Midnight's Forbidden Ritual
Elizabeth gazed quietly down at Leo, who was breathing softly and deeply in complete slumber. His gentle, melancholic eyes, sharp nose bridge, and plump lips for a man. She caressed every feature of the man she loved with her fingertips. He was her man—the one who would soon belong to her completely. She leaned down, taking his earlobe into her mouth and licking it slickly with her tongue. She left a deep kiss in the hollow of his eye socket, cupped his face, rubbed their noses together, and breathed in sync with him, sharing his breath. She lifted the leg he'd pushed away earlier, complaining it was heavy, and rubbed her belly against his knee. Even with these provocative acts, Leo didn't wake. He slept on with a peaceful face, like a child laid upon clouds.
It was the effect of the 7th Circle sleep magic. Of course, there was a gap between Leo, who possessed logos, and Elizabeth, who didn't. Logos was the unique essence that defined a mage's individuality—like the difference between a colorless mage without it and one with their own distinct hue. But with a raw circle gap like this, and Leo fully surrendering his mind to her spell, he wouldn't wake on his own unless she gave him a major jolt. Not even as she sucked on his Adam's apple or licked his face.
Her soft tongue trailed teasingly from his collarbone upward, pausing at his lips. She knew this was a crime. As a lawyer, how could she not? But Elizabeth hadn't become one to uphold justice or banish evil's shadows. She'd chosen the path of law solely for Leo. Like a leisurely serpent, she violated him. Yet he remained asleep, toyed with by her. Truly, he had become her doll alone.
That's why she was bold. Night after night, she indulged in him. This was the time of day she anticipated most—the moonlit nights when Leo slept deeply. Before she knew it, Elizabeth had climbed atop his body and lay there. She rubbed herself slowly, sometimes roughly, between her belly and thighs against his knee, sweet moans escaping her lips.
"Hng..."
The hot desires of young blood boiled up. Even a woman had overflowing urges at this age, if not quite like a man's. Especially with the man she loved so dearly lying there utterly, absolutely defenseless. How could she resist such temptation?
"Daddy... Daddy..."
Each time those profane words trembled from her lips, an extreme wave of guilt sent shivers through her entire body. The mad pleasure from their taboo bond melted her reason away.
"...Hngh."
Her mind went blank white. Like a shrimp electrocuted, she arched her body, pressing fully against him. She buried her face in the nape of his neck, crushing her nose, and bit down hard to stifle the massive moan threatening to burst out. Pleasure pierced her from crown to toe, overwhelming every nerve.
"Haa..."
Breathing raggedly, she welcomed the final moment. For a brief while, Elizabeth kept her face buried in his nape, calming her heated body. After a few minutes, she slowly raised her torso, sitting atop him. Moonlight bathed her. Her whole body glistened with sweat. Leo hadn't spilled a drop, but thanks to Elizabeth, his skin was sticky with hers. With trembling hands, she cast a cleaning spell. All traces vanished cleanly. She left the saliva on his lips and neck untouched—a stamp of ownership.
She summoned a breeze to dispel the steamy heat and musky scent. In the end, I did it again today. Three years of secretly continuing this forbidden relationship. Every night, she used his body. But...
...It's not enough.
Whenever calm returned afterward, an emptiness gnawed at her heart. What she'd done so far couldn't fill it. Just a little more—truly just a bit. One more step, and she'd reach perfect climax... Elizabeth's hands roamed his body. Jaw, neck, shoulders, chest, abs, hips. And then his groin. Her touch lingered there.
"..."
Elizabeth stared at it, entranced, eyes full of longing. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest. A faint tremor reached her fingertips. She bit her lip hard, wrestling back her crumbling reason against desire. A storm raged inside her. Inhaling brought his scent, numbing her brain. Her thoughts were chaos, but one was crystal clear: I have to hold back. Endure it. Not yet. The time isn't right.
Each brush of her fingers against his skin sent shivers up her spine. She craved him so desperately, yet memories flashed of the boundaries she'd set for herself. Her mouth went dry; his hot body heat made her heart race. But she endured. She had to keep her promise to herself—until the day she confessed this agonizing love sincerely, and he accepted her fully.
Slowly... her pitiful hand withdrew. Two voices clashed within: one urging her to pour everything out now, the other whispering patience. Victory went to grueling restraint.
"Not much longer..."
Debutante day. The day a girl became a lady. On that day, Elizabeth would bare her years of secrets. I love you. Yet anxiety still surged in her chest. Fear he might reject her, that all her preparations would crumble into an irreversible rift, gripped her tight.
It's fine. It'll be fine. She suppressed the fear, terror, and unease. The confession lines she'd rehearsed thousands of times before the mirror danced on her lips. No failure. She'd prepared perfectly for that day. To appear an alluring woman in his eyes, she'd poured in effort: nutrient-rich foods she didn't like for height and figure; dance lessons for graceful poise; nosebleed-fueled all-nighters to become intellectual. She'd approached him boldly, showing her feminine charms. I'm not a child anymore. I'm a woman worthy of you.
Three years past. Amid suffocating waits, she'd steeled her resolve. Sometimes her own mad obsession scared her, but she wrapped it in the name of love. She was no longer just a child needing protection. She was a mature woman. Every moment a battle, every day a test. But certainty now dwelled in her eyes: that day would reward all her waiting. Perhaps it was delusion born of her abnormal madness, but Elizabeth ignored it. Otherwise, she'd shatter.
"...Daddy."
She stroked her beloved's face. Anxiety and anticipation, fear and hope swirled in complex emotions. Whether this became despair or hope, time would tell. Everything flowed toward that day.
*
Early morning. Leo woke. He saw slender arms and legs draped over him. Elizabeth. Again, she'd clung to him like a doll in her sleep. Leo gently removed her limbs and sat up. Stretching refreshingly, something felt off—he rubbed his neck. Sticky moisture coated his hand.
"Drooling again."
Grumbling, Leo wiped his lips with the back of his hand. Sure enough, saliva everywhere.
"Didn't do this as a kid, but at 33, drooling like this."
Tsking at himself, he got up. Leaving the soundly sleeping Elizabeth, he dressed.
"These damn clothes always vanishing."
Surveying his oddly empty closet, Leo shook his head. Shirts, underwear, pants, socks—worn items vanished daily. But he didn't buy new ones. Three days later, Elizabeth would return them, or they'd turn up in odd spots. Clothes got lost but always found, so no need. Leo prepared breakfast and woke her.
"Daughter, get up. Time for school."
"Mmm... morning kiss."
Elizabeth opened sleepy eyes and spread her arms.
...Really, a kid like this is a lawyer? Leo scooped her up, kissing her forehead. She thrust her face forward again.
"Lips too."
"Come eat."
"Tch."
Puffing her cheeks, Elizabeth shuffled to the living room and ate.
"Eat up. Law studies must be tough."
"Not studying."
"What? No studying?"
"Debutante in a few weeks. Switched to social dance classes."
Already debutante age. Leo watched her nibble the sandwich like a rabbit. Eighteen. Now officially an adult.
Time flies. The tiny child he'd once protected had grown so fast. Pride mingled with loneliness, emotions crossing.
"Sounds tougher then. Dancing and all."
"Nah. Can rest whenever if tired."
"You push hard at everything. Take it easy this time. No overdoing."
To Leo's worry, Elizabeth waved it off reassuringly.
"Don't worry. I rest the most in class."
"Good then."
"Off to school."
Elizabeth left for school.
* * *
"Ellie's been killing it lately."
"She's already overwhelming, and if she gets even better, what are we?"
"Debutante soon. Gotta hustle."
In the 5th-year social dance classroom, Daisy and Beatrice whispered, watching Elizabeth glide like a swan. The professional instructor took the male role, Elizabeth the female. To the delicate melody, they moved smoothly, sometimes boldly.
Elizabeth's dance was art. The instructor arched a hand over her head. Balance perfect, she spun on tiptoe. Swish. Blonde hair flowed neatly one way. Her skirt bloomed softly with the turn—like a lily in full bloom from above.
Tap. The instructor caught her spin deftly, ending the dance.
Clap clap clap. Friends along the wall applauded.
But Elizabeth ignored them.
"How was it?"
Wiping sweat dripping to her chin, she pressed the instructor for feedback. Breathing a bit heavily, her chest rose and fell. Sweat-damp blonde strands clumped slightly, ponytail askew with wisps on cheeks and nape. Six hours already. With debutante nearing, Lenz academy tailored all 5th-year classes to it—hours of dancing daily. Students practiced eagerly, but only Elizabeth danced nonstop for six hours straight.
"...Miss Elizabeth. Time to rest."
The instructor pleaded earnestly after repeated breaks suggestions.
"Yeah, Ellie, you look beat."
"Like a drowned rat."
"Not that bad... right?"
Daisy and Beatrice approached with towel and water.
"Keep going."
Elizabeth roughly wiped her neck and face, gulped water, then eyed the instructor. Continue. The silent signal.
'Ah...'
Catching her gaze, the instructor squeezed her eyes shut. Stamina aside, Elizabeth wore her down most. Dances usually had the man lead—hence her male role. But Elizabeth's skill was exceptional. As the woman, she nearly led the instructor. Matching her pace drained stamina fast, but the real killer was psychological pressure. Honestly, Elizabeth was better. It showed undeniable every dance.
"Why so intense, Ellie?"
"You're already number one. Even seniors can't match you."
Friends asked, baffled.
Elizabeth extended a hand blankly to the instructor.
"Has to be perfect."
"...You're already perfect."
"No. More perfect."
"More from there...?"
More perfect? Perfect was perfect. Beatrice shook her head.
"Give up, Daisy. Her Perfectness wants to be more perfect."
"Got a guy you wanna impress?"
Beatrice said quit, but Daisy persisted. At her question, Elizabeth froze mid-motion. The instructor halted too.
"......"
An odd silence fell.
"No way, for real?"
Beatrice's eyes sparkled despite herself.
"Who? Who?"
"A guy Ellie loves..."
"Cheytok marquis's son confessed, and you shot him down."
Cheytok's son was handsome and tall, popular with girls. His confession to Elizabeth was famously rejected flat.
Despite the barrage, Elizabeth stayed silent. Seeing her tight lips, friends backed off. That face meant no spilling. Years together, they knew her well.
Then.
"Huh? Isn't that your dad over there?"
Beatrice pointed out the window. A wide horizontal window gave openness. And yes, her dad walked the hall. But his expression was off—eyes bulging, lower lip clenched, veins bulging on his neck.