Just outside the heavy, velvet curtains that draped the master bedroom's alcove, Mireya stood frozen, a shadow among shadows. She was pressed against the cold stone wall, her breath held so tightly in her lungs it ached, terrified that even a single, ragged exhale would betray her position and shatter the most scandalous scene she had ever witnessed.
Her eyes were wide, dilated with a mixture of terror and an almost unbearable, pulsing arousal. She couldn't look away.
In fact, she should look away. She should turn around, walk back to her own chambers, and bury herself under heavy quilts to forget the sounds of the High Priestess being unmade.
'Stop it, Mireya!' her mind screamed, a frantic, internal monologue that raced a mile a minute. 'Turn around!'
'This is sacrilege! This is... this is madness!'
'You are watching a woman be desecrated in the very room where she prays!'
