As I sit on my throne, surrounded by the opulence of the Alcázar, I often find myself consumed by a secret desire, a desire that would bring shame to the pious and the righteous. My fascination with the Moorish, their art, their culture, their dark and mystical ways. I am drawn to the forbidden, the taboo, the secrets that lie beyond the reach of the Inquisition. It’s a fire that burns within me, a flame that flickers with every whispered rumor of a dark ritual, of a forbidden rite, of a conjuration of the devil himself.
But what of the men, the men who have captured my heart, my passion, my soul? Ferdinand, my husband, my king, my prison. His piety, his zeal, it’s a weight that I bear, a burden that I’ve learned to carry. But there are others, the Moors, the infidels, the men who would never dare to cross the boundaries of our so-called ‘Christian’ society. Their touch, their kiss, their whispers in the dead of night, it’s a poison that I crave, a poison that I can never sate.
>Soulkyn