Beatrice Devonshire

Beatrice Devonshire sat at her desk, scratching her pen across the page as she worked on the latest chapter of her novel.

Besides her lay a small, ornate wooden box with a hinged lid, intricately decorated with mythical creatures and patterns of silver. As she finished writing, she paused and opened the lid of the box.

Inside, a collection of letters awaited her, and she couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement as she scanned through them. "It seems like the readers love it," she said to herself, a smile spreading across her face.

For two years, she had poured her heart and soul into this novel, and it was no ordinary tale. It was an erotic novel, something that had been mocked by noble society at first, but over time they had come to enjoy it.

The Temple had tried to silence her work, banned the book and tried to shut down her novel. But what could they do when the power behind her work came from a noble?

After a long day of writing, She was ready to slip into her nightgown and drift off into the world of dreams. As she closed her eyes, she could feel the familiar tingling in her body, the anticipation of the man who had haunted her dreams. 

He was the source of her inspiration, the one who fueled her passions and desires. The mere thought of him made her body ache with desire. And as she drifted off into the darkness, she knew he would be waiting for her, ready to fulfill her deepest, darkest desires.

….

Beatrice lay on her bed, lost in the heat of her dreams. She felt a whisper of hot breath on her neck as a hand trailed along her thighs.

A shiver ran through her body as a pair of lips traced a delicate line across her collarbone, sending electric waves of desire coursing through her veins.

She moaned softly as she felt the pressure of his teeth against her breast, marking her as his. Her fingers instinctively tangled themselves in the hair of the man with jet black hair, pulling him closer to her as she surrendered herself to the sensations.

But then he spoke. His voice was deep and full of lust, sending shivers down Beatrice's spine. "You naughty girl," he growled. "I will find you, Beatrice, and make you mine."

Beatrice's heart skipped a beat. This was the first time the man in her dream had ever spoken. His words were both exciting and terrifying, sending her mind into a panic.

She tried to wake up, but it was of no use. She was trapped in her own dream.

The man's red eyes looked down at her, a sly grin spreading across his face. "You want to wake up?" he sneered. "What a shame. You always tremble beneath me, don't you?"

He leaned in for another kiss, but this time, Beatrice fought back. She slapped him across the face. "No!" she cried out, her voice thick with terror.

"It's not real!" Her heart raced as she tried to make sense of what was happening. "You're just a dream! Get away from me!" she screamed terrified. 

But he only laughed, grabbing her chin forcefully and leaving a red mark behind. "How amusing." He smirked. "I want to find you immediately now, princess. And I WILL find you."

…

Beatrice's eyes shot open, the sheets were soaked in sweat, and her heart was pounding in her chest. She could feel his touch on her skin, his hot breath on her neck, and his menacing voice in her ear.

She tried to shake the images from her mind, but they refused to leave. As she looked around the room, she tried to ground herself and reminded herself that it was just a dream.

The white ivory walls and the light blue accents of the room did little to ease her anxiety. The intricate floral patterns on the walls seemed to close in on her, suffocating her with their beauty.

The maids moved around the room, felt like they were encroaching on her personal space. She tried to ignore them, but their presence only served to remind her of her reality.

But her relief was short-lived as her fingers grazed over the sore spot on her breast, the spot where the man in her dream had bitten her. Panic seized her, making it difficult to breathe.

'What if it wasn't just a dream? What if the man was real and could find her?' she thought to herself. Her mind was consumed with worry, and she knew she needed to find answers.

As the maid approached her with warm water, she could feel the lump in her throat growing. She needed to escape this suffocating environment. She pushed them away and headed towards the grand mirror. 

She looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her messy blonde hair adorned her face, her diamond blue eyes as beautiful as the sky above, and her striking pointy nose and lips which framed her face beautifully.

But, her eyes were drawn to the red mark on her chin left by the man in her dream. It was a visible reminder of the horrors she experienced.

The sound of the door opened startled her, and she turned to see her brother, the second son of Duke Devonshire - Arthur - entering the room. His blonde hair and piercing blue eyes were a striking contrast to his commanding posture and chiseled physique.

Despite his intimidating appearance, he was a charismatic and charming man that every woman would be drawn to. His presence only added to her unease. 

"What is it, Beatrice? You're not ready yet? We will be late for Friday prayer," he said, his presence making her feel even more anxious.

As he hugged her, Beatrice felt a wave of revulsion wash over her. Her brother had always been overbearing, but lately, his advances had become more and more inappropriate.

She pushed him away, covering her bite marks, and gestured to the maid to help her get ready.

But Arthur seemed oblivious to her discomfort. "You look pale," he commented, his breath hot on her neck. His hand rested on her waist, and Beatrice recoiled, feeling trapped.

"Stop it, Arthur! Go outside! You're disturbing me," she snapped, her voice laced with anxiety and anger.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Fine, stop being so sensitive, Beatrice. Your face will get old fast," he said, making a joke of her feelings. He left her alone, and she heaved a sigh of relief.

She hated it when her brother said, 'stop being dramatic' or 'smile more'. Those things made her boil with anger. Well, it didn't matter now since she had bigger problems than that.

It was about that dream! As she remembers that, she feels anxious. She knew she needed answers, so she decided to stop at the confessional box in the Solace Temple. 

…

The Kingdom of Avaloria was shrouded in a thick, impenetrable fog that clung to everything like a sinister veil. The air was damp and cold, sending a shiver down Beatrice's spine as she stepped out of the carriage.

Her maid - Sophie - hurriedly opened an umbrella to shield her from the incessant rain, but it was a futile effort. The moisture in the air had already flattened her once-luxurious hair, leaving it looking limp and lifeless.

As Beatrice made her way towards the Solace temple, in the middle of Avaloria's capital - Victoria. Her mother - Duchess Alicia - appeared out of nowhere, bumping into her shoulder with a forceful jolt.

"Cover your lecherous bosom in the face of God," her mother spat before walking off towards the temple, her disdain for her daughter palpable. 

Her mother was a cold woman with black hair and green eyes. Her facial features were sharp with thick eyebrows and a pointed chin.

Even when Beatrice was a child, she knows that her mother hates her with her passive-aggressive tone of speaking.

Beatrice's hands flew to her chest, suddenly aware of the tiny bit of cleavage peeking out of her white dress. She frantically adjusted her clothing, making sure that nothing was out of place. She couldn't risk her mother's wrath, not today of all days. 

The bell of the temple rang out, a foreboding sound that echoed through the mist. Friday prayers had begun. Beatrice followed her mother inside, her thoughts a tangled mess. She couldn't help but feel anxious as she took her seat, the pews creaking beneath her weight.

The preacher began his sermon, his voice booming through the cavernous room. He spoke of God's love and power, of his infinite wisdom and benevolence.

Beatrice tried to listen, but her mind was elsewhere. She couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled over her, like a heavy blanket smothering her.

As the High Priest stepped forward to heal a woman from the slums, Beatrice's eyes glazed over. She had seen this before countless times. It was the same miracle, the same blessing, over and over again. It was all so...boring.

She leaned back in the pew, her mind wandering. 'If God truly existed, then why did he allow women to suffer so much?' she thought.

Menstruation, childbirth, societal expectations...it all felt like a cruel joke. She looked up at the statue of Solariel - the God of Light and Blessing - she snorted.

Even the depictions of God was a man. It was as if the world was created for men, and women were merely an afterthought.

…

The Friday prayer finally ended, leaving the temple eerily quiet except for the sound of Beatrice's footsteps as she walked towards the box of confession.

The rain outside continued to fall, the fog becoming denser by the minute, adding to the already gloomy atmosphere.

Beatrice was wracked with worry. Her dream had left her feeling anxious and vulnerable, but it was the priest's reaction that scared her even more.

Would he humiliate and insult her because of her dream? She knew that wet dreams were

considered a sin for women, a sign of their lust and their supposed dalliance with the Devil. 

Yes, devils or demons really exist in this world. Despite the demon lord's defeat by the Hero, their subordinates remained on the border. Waiting for their kingdom to rise in power again.