Day Seven

God created the world in seven days. On the seventh day, I fell into a rose-colored trap.

*

Isabelle. What a beautiful name.

She had eyes like emeralds, a neck as fragile as a swan's, and the most scandalous reputation in the entire East End.

"Pray for me, Father." She twined her snowy arms around me, as innocent as a child. "Forgive my sins."

Isabelle was not the one who had sinned. I was.

Because from the very first moment I saw her, my soul had already fallen, burning in a raging fire.

Reader's note: A priest x courtesan romance. Told from the male lead's perspective, set in a completely fictional world on a mysterious 16th-century continent. A collection of stories, somewhat like The Decameron. Not updated daily, and not contracted. My first attempt at writing a Western-style romance, just getting some practice.

Theme: I decide my own fate