The morning air in the back chapel felt warmer than usual. The sun was not yet high, but the dew had receded. In the white marble hallway cleaned daily by young nuns, the sound of running water from the sacred bath room could be heard softly, flowing like a song.
Ren walked through the hall in silence. He was carrying the old scroll that Father Gideon had asked him to return to the underground library. His path should have turned to the right—but for some reason his steps had chosen to turn to the left. His steps were slow, almost silent, and as he reached the bend in the small hallway that led to the women's bath room… a soft singing voice could be heard.
The voice was light, gentle, like a prayer whispered into the wind.
Ren stopped.
Not because of any ill will. But because his body stiffened at the sound of that voice. He knew that voice. The voice that often recited healing prayers with such love, the voice that made orphans smile, the voice of a holy woman.
Maria.
Ren should have turned around. Should have kept going. But his feet did not move. His gaze glanced through the gap in the wooden door that was slightly ajar, just enough to reveal the mist of steam enveloping the stone bath room.
He saw nothing but a faint silhouette behind the curtain of steam. But that was more than enough.
Slender shoulders. Wet neck. Arms raised to wring out hair. And a voice that continued to hum lowly… as if oblivious to the outside world.
Ren did not see the shape of her body. He did not see the exposed skin. But precisely because of that, his imagination ran wilder. He took a step back—as if he was about to leave, but his body refused. His eyes closed briefly, and from behind those lids, his imagination formed Maria in a clearer shadow.
The petite body was surrounded by holy water that reflected light. Drops from the tips of her hair fell along her pale white chest. Small fingers traced the line of her neck, as if cleaning not only dirt—but sin. He saw Maria staring into the mirror of the water, as if talking to her reflection. Hesitant. Fragile. Wet.
Ren bit his lower lip. A desire that he had suppressed all this time began to grow wild. Not because Maria was naked. But because her purity felt so… challenging. As if that body had never been touched by anyone. As if his embrace was a heaven that was still locked tightly.
He took a deep breath and finally stepped back. But the shadow didn't go away.
Throughout the day, Maria walked as usual. Smiling. Greeting the other servants. But every time her eyes met Ren, her smile wavered. There was hesitation. There was a kind of tension that had never existed before.
In the chapel kitchen, as Maria was about to pick up a water jug, Ren happened to come from the opposite direction. Their shoulders touched. Maria dropped the jug. Water spilled onto the stone floor.
"S—sorry…" she whispered quickly.
Ren crouched down at the same time as her, their hands reaching to pick up the jug.
Their fingers touched.
Maria froze.
Ren looked at her slowly, gently. "It's okay. I wasn't careful enough either."
Maria pulled her hand away quickly, her face slightly flushed.
After that, every time they passed each other, Maria seemed nervous. She often gripped her rosary tighter. Her voice was shorter when she spoke. She even started to keep her distance, as if she didn't understand why her heart always beat faster every time Ren approached.
But Ren knew.
He knew that magic didn't always come from spells. Sometimes, just a little imagination was enough. One guilt. And it will grow on its own… like a sweet poison that creeps along the spine.
That night, Ren sat in his room. A small candle burned on the corner of the table. On the wooden surface, he drew a thin line with his index finger, then wrote a name: Maria.
He closed his eyes.
And began to imagine the sound in the bath room again.
But this time, the image of Maria was clearer. He imagined Maria standing naked, hugging her own body, her eyes closed, her lips slightly open… as if muttering a prayer. But not a prayer for salvation. A prayer of desire. A prayer of passion. A stifled prayer.
He imagined Maria calling his name in a whisper. The holy girl's fingers touched her own chest, then slowly went down, deeper, until her voice turned into a soft moan that could only be heard by night dreams.
Ren opened his eyes slowly.
His hands clenched.
I will make you miss me in your sleep, Maria. And when that time comes… you yourself will seek my touch.
The next morning, Maria refused to eat breakfast with the heroes. She seemed restless and spent most of her time in the chapel, reading scripture over and over again. When Ren entered with a basket of clean linens, Maria jumped slightly.
"Oh… you…"
Ren lowered his head. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."
Maria shook her head quickly, but her eyes remained fixed on him. And for a moment, the look was not just guilt… but fear of desire.
Ren placed the linens on the table, then said softly, "If you're tired… I can take over the altar for you."
Maria bit her lip. "I… it's okay."
But as Ren turned to leave, Maria's voice called out to him—almost like a reflex.
"Ren…"
He turned. Maria gripped his robe tightly, as if about to say something—but in the end just lowered her head. "Thank you."
Ren didn't answer. He just smiled softly, then left.
He knew that tonight, Maria's dream would begin to change. He had planted a seed behind the steam of the sacred bath. Now it was time to let the flower of desire bloom slowly.
Night was approaching. Behind the curtains of the deserted chapel, Maria sat on her bed. Her white robe clung softly to her skin, and her wet hair dripped onto her pillow. She held her rosary, praying silently, but her thoughts were constantly interrupted by the sound… the sound of soft laughter… and warm eyes that looked at her softly… too softly.
She pulled the blanket up to her chest, but the warmth from within refused to go away.
And before she fell asleep, her fingers touched her own lips… remembering a faint shadow amidst the steam—the silhouette of a man who shouldn't have been there…
"Am… am i sinned?