Acid Withered Poem

The sun was setting slowly, its rays hitting throughout the window of the black Lincoln Town. A bumpy road leading to St. Jude the Martyr Convent. It wasn’t a secluded place, however it had a history. St. Jude the Martyr Convent was built in 1863 by a French businessman as a gift for the Bishop. Since then, it has also been used as a hospital and war headquarters. 

After a few minutes the car parked in front of the building, neo-goth style with a captivating energy. Outside was standing a lone figure wearing a black cassock. A young, tall and slim man with pale skin, with each step a scar adorning the right side of his face became more visible. His hair was another feature to highlight. A messy oversized ash-blonde bun on top and long navy blue layer drapes over his shoulders perfectly framing his face, even if it was an unusual look for a priest. 

The skirt of your black habit flew with every step. Once you reached the top of the stairs and stood in front of him the intensity of his eyes sent a shiver down your spine. Light and pupil-less, he was staring right at yours. 

Without exchanging a word you bowed before him, “Father” you spoke in a soft voice. He gave a small nod, “Caines” he said with a slow almost hypotonic voice “Tamsy Caines”. After a small pause he said “and you are Sister Y/N, I was of the understanding that you would be arriving tomorrow”. You looked down while explaining “The driver had another assignment today, Father Corvus considered wise to spare him the trouble”. A subtle smirk appeared on Tamsy’s face “Of course he would”, even with your face down you could still feel his eyes focused. “Rise your head Sister, no need for such formalities around me. After all I’m just a priest”. Once your eyes met he said “Besides you’re gonna mess up that habit” a polite smile adorning his face. The whisper of a smile appeared on your face “That would be a trouble”, he nodded slightly “Certainly, and fixing it would interfere with the tour I have planned for you”. Unconsciously, your left hand rose to fix the habit. With a smile still present on his face Tamsy instructed “Walk with me”.

The heavy oak doors groaned as he pushed them open, welcoming you into the large, echoing sanctuary. The air inside instantly shifted; it was cold, heavy and with the lingering sting of frankincense."Striking architecture, isn’t it sister?" Tamsy began, his black cassock swishing softly against the floor as he led you down the center aisle. He pointed up toward the vaulted ceilings, where long shadows stretched like reaching fingers. "I presume it was built to remind humans of their insignificance beneath the heavens. Though, the history here is far more... earthly."

You walked beside him, with both hands folded neatly inside your sleeves. Even when you tried to keep looking forward, his gaze was intoxicating and heavy. The soft texture of his hair and intensity of his eyes drew your attention back to him every few seconds.

"In the early 1900s this place was converted into a wartime hospital, the pews were cleared out to make room for rows of cots," Tamsy murmured, his tone serene and conversational, as if he were discussing the weather. "In fact, you are standing right where they performed the rushed amputations. Word says the oak planks beneath the modern patchwork are still stained so deeply with iron that the termites refuse to touch it." A cold sensation prickled at the nape of your neck. You looked down at the grey stone beneath your shoes, a low whisper leaving your mouth. "A tragedy, Father."

 "Necessities of war," he corrected smoothly, flashing a bright, calm smile that didn't reach his pupil-less eyes. He paused in front of a massive, masterfully carved statue of Saint Jude near the front of the nave. "And there is our patron. Exquisite craftsmanship. It is unfortunate that the scaffolding collapsed twice during its execution, " he made a small eerie pause “Nearly three hundred laborers plunged to their deaths right onto this stone to get that drape of the robe just right." Tamsy leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a low, rhythmic whisper. "A few parishioners have said when the church is empty they get a scent of sweat and blood from this stone.”

A shiver ran down your spine, an unwanted bliss in response to a priest who spoke of such horrors with a permanent, unbothered smirk. Before you could speak, he turned on his heel, his ash-blonde hair shifting dynamically as he guided you away from the altar and down a narrow, dim corridor leading toward the residential wing of the convent. The hallway grew tighter, the walls lined with austere, dark portraits of previous clergymen whose eyes seemed to track your movement.

"Here we are," Tamsy said, stopping in front of a heavy wooden door at the very end of the hall. He unlocked it with a heavy brass key, pushing it open to reveal a sparse, shadowy room. A single window overlooked the yard, a small wooden desk sat in the corner, and a narrow bed was pushed against the wall. He stepped inside first and walked over to the bed, slowly running a long, pale finger along the dark wooden headboard. Tamsy’s hand lingered there, looking down with an uncanny interest behind his eyes. In a swift motion, he moved away from the bed, gliding past you toward the doorway. The fabric of his cassock brushed firmly against your arm, leaving a trail of heat in your body. He stopped at the threshold, hand resting on the iron doorknob.

"I hope the room treats you warmly, Sister Y/N," he said, that polite, deceptive smile stamping itself back onto his face. "Have a pleasant night. I expect you at the altar early tomorrow morning to help me prepare for the liturgy." Those were his last words before stepping back into the hallway and pulling the heavy door shut.

A heavy darkness swallowed the small room. You lay on the narrow bed, the distant silhouette of the yard outside the window the only marker of where the world ended and the shadows began. Hours passed in a restless blur until a sudden, rhythmic vibration jolted you awake. The frame of the iron bed shook slightly, a heavy tremor vibrating through the mattress. You blinked into the dark, heart pounding, but the room remained perfectly still. A low exhale left your lungs. Just a trick of my sleepy mind, you reassured yourself, rolling back onto your side. 

Your eyelids drifted shut again, but the air in the room grew suffocatingly dense. The hair-raising sensation of a gaze boring into your body, making the skin crawl. Someone standing right at the edge of the bed, staring down at you in the dark. An instinct screamed to open your eyes, but fear locked your lids tight. You chose to ignore it, forcing your breathing to remain steady, desperately trying to fake sleep.

Then, the blankets shifted.

A sudden, violent tug caught the fabric at the end of the bed, yanking your ankles. The force tore you upright, eyes snapping open as you sat up suddenly in the dark, gasping for air. But before a sound could leave your throat, an invisible weight slammed you back down onto the mattress.

Panic flared, but your limbs refused to move. A force pinned your arms to the sides, your legs anchored to the mattress by an immense, unseen pressure. You were completely paralyzed.

The hot, heavy wave of air washed over you as a presence shifted directly over your body. The faint scent of iron and a predatory flesh overwhelming your senses, followed by the terrifyingly real sound of low breathing right against your ear. An invisible mouth brushed the column of your neck, exhaling a searing heat that sent a jolt of pure electricity straight to your core.

Each phantom touch was merciless. Cold, unseen fingers slid down the front of your nightgown, trailing over your ribs before settling firmly around your waist. The grip was heavy and possessive, squeezing your hips with a bruising force that felt agonizingly physical. You tried to scream, but your jaw was locked, a desperate whimper trapped behind your teeth.

With each passing second, the pressure shifted lower, forcing its way between your knees. An empty warm sliding up the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. The touch was slow, deliberate, and deeply invasive, but still driving you past the point of terror and into a volatile pleasure. A wetness creeped between your thighs. Every stroke against your folds was hyper-real, dragging you through a suffocating, dark euphoria until your breath caught entirely. The imminent release of your body shuddered in a silent, overwhelming flood that left you trembling against the sheets.

Morning light cut sharply through the small window, shattering the experience.

You sat up abruptly, gasping for breath, your hands instantly flying to your face. The room was empty. A shaky trembling breathless chuckle left your body, pressing a hand to your racing heart. It was sleep paralysis, your rational mind tried to reassure. Just a horrific, hyper-realistic trick of the mind probably born from Tamsy’s unsettling tour. 

But as you threw off the heavy blankets to get dressed for the morning liturgy, your movement froze.The distinct, lingering dampness clung to the skin between your thighs, the cool air of the room hitting the undeniable stain left behind. Faint bruises resembling fingers shadowed your thighs. A breath caught in your throat. The heat in your core hadn’t vanished with the sun. Perhaps it wasn’t a dream after all.

Even daylight could not warm the sanctuary of St. Jude the Martyr. Dressed in your clean black habit, you stood beside the high altar, your hands trembling slightly as you prepared the liturgical books for the service. The nerves in your body felt raw and completely exposed.

In the background, the heavy swish of a cassock signaled his arrival.

"Good morning, Sister Y/N," Tamsy’s voice echoed through the empty nave. He stepped into the sanctuary, those navy blue strands draped over his shoulders, catching the morning light. Always wearing that permanent, serene smile. "I trust the room treated you warmly?" You forced your gaze to remain on the pages of the lectionary, with a voice that was barely a whisper. "Yes, Father. Very." He didn't reply immediately. Instead, stepped up the altar to adjust the heavy brass crucifix. The space behind the altar was narrow, forcing him to pass directly behind you. 

In a movement that appeared entirely accidental to anyone who might be looking from the pews, his large, pale hand reached out to steady himself against the tight confines of the altar space. His palm slid firmly around the curve of your waist, his long fingers wrapping around your hip. Your entire body violently jolted at the contact. The pressure of his thumb digging into your side was an exact, flawless match to the possessive grip that had pinned you to the bed just hours before.

 A phantom heat of the night flared back to life instantly, a quiet gasp escaping your lips as your knees threatened to buckle. Tamsy didn't pull his hand away immediately. He let his fingers linger for a fraction of a second longer, his pupil-less eyes flicking down to catch the sudden flush creeping up your neck. The polite smile on his face never wavered, but a sharp, dark glint flashed behind his eyes. "Careful, Sister," he murmured, his voice dropping to that slow, hypnotic cadence as he finally let his hand slide away. "We wouldn't want your collectedness to waver before the liturgy even begins."

The days that followed passed in a tense, claustrophobic blur. Each morning began exactly the same: you would stand at the altar, nerves raw and waiting for the heavy swish of Tamsy’s cassock. But as the week progressed, a pattern began to emerge. In every other parish you had ever served, it was the strict duty of the sacristan or assisting nun to help the priest purify the Holy Vessels after Mass. Consuming any leftover consecrated wine and meticulously washing the silver chalice with water. Yet, Tamsy never asked for your help. The moment the liturgy ended, he would dismiss you immediately, locking himself alone in the sanctuary. Whenever you returned later to put the Vessels away, the silver chalice was always bone-dry, scraped clean of even a single remaining drop. The Sacred Sink would occasionally end up completely drained despite being full a day before. Even some columbarium doors seem to be left unlocked. 

The mysteries only made nights more intolerable. By mid-week, a thick, suffocating odor began to bleed through the walls of your room, the heavy reek of rotting flesh. This kept you awake for hours, your eyes strained in the dark as you stared at the finger-shaped bruises fading on your thighs.

During the morning chores, the older nuns noticed your pale face and dark circles, whispering warnings over the washbasins. They spoke in hushed, solemn tones about the two previous priests who had occupied the rectory before Tamsy. Father Regto and Father Surebrec, both had been found hanging from the rafters of the nave. The soil of St. Jude was cursed, they warned. You were told to keep your head down and pray.

But by Sunday night, prayers were not enough.

The stench in your room had grown so thick it felt physical, choking the breath from your throat. Unable to endure the confinement of those four walls any longer, you slipped out of bed, bare feet silent against the cold stone corridors. Driven by a desperate need to find the source of the rot, you followed the phantom scent down the winding residential hallway, through the tight corridor of staring portraits, and straight toward the doors of the main church. You pushed the door open just an inch, steeling yourself for the wave of decay. But once inside the shadow-drenched sanctuary, that smell vanished completely. The air became dead and impossibly still. The only scent left was the sharp, metallic tang of fresh blood and heavy frankincense, drawing your eyes toward the high altar where a faint, flickering glow pierced the dark.

As your eyes adjusted to the flickering gloom, the true geometry of the space unveiled itself. This was not a standard nocturnal vigil; it was an obscure and meticulous inversion of the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.

Sitting in the very front pews, flanking the center aisle like grotesque sentinels, were the desecrated remains of Father Regto and Father Surebrec. Positioned carefully on the right and left, they sat upright in their stiff, fading clerical vestments. Their hollow eye sockets fixed forward. Tamsy had transformed them into his compulsory, silent congregation.

Behind the high altar stood Tamsy, fully adorned in a crimson chasuble, mocking the liturgical vestment worn during the feasts of martyrs. His messy ash-blonde hair and long navy-blue layers were completely undone, cascading over his shoulders like a dark, frayed veil that partially shadowed his face.The skin of his face was smeared with sharp, skeletal lines. Looking closer, you noticed it wasn't charcoal or theatrical ink; it was a gritty, gray-white paste composed of stolen holy water and the calcified ashes he had raided from the columbarium .

Laid out across the consecrated stone altar table were the precise tools of the inversion: a silver chalice filled with the dark unpurified wine of every mass, the sacrarium water bowl with ashes, a blackened double-edged ceremonial dagger, the altar crucifix deliberately inverted so the corpus faced down, two black tallow candles burning on either side. Every element a symbol of rejection for the divine.

Tamsy looked up from the table, his pupil-less eyes catching the flickering flame. A sharp, unbothered smirk broke across his painted face as he recognized your footsteps. He didn't flinch or attempt to cover his work. "You walk with such quiet grace, Sister Y/N," Tamsy murmured, his voice dropping into that slow, hypnotic cadence that vibrated through the high stone arches. He gestured faintly with the blackened dagger toward the pews. "My perfect addition to the liturgy. The ancient rites always require a gift to bridge the profane with the sacred."

You stood frozen at the base of the altar steps, caught between terror and magnetic captivation. "Father... what have you done?" your voice whispered. His smile widened, gaze locking onto yours with an intense, predatory focus. "Just a customary offering. Descending is not for free, sister." Tamsy moved the blade across his right palm, pouring into the chalice whatever blood emerged. "They spent their lives guiding a mindless herd and kneeling before an empty sky," he said. "But you... you have been an obedient little lamb. You followed the scent straight to the heart of the sacrifice. I guess that deserves a reward."

The sensation of an unyielding grip on your arm appeared. Your body moving automatically, guided by the intoxicating force. As you reached the platform, Tamsy’s suffocating presence pulled you deeper into the narrow space behind the consecrated stone table. His chest pressed against your back, caging you between the altar and his figure. 

“Those eyes might be hollow, but they’re looking at us… they’re all looking at us.” He whispered, sending chills down your spine. Tamsy lifted his right hand to place it under your chin. “Such inviting lips,” he grabbed the dagger resting it against your mouth. In one swift motion he dragged it across your lower lip, the taste of blood flooding your senses. Immediately after, the chalice filled with tainted wine and his blood was pressed against your mouth. Forcing the content past your teeth, but before you could swallow Tamsy’s lips pressed against yours, trapping the liquid between your tongues in a messy, suffocating kiss. 

He released your chin and calmly started tracing down your body, the blood in his right hand leaving a smear of crimson against the nightgown. When his hand settled on your waist, he caressed your silhouette through the fabric. “You know, they found them hanging right where we are standing.” His mouth moved closer to your ear, a heavy whisper invading your mind  “Bodies spent the whole night here… just like us, little lamb.” 

The blade in his other hand rose to your neck, his slender fingers pressing it against your throat. “I could kill you right now…” an eerie pause creating a void in your stomach. “But hanging you would be such a waste.” Tamsy’s mouth moved down to your neck, biting the flesh with calculated force. An electrifying shock surged down your body as he murmured, “I’d rather preserve your body as my doll.”

Suddenly, the blade left your neck and started to move in sync with his mouth down your body, still covered in fabric. With every passing second the trail of bites lengthened until it reached the hem of your nightgown. Tamsy lifted it slowly, revealing your bare skin. “I figured nuns would have more decorum.” His mouth moved up your inner thigh stopping over your bare heat, “Perhaps I could dine a piece of your flesh.” Those breathy words hit the dampness between your legs, sending a low ache through your core. Right then, you felt the coldness of the blade against your inner thigh. Before you could protest, Tamsy sliced a shallow line into your skin, releasing a trail of crimson liquid. Once he duplicated the cut on the other side, his tongue rolled over your wounds, collecting the blood with his mouth. 

Your body stiffened and once his mouth was covered in your blood he moved to invade your core. The overwhelming sensation released a loud gasp from your mouth. “F-Father… w-wai” you couldn’t even finish the sentence when his dark voice cut through the shadows “Silence little lamb, you might disturb the dead.” Tamsy dived back into your soaked area, licking up and down your folds while mixing both fluids. His mouth stained you, smearing the blood along your inner thighs. Small whines and moans escaped your lips, not being able to control each reaction. With each passing second, your dampness grew, flooding Tamsy’s mouth, coating his throat in a glistening layer. “I can’t… Father, I-” your breath grew heavier, the warmth in your stomach expecting a release. Without a word, he started working on your clit, sucking and licking strategically. Your legs started shaking aggressively, knees threatening to buckle beneath you. Tamsy swiftly placed his hands over your hips, to steady each movement. Right before you could let go, he moved away. 

“A ravishing dinner… I do wonder what your flesh tastes like” His voice was rough and visceral, sending a jolt down to your core. Tamsy placed the dagger back on the altar while lifting himself up. The dark shadow of his body swallowing you completely. With both hands back on your hips, Tamsy bent you over the table. “Open wide,” your mouth opened automatically,  mind short-circuiting from the overwhelming rush. Right then, his mouth released a thick strand of all your fluids mixed together. You immediately swallowed, finally submitting to his dark liturgy. 

Tamsy reached for his braided gold cincture cord, placing both hands behind your back, binding your wrists together as tightly as possible. He leaned over, crushing your body against the altar. “Pray little lamb…” That same hypnotic voice echoing in your brain. Your throat tightened, the words slipping out in a trembling, desperate chant. “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…” before you could keep going, Tamsy bit your ear harshly before whispering “Not to him, to me.”

His command sent a thrill down to your core, igniting it again. “Please Father, allow me to drown in your sin.” your voice a distant and needy whisper. A sharp uncanny smirk appeared on his face, reaching down under the chasuble to free his length. “Blessed be Sister. Let our waters rise. In the name of the flesh, the blood, and my unholy shadow…” Right before you could answer, Tamsy lifted your nightgown to align himself between your legs, sinking in with a harsh thrust. Your loud moan resonated deeply. His left hand yanked your head backwards, while the right one covered your mouth as he murmured, “The sound of a dying lamb.” 

You could feel his length pulsing deep inside, building up the warmth in your stomach. With every hard and steady thrust, your body shook while tightening around him. “Focus little lamb… you’re clenching around me and we haven’t even started.” Just the sound of his voice made more fluids run out of your folds, soaking him completely. “Oh, do you like this dear Sister?” A mocking smile appeared  on his face. “Should we do it more often?” He stopped abruptly, before whispering against your ear, “Make you my little lamb?” Your hips moved on their own, grinding against him, desperately trying to pull him back to you. Tamsy scoffed cruelly, slamming his hips forward to answer your silent plea. “Very well.” 

In that moment, his left hand gripped your hips tight enough to bruise. Every thrust grew faster and harder, pushing even deeper than before. Your drooling mouth against his right palm, muffling every whine. Tamsy felt your warmth swallow him fully, squeezing tightly. With every movement, the soft flesh of your curves bounced back and forth, low animalistic growls leaving his throat. His hands moved under your nightgown, leaving a trail of rough scratches all over your skin. In between thrusts, he moved the left hand closer to circle your clit. The sensation forced a jolt of fluids that covered his hand instantly. “There you go…” his voice was rougher than before. “Same as last time.” An image of her first night in the convent rushed through your head. 

His movements came more erratic, turning his focus to a particular spot. The clenching of your insides spoke louder than your moans. Tamsy’s dark voice pierced through your ears. “I’ll taint your womb little lamb… just like he did with Virgin Mary.” Every single word sent a wave of electricity down your body. Feeling the impending release building inside, “Please Father, drown me in your seed…” every muscle in your body was shaking from the pleasure. With a heavy groan, he exploded buried deep inside of you, a warm sensation connecting you both. The mixed fluids running down your thigh, “Next time I will mix it with our blood for you to drink.” Tamsy’s breath was heavy against your neck.

Seishiro Nagi

Dramaturgy-EVE

Kare Uta-the Gazette

Seikai-RADWIMPS

Mikage Reo

Under and Over-the Oral Cigarette

Lost-ZORN

Crying Rain-girugamesh

Hyoma Chigiri

No Escape-Coldrain

Taking Off-One Ok Rock

Fall In Love-Ten’s Unique

Rensuke Kunigami

Dream On!!-BURNOUT SYNDROMES

M1917-a crowd of rebellion

Seishiro Nagi

Dramaturgy-EVE

Kare Uta-the Gazette

Seikai-RADWIMPS

Mikage Reo

Under and Over-the Oral Cigarette

Lost-ZORN

Crying Rain-girugamesh

Hyoma Chigiri

No Escape-Coldrain

Taking Off-One Ok Rock

Fall In Love-Ten’s Unique

Rensuke Kunigami

Dream On!!-BURNOUT SYNDROMES

M1917-a crowd of rebellion