This Body Enters the Monastery
The fastest way to get close to the clergy?
Religious observance, of course. Inside Eliyes Monastery, during a public mass that visitors and pilgrims were welcome to attend, Seira and Alper sat in the farthest corner of the very last pew.
She settled in with a small, spirited breath, smoothed her clothes, and fixed her gaze on the seats ahead. In the hushed chapel, the only voice was a monk reciting from scripture. Tap, tap, tap—the words repeated in time with the cadence of the reading, and the congregation closed their eyes.
Seira turned her head just slightly and glanced at the seat beside her. Alper. For the nobility, religion was an indispensable social arena whether one believed in earnest or not, and having grown up among them, he sat with his eyes closed and his hands folded, worshiping in a posture of practiced ease.
"...Haa..."
She, on the other hand, had barely been seated before she let out a bored sigh. She started to lean back against the pew, then felt the robe catch and bunch at her shoulders, and simply bowed her head forward instead. Then she slipped a hand out and rested it lightly on his thigh.
"...Nnh."
She didn't miss that tiny reaction, and a silent laugh crossed her face. She flicked her fingers against him—two or three little taps.
Alper cracked his eyes open. He couldn't very well speak, so he rolled his gaze toward her instead. She answered with nothing but the shape of her mouth, a playful What are you looking at?
Seira... He called that minx of a woman only in his head and gave a slight shake of it. But her hand was already sliding down the thigh where his cock sat tucked away. Alper's cock was slowly swelling, and it would have been hard for Seira not to notice.
The intent to endure, however, was written between Alper's brows, and Seira's interest waned. She leaned back in her seat and tugged down the robe that had been hanging stiflingly over her shoulders.
The hem of the robe, though, seemed to catch on something on the pew, letting out a thin, scraping cry of fabric. And then, from her lips:
"Ah, shit...!"
The chapel's silence shuddered for an instant. At the tail of that word, a steward monk who'd been quietly tidying in the back turned his gaze toward Seira.
Their eyes met by accident. She tipped her head with an innocent look, as if nothing had happened—but that stare already meant expulsion, plain and simple. If Seira was being marched out, Alper had no choice but to follow. The chapel doors closed behind them, and the instant they did, Seira tried to kick them—only to be stopped by Alper's hand, a hand shaped by good breeding.
"Ugh, I was actually trying to sit still and behave, I swear—!"
"Seira, we might get thrown out of the monastery entirely this time..."
She growled under her breath, but that prospect was apparently enough of a problem that she crossed her arms, whipped her head away, and started walking the monastery corridor with Alper. Even so, her eyes kept flicking toward anyone in monastery dress who looked particularly ornate, excessively neat, or openly high-ranking.
"...Seira. Is there someone you're looking for?"
"Hm?"
"If you told me what business brought you here... I might be able to help more effectively."
At that, Seira blinked, smiled faintly, and patted the robe over her thigh. She figured it wouldn't hurt if he at least knew about the curse, or whatever this was.
"I came looking for Cleric Mages."
"Cleric Mages?"
"Yeah. There's something I really need to consult them about."
Alper blinked, briefly startled. Then the familiar, gentle smile settled back onto his face.
"In that case, I believe I can be of assistance."
Before long, they had been shown into a reception room in the central administrative wing of Eliyes Monastery. A space where wood and stone blended in harmony: curtains patterned with geometric designs, a gilt fireplace, a tidy vase of flowers, and a door stamped with an official seal.
"Whoa."
Seira sat down at her leisure, crossing her legs. It was the kind of arrogance the chapel would never have permitted.
"Wow... so this is what they call power?"
"Fortunately, I have an acquaintance here."
His tone was modest, but this room, this speed—none of it would have been possible without considerable connections and backing. Seira smiled faintly and gave her teacup a slow spin.
"At this point, I'm curious who even shows up."
Her curiosity didn't have long to stretch before the door opened.
The man who entered with a lofty gait had striking silver hair that spilled with quiet propriety to his waist over his vestments. Even at a glance, he carried a nobility of bearing similar to Alper's—but a mouth set more rigidly, and long, narrow eyes, spoke for his temperament in Alper's place.
"Oh."
The sacred emblem woven in white over a monastery habit buttoned tight to the throat told her at once: this was one of the people she'd come looking for. A Cleric Mage.
His gaze swept the room, taking in today's visitor, Alper... and then Seira, sitting with her legs crossed on the sofa beside him. His brow twitched, just slightly. She was a woman who, by no stretch of the imagination, matched the Alper he knew.
"Half a year, is it? You've been well, Rigeon."
Even as Alper offered a polished greeting, Rigeon answered with nothing but a look that asked, quite plainly, who the hell this woman was. Alper answered with an awkward smile.
Rigeon stared at Alper without closing his mouth until he sat, then quietly took the seat across from them. He didn't bow, but he inclined his head just enough not to be rude.
"For an acquaintance of yours, she's... quite the striking individual."
Seira's mouth curved, just a little, and she answered for herself.
"I do tend to make an impression."
Rigeon turned his head and studied her at length. Those long, narrow eyes met hers dead-on. Then his gaze dropped, quietly tracing the silhouette of the dress beneath her robe.
"...You must have gone to considerable trouble, coming here in that attire."
"Yeah. Figured I wouldn't get thrown out if I dressed up a bit."
Even that brief exchange was enough to make Rigeon recoil at the dizzying sense that they were not speaking the same language. He shook his head.
"Why did you even want to see me?"
He put the question to Alper as if fleeing to safer ground, but his friend only smiled faintly and shook his head—today's business was not his. The party in question, now the center of attention, tossed her hair back with a haughty flick of her hand.
"...Then, my lady, what business do you have with me?"
Rigeon asked out of courtesy more than curiosity. But before answering, Seira turned her head toward Alper.
"Hold on. Young master, introductions are done, so I think we're good. You can wait outside."
"Ah. Of course."
Alper faced the shameless woman who hadn't so much as given her name and, as always, smiled with mild compliance.
"In that case, I hope the two of you have a productive conversation. Rigeon—I'm counting on you."
He rose from his seat in genuine quiet and headed for the door. Seira glanced after him and smiled. Rigeon could not, no matter how he looked at it, hide his astonishment. Treating a ducal heir like a servant...
"Ahem. Hm..."
It was Seira who changed the current of the room now that they were alone. She sat up properly in her chair and cleared her throat a few times. As if that cough had been a moment of preparation, she suddenly covered her mouth with her fingertips and looked up at Rigeon with eyes that seemed, just a little, on the verge of tears.
"Um... the truth is..."
Rigeon said nothing.
"I was walking down the street and... I got fucking—I mean... I got hit with a curse, out of nowhere..."
Rigeon stared at her, uncomprehending.
"I was hoping you might be able to lift it for me, Your Reverence."
Rigeon's face went rigid. Without a single word, he looked down at the woman in front of him—armed to the teeth with cheap, cloying charm. It was sincere enough to give him chills.
"...Mm?"
Seira slanted her eyes, dropped the outer corners for a beat, and blinked slowly. Even that single reaction was poison to Rigeon. Where in the world did Alper even find a woman like this...
Still wearing a look of sheer dismay, he averted his gaze to the side of her.
"...If you would... stop... making that face, I will at least take a look."
This... isn't working?
Seira's brow ticked. She dropped a hand onto the sofa and recrossed her legs. If it wasn't landing, what was the point of the act? She shed every last scrap of expression.
"Then take a look at me. Right now."
Her voice was clear, her gaze sharp. The demure young lady who'd been accosted on the street was gone.
"...Very well. A curse, you said? Please describe what kind."
Faced with this considerably improved version of her, Rigeon finally seemed prepared to hear her out with something resembling professional care. Seira nodded and reached up to stroke her own cheek.
"First, this skin. It's gotten way too soft over the last few days."
Then she lifted both hands, naturally, and cupped them under her breasts, pushing them up. The silhouette that swelled out from inside the dress was far more ample than it had looked at rest.
"And my chest's gone completely haywire."
His gaze lingered on that emphasizing gesture for the briefest instant before he hurriedly looked away. Seira uncrossed her legs and stretched one out on a long diagonal, then opened her mouth.
"This part's changed a lot too—what's the word for it?"
If he so much as flicked his eyes that way, he'd be able to see all the way up. Those thighs—a cleric like him would have a hard time comparing them to other women's, but even at a glance they held an uncommon spring and a sheen of light.
"They keep getting more sensitive... even a little stimulation and I start reacting—"
"Th-that's enough!"
A sharp crack rang out as Rigeon's hand slammed the table. His face, once pale, had gone as red as it could go, and the look of a man clinging to the last thread of his reason still carried every second of the patience he'd spent holding on.