her neck, and every touch felt like a consecration. Mirela’s skin burned beneath her fingertips; every caress made her light-headed.
Even when she released Claire, she couldn’t peel her hands off her. Their mouths found each other again, deeper this time, desperate, reverent. Mirela drank her in, her hands cradling the other woman’s face, attacking her mouth and allowing whatever felt right to guide her.
“I want to worship you,” Mirela whimpered.
“Have you ever been with someone?” Claire asked, her voice trembling, the question itself a confession.
Mirela took a step back, allowing herself to take a clean gulp of air and breathe something other than Claire’s intoxicating rosy scent.
She hadn’t been with anyone, but she had seen lovers outside of the cathedral, she had seen them hide in dark alleys, thinking that no one could see them.
She had seen the way they worshipped one another.
On their knees, kissing the lover’s body as the other stood.
She had seen it in all types of couples, and she was jealous of their boldness.
She wanted to be bold with Claire, to be able to pleasure her and elicit the same sounds she had heard from those lovers in the streets…
She knew she wouldn’t be the best, but she was willing to learn everything that was Claire, everything that would make her tremble with want and need.
“No. I haven’t,” Mirela finally answered.
Claire gave a breathless laugh, tinged with disbelief. “Of course not. Why am I even asking?”
Mirela tilted her head and smiled faintly.
“I have witnessed many things from up here, Claire. I smell the city’s food, hear its laughter, its sorrow.
” She paused, her hold on Claire softening.
“I’ve seen lovers, too, finding corners in which to hide themselves.
Sinful to some. But to me…” Her eyes lingered on Claire’s face, her lips. “To me it always looked like freedom.”
Claire breath hitched. “What are you saying?”
“I said I wanted to worship you, Claire.” Mirela found herself kneeling before her, still tethered to her by her hands to Claire’s waist. She looked up and wondered how heaven could have blessed her with such a divine creature.
But it was Claire who looked down as though she were the sacred one. As though Mirela were something to worship.
“My beautiful Mirela,” Claire whispered, her hands cupping Mirela’s face with delicate care, as if she might break.
Mirela’s throat closed.
“I may not know much, but I would love it if you would teach me.” When she tried to step back, Mirela caught her wrist. “Please, Claire,” she said softly. “Teach me how to be close to you. How to love you with my body.”
Claire blinked, the corner of her mouth curving upward. “You want to know what it’s like to be intimate?” She leaned closer, her breath brushing Mirela’s ear. “To want.”
Her gaze lowered, reverent, lingering on the gentle shape of Claire’s body. “I already know what want is,” Mirela said, as she could only imagine what she looked like underneath the nun attire. But when they were pressed together, she knew Claire was all softness wrapped in the fabric of devotion.
“But what I’ve seen means nothing. What I want is to understand what pleases you,” Mirela said in a whisper before she pulled at the robes, raising it up enough to show tanned, gorgeous, thick thighs.
She had to stop to gather herself. Whatever thought she had of Claire’s body was nothing to what was slowly being revealed to her.
Her mouth parted in disbelief of what the clothing had been hiding. She continued pulling until she was face to face with Claire’s clothed cunt. That was how she had heard some people call a woman’s most intimate part. Looking up at Claire, she noticed the subtle nod.
Her hands became bolder, especially when Claire helped her by holding the robe. Claire wanted this just as much as she did, and it gave her enough reassurance to pull the under garment down.
Claire was a goddess among women, and if there really was a God, she knew that He had picked her specifically for Mirela to apologize for all the things she had been through.
Apology accepted.
She would indulge in her gift for as long as her body would allow her.
Exhaling on top of dark curls, Mirela looked up once more.
Another nod, this one more enthusiastic.
Keeping her eyes locked with Claire’s face, Mirela dove in and lapped at her very essence.
And when Claire exhaled her name, soft and trembling, Mirela knew she would want to hear that sound every single day of her existence.