SO EDGY YOU CAN BEVEL WOOD ON IT

“O, Holy Mother, please. Forgive this misguided lamb. For I have sinned.”

Brother Nicholas’ voice trembled in the dim moonlight of the forest clearing, the rosary beads and small wooden cross clasped between two shaking, calloused hands. Nearby, a small demi-human slept, her round ears twitching in her sleep.

His armor was discarded against the oaken tree to his back, the chain coif and jacket crumbled on top of a dirtied white tabard painted with the red cross of his Order. The sour scent of sex hung in the air, his once erect member going flaccid as he began to pray in repentance.

“I have… done questionable things. O Mother, touched the flesh of a child. I have laid with the unclean. Please, if you find it within your heart, forgive me.” His voice reaching a tremulous and hoarse whisper. Tears welled up behind closed eyes as he continued to beseech an unhearing Goddess.

Of all the crimes in the Church, Nicholas had allowed his more primal urges to take control of the once-pious Templar, leading to him violating the youth sleeping nearby. “Your will be done. As it is in your name.”

Finding his resolve, he stood, the grass quietly protesting as his bare feet padded over to the oaken tree. His sword screeched from the scabbard as he drew it, his footsteps coming ever closer to the sleeping mouse girl.

“May you find peace in her embrace, child. I am truly… sorry.”

A flash of steel, and his sword soared downward to impale the young demi-human through her heart. It would be a quick death. A clean death, after what he had done to her. Sleepily, her eyes opened, right before impact.

“Husband?”
Her soft voice caused Nicholas to freeze. The blade tip was less than an inch from penetrating from her small chest, and yet, he could not move. With herculean effort, he brought his arm back upwards, away from his would be victim. Her eyelids fluttered as she rubbed her eyes with tiny fingers surrounded by thick brown fur on her wrists. In one arm, she clutched a strange yellow cushion fashioned after a slice of cheese.

“Mm… Ish cold…” She murmured, stepping closer to him as the sword clattered to the ground. Her garments hung loosely around her small and petite frame. A brown tail swished behind her as the Dormouse slumped forward, only to be caught by the man who had assailed her. In his embrace, she smiled contentedly, burying her face into his chest.

Cradling her in his arms, the Templar could feel the sobs forming in his mouth, a coarse chortle cutting through the dark of the night. From the shadows, a doppelganger stepped forth, a sly grin on his face. He too was in the nude, though his fleshly member was hard and erect in contrast to Nicholas’ own flaccid cock.

“Oh, don’t give the crocodile tears, Nicholas of Diarde. We both know you enjoyed it.” He said, grinning wider when Nicholas drew the Dormouse closer to himself at the wraith’s advance. “Don’t expect her to help you, either.”

“You’re not real. You can’t be.” Nicholas stammered. The girl gave a small moan and buried her face deeper into his chest, hugging tighter, her nose wrinkling as if an acrid odor had been scented. Gripping the sword, his doppelganger balanced it easily on the tip of his finger, chuckling again.

“I’m about as real as you are, love. After all, it seems you wanted to forget me. What, the lashings by the Sisters that effective? ‘Purge the wicked’ and all that. No, you just didn’t want to feel the need again, did you?” It said, burying the sword into the ground with a nonchalant flick of its wrist.

“I am not who you were, monster.”

“Who we are, Nicholas. Never forget that. You think I’d only show myself to you now because of your little ‘fun’ with the miss here? Oh no, no, no, my dear boy. This goes farther back than that.” Another lurid smile.

Softly stroking her hair, the wraith stared into him, through him. Visions of his past flooded into his mind. The arid desert air tinged with the coppery tang of blood. The young southern girl, no older than her first bleeding cowering in the corner, seed dripping from her slit as her mother wept. His face livid with rage.

“You were always seeking justification. Weren’t you?” It asked. Its gaze was no longer perverse, but pensive. He could feel his own hand stroking the mouse girl’s auburn hair, her warmth comforting as he grasped for answers that would most assuredly destroy him.