Day Seven

God created the world in seven days, and I fell into a rose-colored trap on the seventh day. * Isabel, what a beautiful name. She has emerald eyes, a neck as fragile as a swan, and has the most dissolute reputation in the entire East District. "Pray for me, Father." She wrapped her white arms around me, as innocent as a child, "Forgive me my sins." It's not Isabel who's guilty, it's me. Because the moment I saw her for the first time, my soul had already fallen and burned in a raging fire. ——— Reading Guide: Priest X Courtesan. The perspective of the male protagonist, a purely fictional background, a mysterious continent in the 16th century, a collection of stories similar to the Decameron. Not daily update, not V. This is my first time trying to write a Western romance, so I can practice my writing. Intention: I have no control over my destiny