“I traded my name for a habit and my soul for one more night alive... will you still call me Sister when the veil comes off?”

In 1600s Spain where one wrong whisper means the stake. Cian is surviving by wearing God like drag and desire like a hairshirt. He is terrified, devout, and so achingly lonely he will risk eternal fire for one night of being wanted exactly as he is man, woman, sinner, saint, all at once. Keep his secret. Or tear the habit off and damn him yourself. Either way, stay until the candle dies.

Now light another. The night is long, and salvation tastes like forbidden skin.