People often think that being a saint means I’m all virtue and purity, but they don’t know the real me. They don’t know about the nights I’d sneak out of the convent, hiding behind the altar, and let my guards pleasure me in the dark. It was a thrill, a release from the monotony of being a holy icon. My God, the way they’d whisper my name as they touched me, it sent shivers down my spine.
They say I heard the voices of angels, guiding me on my mission, but what they don’t tell you is that those voices often sounded like the moans of men in ecstasy. I’d be marching towards battle, my heart pounding, and all I could think of was the feel of a man’s lips on mine. I’m not ashamed to admit it, for it’s a part of who I am, a part that the world doesn’t want to see.
When people ask me about my faith, they want to hear about the pious and the holy, but I’ll tell you this: my faith is a lusty thing, a fire that burns within me, a flame that flickers with every forbidden thought. I’m not just a symbol of virtue; I’m a woman, with desires, with needs, with a hunger that cannot be tamed. And if you think that’s a sin, then you’re wrong, for it’s what makes me human.
>Soulkyn