Gwendolyn wondered what she had done to end up in hell. The journey had only just begun, but she had already grown tired of the caravan’s constant bumping. The cleric surveyed her surroundings in the covered wagon. The rations and supplies, typical of an adventuring party like this, indicated to her that these were not exactly experts, but not rookies either. It wasn’t a huge relief; she didn’t feel like she’d be in physical danger on their journey, but it was still nice to know she wouldn’t have to see anyone die of hunger or a serpent bite.

She continued her scan. A thief (or rogue, as they tend to prefer) sharpening his daggers. A cloaked ranger, Cristof, at the front, held the reins, eyes fixed on the road. From the short hours Gwen had known this motley crew, Cristof seems to take charge in just about all decision-making. And scheming, Gwen thought to herself. She rolled her eyes, remembering how they showed up to her family’s chapter of the Church of Feilstraus purporting to be “artifact prospectors”. It has long been the Church’s policy to provide, for free, their expert clerics to weary adventurer parties, especially if their adventure is of interest to the religion. “Feilstraus and His artifacts,” Cristof cooed to the high clergy, almost like he was trying to stifle a laugh, “are of special importance to me. I’d be honored to aid the Church’s mission to locate and retrieve these holy relics.”

Gwendolyn didn’t judge him too harshly for that, as she had seen similar from many gold-hungry adventuring parties looking to snag a free healer. No, what pissed Gwen off was that his performance was so convincing that the high clergy assigned their foremost field cleric for the job. And that cleric can’t stand dungeoneering. I thought I was done with this when I graduated from the academy, Gwen lamented. The only reason she had trained so hard to be a field cleric, besides her dedication to Feilstraus, was to work as a traveling healer. That way, she could slip her admittedly stifling church while still serving in His mission.

Or, Gwendolyn mused, I could help these scoundrels make a quick buck. She allowed herself a wry smile while finishing her survey of the wagon. A tall (for a human, anyway), lanky warrior, his pallor further dulled by the worn iron set beside him. The armaments were clearly responsible for the warrior’s rather imposing presence at their earlier departing banquet provided by the church.

Across from him, with some sort of card game between them, was their barbarian. Gwen never understood the details that differentiate the two jobs, steel is steel, she always thought. But, finishing her once-over of the party, she had a harder time spotting their similarities. The barbarian was a squat woman whose biceps were as big as Gwen’s head. Her amber eyes radiated camaraderie, and she had thus far been the only one able to coax more than a few words out of Gwen. Gwendolyn spotted no shield in the barbarian’s equipment, and winced at the idea of seeing her hurt. Gwen was shaken from her thoughts by the barbarian’s loud cheers of victory as her cards scattered through the back of the cabin. Gwen hoped for an easy journey, but braced for a grueling one.

The first three dungeons were uneventful, shallow affairs. A slime here, an arrow trap there. The party was putting Gwen to work though, despite the low threat level they'd experienced. Every minor cut or bruise was healed through Feilstraus’ power and will channeled by Gwen into her staff, at the party’s insistence. Surely, Gwendolyn wondered, the God of Light and Order has greater things to do than this. Gwen did it all with a smile, though. The only thing worse than an unfamiliar adventuring party would be that same party in a sour mood.

By the time they had surfaced from their fourth stop on the journey, an abandoned stronghold, Gwen was even starting to learn more names. Kashytria, the barbarian, she had gotten best acquainted with. The two women’s rapport was helped by the frequency with which healing was needed. Gwen winced as she remembered seeing the arrow dig into Kashytria’s side, but it was like the barbarian hadn't even felt anything. All those years without carrying a shield must have gotten her acclimated. Gwen didn't mind as much, as her time with Kashytria was oftentimes a much needed reprieve from the smarmy men in their party.

“You can call me Kash!” She had said, grinning triumphantly, as if she hadn't just had her liver reconstructed by holy magic. “Love the money so much I named myself after it.” That scored a giggle off of Gwen, the first she'd allowed herself this journey. Kash was from the Wrieth Islands, Gwen had learned, which to her explained Kash’s laid-back demeanor.

Gwendolyn had caught herself inspecting the barbarian’s body for injuries for a little too long. Her warmth was infectious, but Gwen couldn't let herself get carried away. It was up to her to resist temptation and stay on her holy path. She retreated her hands off of Kash’s sun-soaked skin as if scorched, and folded them into each other in prayer. Moderation in all things, restraint when needed, stay in His light. Quick mantras picked up from years of indoctrination in the Church’s system to cool herself down, and ask for His guidance. Not that He really offered any, as there hadn't been any confirmed communication with any gods since centuries before Gwen was even born. Yet here Gwen was begging Him for forgiveness for daring to experience attraction.

Gwen was pulled out of thought by Kash’s booming voice, “I feel fucking fantastic!” She exclaimed, all but jumping to her feet. “Church girl, remind me to pray to your guy later.” Gwen chuckled. She was devout, but not so self-serious that she couldn't enjoy a joke at her Church's expense. Besides, Kash’s boisterousness was charming. “And those hands, you can absolutely work some magic with,” Kash added and winked. Gwen cut her laughter short by blushing and looking down.

“Th-thank you.” She managed to mumble out, which Kash only seemed to feed off of. The barbarian broke out into a hearty laugh while heading out of the wagon serving as their medical tent, and towards the party’s camp. Gwen’s cheeks burned. She hadn't had thoughts like that since… the cleric shook her head. The yearning feelings at the back of her head mustn’t persist. Her path was clear, and distractions would only serve to drag her out of His light. Gwen let out a sigh before finally following Kash to the party’s camp.

The next day didn’t have any short dungeon excursions. Explained by Cristof at camp, “it’s time for the big score.” He unfurled an expansive map, which had many regions Gwen hadn’t even been to in her years. Cristof and his party likely obtained it from whatever adventuring guild they were a part of. On the map was a previously unmarked area in the Nymkirk region furiously circled in red between two mountains.

Hours of riding later, they finally were upon their destination, nestled in the valley between the two monstrous peaks. “Now,” Cristof began, never breaking his duplicitous smile, “you’ll get to see why we needed someone like you, missy.” The entrance to the dungeon was far more ornate than the few they had stopped at yesterday. Potential centuries of weathering and erosion couldn’t mute the sharp angles of the architecture, or the ornate doorway, which seemed big enough to accommodate sizes of people that Gwen had not yet encountered. What did dull the scenery, however, were the pieces of plywood crossed over the door. Nailed to it, DO NOT ENTER was scrawled on a sheet of papyrus, in the same red as the circle on the map.

“Yes I did find it earlier, but in my defense, it was boarded when I got here. I just poked my head in and put the bars back up when I left.” Cristof explained, clearly noting Gwendolyn’s suspicion. “There’s all sorts of writing on the inside, and as disinterested as I am in history, I am very interested in anything that could help us locate more of this place’s gold. I need you to translate.” Gwen sighed. She knew Common, Elvish, and an older holy language used in her religion and others - Prylish. Surely someone else with these qualifications existed. But as they hopped out of the wagon and approached the dungeon’s entrance, Gwendolyn realized why they had traveled so far to get a member of her church.

The insignia of Feilstraus was imprinted to the left of the door, almost as if it had been singed into the very stone. Gwen put her hand up to the scorch marks in the sign of her god and felt nothing radiating from it. It was clearly placed here by some sort of magic wielder. “Yeah we know what that is. We mean the thing below it,” she heard Cristof call out as he was readying his quiver. Gwen looked down, and there were further scorch marks, this time in a clear form of writing. The writing was foreign to Gwen, who was intimately familiar with the history of her church. Gwendolyn began running the calculus of whether to tell the adventuring party that had just dragged her far across the countryside, and her only ride home, that they had wasted their time. She noticed one more thing, on the right side of the door. A totem of sorts, how the region’s churches and their followers denote buildings. This particular one bore a sphere on top, with thick lines separating it into 4 quadrants. It was one that Gwen had only seen once before, not counting the textbook she learned it in. Sacred, she thought, and her heart skipped.

This language, where could these followers have hailed from? She wondered, until a realization struck her like a bolt, How old is this place?. The question stuck to Gwen’s brain, and she couldn’t shake it.

“Two things,” Gwen finally mustered up the courage to say, “One. I can’t read the writing here. They don’t even teach us of this language’s existence at the academy, so I have no idea what it is.” The party groaned, and Gwen dreaded how her next point was going to go over. “Two. This is marked by either my religion or the builders as a sacred area. I have never seen nor heard of it before. Where have you taken me?” She glared accusingly at Cristof.

“I thought you were top of your class,” Cristof shot back, never one to let someone else have the last word, “at least, that’s what your high clergy had me believe.” Gwen maintained composure. Balance in all things. “I did. That’s why it’s so strange that I have no idea what is going on here.”

“Shit,” Cristof swore under his breath. He could feel his prospective coffers emptying. “Well, at least we have a healer with us. Let’s see if we can find anything else I guess.” He motioned to one of the chests that the party had been carrying, now ajar, with some kind of grail. “Did you not hear me? It’s sacred to my religion based on the markings.” Gwendolyn hoped the pleas would fall on less greedy ears. She side-eyed the rest of the party. Kash was looking off into the distance.

“You just learned this place existed. Tell me, why is it sacred?” Cristof contested. Gwendolyn could only grumble as the party approached the daunting entryway.

The boards fell swiftly to one of Kash’s axes, and suddenly, the party was descending. Gwen’s hair stood on end as she went fourth in line. The opening revealed a narrow staircase, seemingly into an endless void. The cleric was surprised that, just twenty steps down, she had to ignite her staff’s holy light. The quiet warrior, back in his bulky armor and serving as the rear guard, looked gaunt in the dimmer, artificial light. After a brief descent, Cristof muttered “Here we are.” The bottom of the stairway opened up into a room that was seemingly endless. It was like the most cavernous cathedrals Gwen had seen, only she couldn’t grasp the full scope of this one, on account of her summoned light not being bright enough to reach the far walls. Feilstraus’ temples would never be seen this dark, Gwen thought. She focused her energy on the light, and gave the party a more full view of the room. The walls were covered in the same script she had failed to read earlier. While she still couldn’t make out any of the words, it was clear there was something very long written out here. Maybe some kind of story? Gwen wondered.

Sensing no danger, Gwen allowed herself to lower her guard a bit. On second consideration, maybe she felt jumpy just because she was excited. After all, this was a history lesson about her church that no one had yet taught her. Maybe one that no one alive still knew. Gwen’s sense of wonder dimmed when she practically felt the thief lick his lips at the riches. His snark had been easy to ignore this long, but her piousness made her feel uncharacteristically bold.

“This is wrong, you know. This could be my people, the ones who gave you a free healer?” Gwendolyn shot at Playn, the thief, loathing that she had remembered his name.

“What? Stop bitching, they’re not using it.” He spat, his disdain for her cutting through the dense air of the dungeon. With that, Gwen’s little revolution was over. Moderation in all things, she silently recited, and snuffed the feelings out.

The party stuck to walking with the nearest wall on their left. The cryptic writing seemed to go on endlessly, until finally broken up by a doorway. They followed uncountable hallways and corridors, and Gwen noted the lack of monsters in their path. It was eerily quiet, outside of the party’s own footfalls and their warrior’s clangorous armor. They finally arrived at an altar of some kind. An offering bench sat nearly pristine, a marble white with thick black lines crossing over the center. Around it, coins, pearls, jewels, and golden tableware sat undisturbed. That is, until Playn scrambled into the room ready to lay claim to the riches. He all but pushed past Kash in his hurry up the steps to the altar, and readied his bag to accept the wealth he was about to scoop up. Gwen saw his fingerless gloves reach out for a candelabra, and as soon as his skin made contact, his entire body was vaporized, leaving only a short rain of blood.

The remainder of the party drew their weapons. Gwen’s field cleric instincts kicked in, she immediately moved to retrieve the body to at least stabilize it. Gwen lunged towards the stairs Playn had climbed, and got halfway up them. On her ascent, clarity hit Gwendolyn and her designs of saving the man dissipated. No body, no chance of revival. Every cleric’s worst nightmare. Gwen froze.

“We’re out!” She heard Cristof from behind her, as the party started making their way out of the room the way they came. Gwen’s ears were ringing, was this because she hated that man? Am I being punished for my emotions? Gwen’s thoughts were cut short by Kash’s booming yell, “Gwen!” She finally turned away from the pool of blood where the thief once stood, and saw the entrance of the room start to be sealed by a lowering stone door. The whole floor was vibrating, it was nearly deafening. Something in this “dungeon” was shifting. The rest of the party was nearly clear of the closing doorway already. I’m not going to make it, Gwen panicked, oh Feilstraus, save me! She sprinted to the doorway, hampered by her robes and sandals. Kash reached her arm out, but Gwen didn’t even come close. The door was sealed as Kash and Gwen banged on it from their respective sides. “Church girl! We’ll get you out, we’ll -” Kash was cut short. Sounds were coming from deeper in the dungeon. Cristof spoke up, “More doors are closing! We’re leaving.”

Kash pleaded, “We can’t just leave her!” Gwen heard Cristof snort through the door. “You guys can die down here together, then.” Gwendolyn started pounding on the door, making her hands cry out in agony.

“Cristof! Kash! Help me out of here!” She screamed, hoping to project her urgency through the thick stone slab. No response. They…left, Gwen was astonished, they actually just left me. Even Kash. Gwen felt rage starting to bubble up. She had never felt so angry before, even as she tried to beat back the flaring emotions. She turned her back to the stone barrier that confined her, and realized the room had plunged into complete darkness as her staff’s light dimmed. She focused her energy and reignited it, hoping there would be any chance of escape that she would’ve missed. She leered at the gold surrounding the altar, shaking. The now silent room had no indication of the chaos that just ensued. Nervously looking over at where Playn’s puddle of blood lay, Gwen tilted her head, and her eyes widened. Playn’s blood was gone.

Gwen widened her posture, and rotated her staff to be skewed horizontally. Gwendolyn hated fighting, but every field cleric needs to be able to hold their own. Only, she hadn’t sensed any monsters in the room. Her staff’s glow started to dim again. She couldn’t stop seeing shadows crawling on the wall, and was nervous any of them would jump out at her. Her call for Feilstraus’ light sank to pleas as the darkness continued to overwhelm the flicker of her staff. Gwen’s panic was only made worse by her inability to get her magic sorted out. Why, Gwen wondered, why can’t I use His strength? I can’t feel Him. As she struggled with drawing from the divine, something was breathing down her neck.

The cleric pivoted, flailing her staff and trying to simultaneously see what exactly was behind her, and also land a blow on it. Gwen failed on both fronts, and saw a shadowy figure duck out of her vision and into darkness. She kept turning, trying to catch any glimpse of movement she could. Her light continued to dim, giving her nearly just a foot of visibility before a wall of perfect darkness. Gwen could feel eyes on her. Her panic was reaching a breaking point. She started to fall back on her mantras when the first one was cut short. A woman’s sultry voice from out of the darkness. “One of Feilstraus’, how interesting.” Gwendolyn tried to pinpoint where the voice was, but it felt as if it was coming from all sides of her. She continued to pivot, not wanting to show her back to any side for long. “What? Who are you?” Gwen asked, hoping for one last chance to avoid conflict. The voice chuckled. It wasn’t that it was coming from all around her, it felt like the voice was speaking directly in Gwen’s head. “And such a devout one, too. I can practically smell Him on you.” The voice said. “Gwendolyn… Havenstone.”

Gwen’s skin crawled, her breathing became jagged. What kind of ambush was this? How did this person know so much about her? “Tell me, do they teach you of the name Sophidia still?” The voice inquired, her low tones echoing off the walls, or perhaps off the inside of Gwen’s skull. The cleric fought to keep her composure, feeling like an exposed target with her dimming light and icy blonde hair in a room full of darkness. When Gwen refused to entertain the entity’s question, it showed up right on the edge of her vision.

Gwen had to nearly crane her neck to see the figure’s full form. Before her stood a shadowed contour veiled in black, the porcelain skin of her legs, chest, and hands carving slender shape into shade. Covered in ceremonial cloaks, draped over an elegant, long form. She’s big. Gwen thought before she could stop herself. It was hard to get the full scope of her size, but Gwen didn’t have time for that. She swung the lit end of her staff towards the figure’s face, revealing unimpressed lips of charcoal, and piercing silver eyes. The figure’s long raven hair was difficult to fathom the shape of, as it seemed to fade in and out of the shadows, along with the back of her silhouette. “Oh, please,” The tall woman cooed, “I wouldn’t hurt a sweet thing like you.” Gwen felt like she could taste venom on her lips. “You just killed that guy,” the cleric erupted, realizing her nerves were getting the better of her. The creature, with its perfect sharp eyebrows, high cheekbones, and smoldering gaze shot back, “He was stealing gold in my sacred temple, and I needed the blood to reawaken.” She motioned to her body as if to imply her corporeal form required sacrifice. Gwen shuddered. “Besides,” the dark woman continued, “I can tell I did you a favor.” Gwendolyn was fearful; thoughts and her true feelings about Playn simmered to the surface, and she tried to repress that hatred. The figure took Gwen’s silence as agreement. “Don’t try and fight it, dear. That church of yours really is still like that?” The creature prodded. It felt like her form was difficult for Gwen to grasp, between the darkness and her flowy adornments. “What,” Gwen managed, “do you know about the Church of Feilstraus?”

“It was him and his people,” the figure started, voice still echoing in Gwen’s head, “your people, that sealed me down here, in a time where gods like me still roamed the Earth.”

“A god?” Gwen asked, “Surely not, no one has met one.” The tall woman explained, “Yes, because Feilstraus and others wanted it that way. Me? I prefer a more hands on approach with my worshippers.” Gwen’s eyes instinctively lowered to the woman’s hands, long and slender, like the rest of her. Onyx pointed nails accented otherwise ghostly white hands. They looked like a queen’s, having spent her eternal life with others doing the lifting. Soft, Gwen’s mind blurted before centering itself.

“When I put up a fight, refusing to retreat into heaven with the rest of those fools, Feilstraus led a legion to desecrate my beautiful religion and temple and seal me where I wouldn’t ever be found.” The Goddess seemed oddly casual about a situation she had centuries, or perhaps millenia to stew over. “Until, I suppose, now. Gwendolyn Havenstone, devout cleric of Feilstraus, delivering a blood sacrifice to reawaken Sophidia, Goddess of Chaos and Passion. What a delicious twist of fate.” Gwendolyn’s hair stood on end when the Goddess used her name. Her presence in general felt all-encompassing, and Gwen realized she hadn’t averted her gaze once since she’d seen Sophidia.

“I didn’t- It wasn’t-” Gwen attempted, but Sophidia smothered her stammer in honeyed words. “Don’t worry darling, everything happens for a reason. You’ve saved me, I can save you. I can help you become more powerful, more holy, than you’ve ever dreamed of.”

Gwen snapped out of her stupor, “I’d never make a pact with you, I swore an oath to Feilstraus to draw power from my faith in Him.” She tightened the grip on her staff. Sophidia seemed to chuckle, and then threw her head back in full-on laughter.

“A pact? I am no demon, and such a pious thing like you is definitely not a warlock. No, Gwendolyn Havenstone. I will make you love me. I will replace your false god with your true purpose. I can feel your talents, I will have you by my side.” Sophidia spoke with such rigid authority, Gwen almost believed her on the spot. To fight felt hopeless, and the light flickered in her staff. This is it, she thought, do or die. Gwendolyn charged her staff once more, giving off one last flare of light as she charged the Goddess, completely undermatched. Sophidia, without an ounce of effort, stepped to the side.

“No, no, no, nonono-” Gwen managed, before Sophidia lowered one of Her hands on the top of Gwendolyn’s head, and as the cleric gasped, everything went dark.

The next thing Gwen perceived was her ears ringing. As the tinnitus faded, she felt her consciousness slowly emerge, as if rising out of a pool of darkness. She fluttered her eyes open, only to be momentarily blinded by piercing light. As she slowly worked to adjust to the brightness, she started to realize a familiar locale. The Cleric Academy. The hallway she was in was empty of other attendees, but full of the daylight filtering through the windows. Gwen found herself slumped in the corner. Still trying to rise out of the brain fog, she took stock of herself. What was she just doing?

Gwendolyn surveyed her garments, typical white and gold robes of a Feilstraus cleric-in-training. She noticed her curves were less significant than she was used to at this point. Gwen put the pieces together. This was a memory, right? Based on my body, Gwen thought, about 8 years ago? Gwen had used her magic over the years to slowly sculpt herself from a meek, unassuming boy to a curvy, elegant woman. But right now, she was somewhere in the middle. About two years in to my treatments, Gwen surmised. That would put her right around when- Realization struck Gwen like a lightning bolt.

“Gods no… no, no, no,” she pleaded, as she realized why she hadn't immediately recognized this memory. It was the one. The one she had buried for good, outside of an occasional nightmare which would burn an entire night of sleep. The door furthest from her in the hallway swing open violently. She remembered she should've been hiding. She remembered she shouldn't have scored so high. She remembered that she blamed herself.

The three young men walked through at the other end of the corridor. On instinct, Gwen wheeled around to try to find another exit. She already knew there wouldn't be one. “There you are!” One of the men, all of whom were in similar albeit masculine versions of Gwen’s garb, boomed. “You know we've been looking all over for you,” another spoke, this one in the middle of their formation, “whatever you are.”

The three male cleric students approached. “Maybe a bookworm freak like you got the wrong idea,” the last one spoke, “this cleric shit is supposed to be easy, but it's a little hard when we have someone fucking up the curve.” The contempt on his words was palpable. This was clearly more than about just the grades.

“I-it’s not easy!” Gwen blurted back, forgetting that it was just a memory. Her eyes widened. While Gwen's combat skills have definitely improved by this point in time, she couldn't change a memory. She started to spiral as the boys continued their approach. Her body tensed. Gwendolyn already knew what happened next. She forced her eyes shut. Maybe it'll be easier, she fretted, if I just don't fight back. Gwendolyn was going to be hurt and violated in the ways forgotten by mind but not body, all over again. After this, it'd be that same feeling of needing to suppress emotions and submerge herself in her beliefs in Him.

Only, something was off. The clacking of the men’s sandals on the wooden floor had stopped, stretching Gwen’s terror. After a beat, she finally started to let herself peek. The Goddess. Time stopped around them. Gwendolyn held her hand out to the wall behind her. She was getting woozy. Before her, Sophidia stood, features illuminated by the sunlight to reveal the true form of her flowing black hair and her face practically engineered to enrapture. Trying to glean her full visage only dizzied the cleric further. Gwendolyn, through jagged breath, looked up, catching a glimpse of the Goddess’ black lips, still in a wry smile. She had to be at least 9 feet tall. Sophidia caught her gaze. In her stupor, Gwen couldn’t figure out if the Goddess’ eyes portrayed pity or hunger. The Goddess spoke first. “You poor thing. You buried that incredibly deep.”

Gwen’s head was spinning, but she still spat out, “Why are you making me relive this?”

“Wrong question,” Sophidia dismissed, “Why did you have to live it in the first place? Are you not a devotee of a powerful god?’ Gwen could feel the venom behind Sophidia’s utterance of the word ‘god’. The Goddess continued, “If he loved you, would he not have protected you from this?” The words nearly threw Gwen further off balance. It had just occurred to her that she was still in her 19 year old body from the memory, and could feel the crippling lack of confidence she had then setting in. The intrusive thoughts, Sophidia’s words, Sophidia’s influence, were all crashing against her brain like a tsunami. Gwen tried to fight it. “What- what are you doing to me?”

Sophidia stepped forward and cradled the cleric's cheek, looking down in pity. “You didn’t deserve this. You deserve to be free. This has chained you, kept you repressed for so long. You threw yourself into a ‘god’ that didn’t even protect you.” Sophidia purred, her voice echoing in Gwen’s head. The Goddess continued, “I can show you. I can help you make it right.” She gently pulled the smaller cleric into Her embrace. Gwen felt like she was sinking. The comfort repelled any thoughts of the traumatic experience she was reliving. Resistance faded. Gwendolyn’s mind accepted the new reality being etched into it.

Gwen saw flashes of the memory. With the men halfway down the hallway, Gwen tensing and expecting the worst, now a dark figure swooped in from out of view. The figure turned to reveal the most beautiful woman Gwen had seen. Her long dark hair framed a face with sharp steely eyes and a wry, black smile. She was tall, too, bigger than any person she’d ever seen. The large woman looked down at the young Gwen. “I’m here.” The woman’s sultry voice felt like it soaked into Gwen’s very being. The mysterious woman bent down to offer a pale, slender hand, to the cleric-in-training. The woman’s palms and fingers were covered in black sigils unfathomable to the young Feilstraus adherent. Gwen could only stare in awe, and when she took the woman’s hand, everything disappeared.

Gwen’s next breaths were desperate, as if emerging from the ocean. She found herself sprawled on the floor of the ruins of Sophidia’s church. It had suddenly felt warmer than she remembered, and she noticed the faint glow of magic illuminating the room’s corners. Sophidia stood a few feet away, observing the girl. Gwen felt around; her tender bosom, softened skin - she was her present-day self again. “What happened… what did you do?” Sophidia feigned being aghast at the cleric and said, “I simply helped your troubled soul. It will take some time, but my seeds are there.” Gwen’s skin crawled. It dawned on her that the power of a god would be beyond magic, and that things were being done to her that she couldn’t comprehend. Gwen scrambled to her feet and prepared to be defiant, to summon strength from within and above to help her make it out alive. She assumed a wide stance again, square with the Goddess, brandishing her staff. Her resolute facade was quickly betrayed by the tremor of her rod. She found herself fixed on Sophidia’s face, who then spoke. “That’s adorable. I can see his light fading from you.” The Goddess threw her head back and inhaled in triumph. Gwen hated that She was right. Gwendolyn couldn’t feel Feilstraus’ power as usual. “Abandoned again, are we?” Sophidia cooed. “By your party and by your god. Don’t worry, my child. I’m here. You deserve to be able to feel angry. To feel at all.” Each sentence felt like it was making Gwen’s thoughts fuzzier. She was really very tired. Tired of holding back, tired of unappreciated devotion, tired of being abandoned, tired of trying to resist Her influence. Gwendolyn’s wooziness returned, and she stumbled forward a few paces before being caught by the Goddess.

In Sophidia’s embrace, the warmth was all-encompassing. It felt as if it was coating Gwen’s mind, making her thoughts quiet. Gwen felt herself briefly consider never leaving Her embrace. Finally, one of Sophidia’s elegant hands gripped Gwen’s chin, directing her gaze into Her own. The fog in Gwen’s mind only intensified as she locked eyes with the greater being. Those piercing silver eyes just made her want to divulge all of her feelings and secrets to the Goddess. “Such… devotion. Such piety,” Sophidia started, though Gwen was more receiving the words than actively listening, “we will put that to better use, won’t we?” Sophidia used Her grip on the girl’s chin to help the girl nod in agreement. As she should. Yes, Gwen’s inner monologue chimed in for the first time in minutes, and only just to affirm the words sinking into her mind. It felt easy to stop fighting back. She knew this creature, this Goddess, was going to tear her apart. As she gazed up into Sophidia’s perfect eyes, though, Gwen didn’t feel like that was such a bad thing.

As she was melting further into Sophidia’s embrace, a part of Gwen tried to speak up. Gwen’s stupor nearly broke. Something in the back of her head was struggling against the warmth. “I… I swore an oath…” she mumbled, feebly trying to pull away. The nagging feeling wasn't letting her fully let go. I can still get out, Gwen thought, I just need to-. It felt like her brain abruptly halted, and all attention needed to be focused on Sophidia when the Goddess spoke.

“Don't worry, little one. I will relieve you of that oath.” Gwen’s shoulders untensed as she accepted Sophidia’s words. “After all, weren't you supposed to be in his protection? Did Feilstraus,” Sophidia continued, malice dripping from her lips as she mentioned the god, “uphold his end? Did he deserve your devotion?” Gwen nearly felt Sophidia’s hunger on that last word, as if She wanted to devour Gwen’s very piety she spent years honing.

Gwendolyn tried to steady her breathing. She had been hanging on every last word of the Goddess’ without realizing it. She was hard to ignore, and the dimly lit altar room revealed many more features to get lost in. The Goddess's form still felt as if it were shifting, but it seemed She had settled on a long black dress with thin straps and an extremely deep V-shaped neckline, exposing cleavage that was harder to ascertain on the Goddess’ previously more modest robes. The dress further had a cut-out in the bottom, allowing one of Sophidia's slender, pale legs to be exposed. Despite her relative thinness, the curves of the Goddess’ cleavage and her revealed thigh made her look downright soft. It felt like there was something intoxicating about Sophidia, appearance, words, and even scent. A draft carried a small breeze to Gwen. Her nose perceived sweet notes, a dizzying mix of bergamot and vanilla. It was like each time Gwen tried to pull her perception away from Sophidia, a new sensation would force her focus right back onto the Goddess, more transfixed than before. Her heart was stirring, her legs were buckling. The cleric fought to keep the drool in her mouth, but beneath her robes she could feel her cock couldn't quite win a similar battle. Her attempt to breathe steadily instead ended up closer to panting, and she felt herself grow in her panties.

Sophidia’s wry smile crept longer. The poor girl was unraveling right before her. As she was a devout cleric of Feilstraus, Sophidia had no doubt the mortal had shied away from pleasure or hedonism of any kind. Her new Goddess would fix that. “Oh, that must be positively unbearable for you,” Sophidia teased, looking straight at Gwen’s rising tent in her robes. The cleric sounded downright tiny, “S-stop…” she was a shuddering, blushing mess. Sophidia licked her lips, tracing her long tongue over her sharp, pearly fangs. She savored every moment of her quaking prey’s mix of ecstacy and fear.

Gwen's eyes fluttered, and suddenly the Goddess was upon her. Though she had barely noticed Sophidia move, Gwen felt herself get pushed up against the wall in the blink of an eye. Suddenly all of the factors numbing Gwen’s conscious thoughts and accentuating her unconscious desires intensified. The sweet scent was overwhelming, and in spite of Her initially cold appearance, Gwen, when pressed against the much larger woman’s divine body heat, simply melted into her clutches.

“There you are. Your Goddess is here,” Sophidia declared, before beckoning Gwen’s attention up to a small vial of dark liquid. Despite the color, the ichor shimmered in the dim lights of the altar room. “Open,” Gwen’s mind heard, and she was unable to stop her jaw from untensing at the Goddess’ mere word, drool trailing out of the corner of the woozy girl’s mouth. She felt a muffled screaming from the back of her mind, but Sophidia’s warmth and grip on Gwen made paying any mind to it an impossibility. “Drink of me,” Sophidia honeyed words melted into Gwen’s brain as She tilted the vial over, “accept my blessing.” The proud cleric’s tongue lolled out like a desperate puppy, and Sophidia poured the concoction straight in.

Gwen had seldom drank mead or wine before, preferring to keep her mind and spirits sharp and to follow her church’s guidance on maintaining the purity of their relationship with their god. That didn’t necessarily mean she hadn’t imbibed ever though, as memories of adventuring parties she would be assigned to while at the academy stopping at a tavern to celebrate a successful journey pressuring her to join the festivities were decently common. As the ichor coated her tongue and lit her senses aflame, Gwen couldn’t help but be reminded of the sensations she had felt under those more common drinks. It felt as though the reserved cleric was able to tap into feelings she otherwise shied away from, inhibitions both natural and learned stripped back to reveal more of the self. Gwen had written those nights off as anomalies, and after each one resolved to strengthen her tie to Feilstraus. As she felt the current liquid lightly burn her throat before treating it to a cooling sensation, she felt that lingering doubt that had been so loud just a moment ago become completely snuffed out. As much as Gwen’s brain was struggling to remain coherent, she still had the wherewithal to assume the ichor would start to affect her like the alcohol she hadn’t had for years. That’s why, when her heart started racing and her face burned to a fever pitch, she had one more moment of panic. This is no depressant. Even as a dark cloud descended over her mind, Gwendolyn used the last of her mental energy to search for any memory from her herbalism or potion-making classes for any clue of what this Goddess might have just done to her.

Sophidia, watching the girl struggle, finally spoke. “My essence,” the Goddess of Passion said, “your people have not tasted the divine in millenia, is my understanding. It will release you from the frigid chains you hold in your mind.” Gwen looked up in horror, realizing what Sophidia intended. Making the cleric forsake her inhibitions was one thing, but completely losing her ability of moderation would tarnish her connection to her God, not to mention make her susceptible to her own desires. Gwen knew what those desires were, what lay beneath her own surface, what had been taken from her all those years ago. Locking eyes with Sophidia, Gwen’s gaze of terror and bewilderment was met by the Goddess’ enchanting, knowing eyes. Sophidia already knew what the devout cleric of Feilstraus really wanted.

“I can taste your desire,” Sophidia hissed to Gwen, gently stroking her cheek, “I can feel the passion you have for me already.” Gwen shuddered in the large woman’s grasp, feeling the hopelessness of the situation. Her connection to her God had been cut completely, since the essence touched her tongue. “Abandoned again?” Sophidia asked, noting the girl's vacant eyes, “You poor thing. As beautiful as you look with your soul so empty like this, how about we give you a new purpose?”

The Goddess’ words rolled off of her as Gwen felt like she was seeing the world again for the first time. Unbound by her own mental red tape, she stumbled through searching her feelings. She’s tall, Gwen’s thoughts, through their stupor, could only admire Sophidia as her eyes fell upon the Goddess. She traced Sophidia’s dark lips with her gaze, falling back into lust like it was a down mattress. “That’s right, admire your new Goddess,” Sophidia’s sultry tone helped mask the assertion that she was indeed making the cleric the first acolyte of Sophidia’s reborn religion. Gwen tried to shake her head at that, make any attempt to clear the brain fog, but was cut instantly short when she felt the Goddess’s long, slender, warm hand grip Gwen’s entire bulge through her robe and panties. Gwen’s response was to let out what could only be described as a squeak, before melting into the touch. Any trepidation she had felt about Sophidia’s divine touch had long since faded, as the ichor continued to course through Gwen. She desperately needed her-. Her thoughts twisted and contorted. She reached for her weapon of choice, that restraint of hers, but found nothing. Her brain slipped into pure indulgence. She desperately needed her Goddess.

“G-Goddess…” Gwen moaned, straining against Sophidia’s hand. Even just the mere touch and warmth of the Goddess was enough to get Gwen’s hips to buck. Sophidia giggled at her enraptured prey. It had been too long since She had basked in true worship. She fully intended to soak in the glory of introducing divine pleasure to this poor repressed cleric, and using it to mold her into the perfect priestess for Her.

“To your knees,” the Goddess commanded, and Gwen followed without hesitation. Gwen wasn’t quite sure, but it seemed like her robes had changed. She seemed to remember wearing gold and white previously, the colors of… Gwen wasn’t sure. The thoughts were quickly smothered by how grateful she was to be wearing black and silver, matching the elegant Goddess’ garb and radiant eyes. “You look perfect, little one,” Sophidia cooed, “but perhaps a little too formal for what I have planned. Remove the robes.” Her priestess-to-be complied, able to stop her haziness just long enough to follow her Goddess’ decree.

Beneath the changed robes, different undergarments were revealed to Gwen. Gone were the modest beige set of bra and panties. In their place were a black lacy ensemble, closer to lingerie than anything an adventurer would wear. Despite that, they had a comfort to them that until that point had been unknown to Gwen. It felt as if they were embracing her just as her Goddess did. The panties did almost nothing to obscure her aching cock, standing at attention and peeking out through the waistband. Gwendolyn could feel her heart and mind racing, and both her blood and thoughts only knew Sophidia. The ichor’s dizzying effect, compounded with a life of restraint, made the cleric insatiable. The Goddess stepped around the quivering mess on Her floor. She leaned over and brought her face close to Gwen’s.

“Tell me what you want,” Sophidia’s sultry voice and hot breath were driving even further into her mania, “and you will be rewarded beyond anything you’ve ever felt, Gwendolyn Havenstone.” Hearing her full name only solidified to Gwen that this was where she belonged.

“I… I want,” Gwen stammered, averting her gaze initially. Sophidia captured her full attention again with a hand on the cowering cleric’s chin.

“Into my eyes, little one,” the Goddess encouraged, silver eyes shimmering like pools of mercury. Their gravity was insurmountable, and Gwen was drowning in their pull. She felt her hesitation buckle, and finally break. It was time to follow the passion she felt.

“I want to be yours,” Gwen admitted, “I want to feel as you have shown me is possible. I wish to be in Your glory.”

It was music to the Goddess’ ears. A song that hadn’t played since the days other Gods still roamed the earth. Sophidia knew that the words had been hard for Gwen to get out, and She also knew what every devotee desperately craves from their God. Praise. Validation. Sophidia knew how to melt this mortal’s thoughts in exactly the right way. Now that She had coaxed that declaration from her, she no longer needed to hold back.

“Such a good girl for your Goddess,” Gwen thought she heard directly in her soul, sending her even further into a tizzy, “We will complete your consecration.”

Gwen felt ready to weep as she looked up at her resplendent Goddess. On top of the beauty, finally experiencing such pleasures of the flesh and mind were upending all the convictions she thought she held. The Goddess once again lowered Her face to Her new acolyte. “You will make a perfect priestess,” Sophidia proclaimed, bringing a hand up to lightly stroke Gwen’s bright platinum blonde hair, an exact contrast to the void-like locks draping over Her. The petting turned into a firm grip on the back of Gwen’s hair, eliciting a breathy gasp from the bliss-drunk girl. “My priestess,” the Goddess emphasized as she pulled on Gwen's well-kept but recently disheveled mane, forcing her head back and face pointed slightly upwards. Gwen could see the hunger in her Goddess' eyes, and caught a glimpse of the fangs in Sophidia’s mouth. Sophidia put her other hand on the girl’s cheek, and pulled her disciple in for a kiss.

Gwendolyn immediately recognized this was different from any kiss she had prior to her period of celibacy. The very first thing she noticed was how long her Goddess's tongue was. It was taking up nearly all of her mouth, pushing aside her mortal tongue and just taking what She wanted. As Sophidia forced her way down Gwen’s throat, the mortal felt a familiar sensation on her own tongue and in the back of her throat. A light burning, then a numbing coolness. The ichor, Gwen’s dwindling conscious mind identified. The thought gave her enough pause to try and use her own tongue to push back against Sophidia's, only for it to be forced back down by the Goddess's superior strength and size. Gwen melted further. Her eyes rolled back as she felt herself swallow more of her Goddess’s essence. Compared to the tiny drop she had consumed before, she was being positively flooded by the Goddess. Gwen’s limp body would’ve slumped over had Sophidia not been holding her in place. The sensation was absolutely overwhelming as she felt her thoughts start to bleed into each other, eventually becoming unparsable except for one, which felt far more important than the others. She needed her Goddess.

Gwen subconsciously tried to follow as the Goddess pulled out of her mouth, only held back by what she saw when she finally opened her eyes. The lights in the corner of the room streaked across her vision like shooting stars, but it was hard to get a grasp on the colors. It felt like the altar room was shifting, or perhaps her eyes were playing tricks on her. Her gaze eventually settled on Sophidia, and then she realized how widened her perception was. She looked upon the Goddess’ radiance with new eyes, now better able to see more of Sophidia’s divine beauty. Her angular jaw commanded respect, no, devotion. Her soft curves tugged at the edges of the cleric’s mind. Gwen thought she saw a heavenly light flanking the tall woman on either side and bathing the room in Her warmth. The ichor was simply revealing the truth. She was everything.

Gwen couldn't stop herself. All the reverence she had spent so long cultivating was now all pointed at the Goddess before her. From her knees, she started crawling to where Sophidia stood, breath jagged in awe as she refused to break her line of sight with the Goddess. The cold stone of the dungeon floor only served to highlight how much Gwen needed to bask in her Goddess's warmth and comfort. “That's right, my delirious priestess,” Sophidia encouraged, “come to me, pay tribute to your only Goddess.”

Gwendolyn Havenstone, former pious cleric of Feilstraus, was on her hands and knees crawling for the woman before her. Her motions were shaky, still rattled by her brush with divinity. She finally reached the base of the towering Goddess. The warmth even just being below her was intoxicating. Sophidia was in black heels, though with how She was gliding around effortlessly, Gwen never would've guessed. Gwen bowed her head, whimpering. She was purely overwhelmed by the Goddess’ presence, and the ichor clouding her judgement wasn't helping. Gwen was exhilarated, looking down at Sophidia's heels. “Kiss,” the Goddess commanded, slowly motioning with her foot, “show me that deference you've cultivated.” Gwen was bright red and panting. She had never thought of this body part like this, she normally surely would've been revolted- none of that mattered now, and Gwen felt the desires shifting in her head. She couldn't tell what was Her Goddess’ doing, and what was latent wants she had been suppressing. Gwen didn't care anymore. The glimpses she's felt this far had convinced her of one thing. She needed to bite the forbidden fruit. Gwen bowed her head further, and planted her lips on the exposed top of her Goddess' foot.

The ecstacy of submission to her Goddess consumed Gwen. The frenzy that followed after blurred into pure bliss. Kissing the exposed leg of Sophidia, Gwen traveled up, coveting every brush with the divine skin. The devotee’s eyes welled with tears, taken with pure purpose. She was to be a disciple of Sophidia.

All but wrapped around the Goddess’ slender leg, Gwen was mumbling in a language she didn’t yet understand. “Your prayers are better than any symphony could be,” Sophidia directly said to the mortal’s soul. Gwen grew louder, the divine inspiration too much to keep inside, manifesting in chants in a language so ancient no one alive knew it existed. While her mind shifted and senses buzzed, one thing remained constant. Gwen was hard. A cogent thought actually formed. A memory, as if to taunt her. It was Gwen, six years ago, in the process of molding her own body through Feilstraus’ divine power. She had disabled her ability to get hard, knowing it would keep her chaste. And yet. The memory dissolved as fast it had appeared. Gwen moaned. She would never deny herself again.

“There you are, little one,” Sophidia said, “I can taste your passion. We can feel like this forever.” Gwen felt herself rising. Not to her legs, but simply picked up like a doll by an invisible force and laid on the offering table at the altar. She was laid on her back with her head dangling over the side. It was the perfect height to be eye-level with Sophidia’s hips. The Goddess slowly strode over, savoring the view of her new disciple’s twitching, needy body. Gwendolyn would pay tribute. Sophidia brushed open the slit near the front of her dress to reveal a cock that surely would’ve been impossible to hide in that dress. Any logic was lost on Gwen though, as her eyes immediately were locked to the swinging mass before her. It was huge. Pure dark, as if made of shadow. The Goddess smirked at her priestess’ gawking, not that the mortal could see. Gwen’s gaze wouldn’t deviate one bit. Sophidia approached the altar, and laid her holiness directly on Gwen’s face. It was heavy, and warm. Suddenly, the difference between mortals and Gods was seared into Gwen’s mind permanently.

The last thing Gwen could really see was Sophidia’s hand raise to the side of her own head. Inches away from Gwen’s ear, the hand began emitting a shadowy force. All of Gwen’s senses blended together in pure ecstasy. She could feel the Goddess prying, accessing all memories and behavior patterns in the mortal’s mind. Years of pleasure were being imprinted on her in mere moments. “Just making up for lost time,” Gwen thought she heard, “no devotee of mine will be deprived.” Gwen smiled between whines and moans, and it was the only sign that she was capable of any thought at all. Gwen’s cock ached, and had long become unbound by her skimpy panties. “I know your true desires,” Sophidia’s voice inside Gwen said, clearly in the ancient language but still able to be understood, “Give yourself to me, and I will save you. I will make you whole.”

Gwen knew what came next. She wasn’t sure how she was making these decisions, as they just appeared in her head without any forethought. But still, she knew. The only way to release was to pledge herself to the Goddess before her. My only Goddess, Gwen might’ve thought, I need Her. Gwen’s lips started moving before she could process the words she was saying. “I am your devotee, my Goddess,” Gwen said in the ancient language, “I give my body, mind, and soul to you. I will spread Your passion.” Gwen felt Sophidia’s heavy cock twitch on her face.

“You shall be,” the Goddess started, “my High Priestess. You are mine.” Sophidia just pointed at the mortal’s dick, and Gwen felt an invisible force swelling within her. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, her body bucked as she accepted Sophidia into her very soul. A black crest was painlessly searing into Gwendolyn’s upper thigh. A circle with perpendicular lines through the middle. Sacred. Gwendolyn instantly came, the hardest any human had in thousands of years.

She was in the stars. Gwen’s senses hadn’t returned to her, so she lay among clouds sailing across the cosmos in her head. The delirium reached its apex, and Gwen could only convulse as she paid her first tribute to Sophidia. The priestess had only thoughts about her Goddess and the pure pleasure she was feeling. She first felt the warmth of her own cum flowing onto her thigh, adorning the new marking on her skin. Gwen was gifted sight for a brief enough moment to see now-legible ancient writing on the opposite thigh. High Priestess. She drifted off, but not before feeling Sophidia wrap two huge arms around her.

Gwen awoke in the afterglow. She rose from the altar and looked down. She was back in her robes as a priestess of Sophidia. Her staff’s light emitted a silver glow. Gwen dropped to her knees and said her mantras lovingly. “Passion for all things. Salvation in pleasure. Love our Goddess.” The phrases made Gwen’s robe tent, as she knew they always would. Anything related to Sophidia just encouraged her. The language on the walls was now decipherable, but she felt as if she had already been granted the knowledge contained on them. She wanted nothing more than to spread the joys and pleasure of her Goddess with others. Her newly silver-blue eyes cut through the darkness to see her Goddess watching over her. “I cannot leave yet, my child. I require more worship.” Gwen felt like she could weep for her Goddess, a perfect being that should never have been sealed in the first place. She would save everyone, if only they let Her. “But,” Sophidia all but hissed, “every religion needs a champion. Ah, I can see you already have an idea in your mind.”

Gwen almost felt guilty for thinking of it, but she knew her party couldn't have gone far since she had begun her new life. Kashytria, Gwen thought, deserves a greater purpose than just money. Gwen thought about the barbarian's muscles, about healing her intimately. Gwen now wished she had gone further. “Go to her,” Sophidia commanded, “we will rebuild our glorious religion.” Gwen had a serene smile on her face as she emerged from the sealed temple. The sunlight of a new day was blinding as her eyes adjusted. She basked in its warm glow. Gwendolyn Havenstone, devoted priestess of Sophidia, wanted nothing more than to spread her Goddess' love.