She doesn't even realize what it is exactly her dancing does.

She does not know that the way those red, bright fabrics slide over tilted hips and the dip of her shoulders is too much for the common mortal man.

A red scarf flutters along a white dress, a splash of blood against the garb of a virgin-slanderous-and hands that are the envy of every onlooker as they drag down her curves and set fire to whatever principle remains in their hearts.

Her body is a weapon against God, meant to beguile and ensnare, and she doesn't have any idea what it does, far too taken with the joy in the dance to realize that her soul is so, so close to forfeit, that she needs saving and she needs it desperately.

I was above the carnality of such displays, once, until this fetching, bewitching harlot made an unholy woman out of me with song and smile.

My attendance was mandatory, as was my subjugation to her charms. There were twin roses in her hair pinned carefully in place. Her body was decorated and jingling silver accentuated her movement in such a way that even if I were to close my eyes I'd see each and every sway of her hips, the way her legs parted when she cartwheeled into treacherous, limber splits to woo the crowd and drink in their reactions.

She set her eyes on mine and with it, a fire beneath my very skin.

It was a preface to whatever she was about to do to me; I knew not what it was, only that it would come, and there was nothing I could do about it, and she did not understand enough to hold anything back.

I prayed to appear placid, nonplussed by her advance, but she danced close and sprang to my side, plucking one rose from her hair, twirling the stem as she held velvet petals to my lips. The crowd whistled and screamed, howling like dogs in heat at the display. She smoothed her free hand beneath my hair, against my cheek, leaning so close that I could smell the sweet fragrance in her hair if I moved but closer-

She backed away as the din of the crowd's roar reached its peak, caressing down my arm quickly to lift my hand, so that I may catch the rose she'd held to my lips as she vanished to the stage again, leaving me with the boiling, searing outrage pressing up at my skin like a brand.

She toys with the crowd, playful, innocent, for only moments more, but it feels as though ages stretch before me and I'm a thousand leagues away. Her token-the rose-pricks my fingers as I clutch it, and I bear the pain willingly to atone for all the thoughts I have yet to bear trespassing the sanctity of my mind, the thoughts she knows no guilt of seeding there.

…

Ruby Rose, the gypsy girl, common blood in her veins that paints her forbidden, inside and out, in a way beyond what taboo surrounding the idea of two women laying with one another does already.

In a dream, I feel that blood. It runs hot over my fingers, sticking my hand to the blade I've buried in her heart, stealing her life through holy murder. The scent mingles with that of the roses in her hair, intoxicating me, and I look into her eyes as her life begins to vanish, I see the gold in mine reflected in the silver of hers and I can't will the fire within to disappear and return to the hell from whence it came.

She's draped against me like the fabric of her red, red scarves against her, and I embrace her as I bury the blade through her heart to the hilt, watch her suffer and taste the red oozing between her lips. She pleads for salvation and I am the mercy that brings it, from my lips to hers as I cradle her close with the promise that all will end soon-

The dream ends, like smoke through my fingers, and I wake to an unbearable, humiliating heat, breathing hard as I right myself and kneel against my bedside, forgoing the cloistered walls of the chapel, fearing their light, and I remain locked in prayer until sleep claims me once more.

She pervades the next dream, like poison, and I watch her dance, silhouetted against flames and the crumbling city they claim. A pyre awaits her, engulfed by a ravaging inferno, and I watch as she drags her slight and slender body down the length of it, down the flames that should take her, but be it by miracle or witchcraft, she remains untouched. They do nothing to her and she spreads her arms, opens her heart before the smoke and the darkness, and embraces the wicked, dark fire in a sacrilegious display of unholy taint.

I wake with purpose.

She is mine to save.

…

I tear the town asunder with fire and steel and let the sparks kiss my cheeks. They carry not the scent of burned roses: I forge ahead and pillage and kill to find her.

It takes me hours to search every known hiding place within the town, and I can taste the smoke billowing from ruined homes and broken lives.

I do not find her, because she was never hiding.

I learn that she has stayed on the main roads, ferrying survivors to the safety of the cathedral and tearing bandages from her own skirt to dress the injuries of the wounded.

Something within me moves at this and I am struck deeply with disbelief as I approach her; she doesn't take heed at all, too engrossed by her monumental task, and she caresses the weathered hands of the frightened and confused with a gentleness that transcends the saints-

Heresy.

She sees me, and does not bow with fear. Our eyes meet and her lips part and she smiles and looks to those around her, oblivious and hopeful.

"Her Honor has arrived!" She cries out with a voice teeming with admiration, "She has come to find the evildoers-"

She doesn't know.

"-and rescue our good people!"

She looks around for someone to share her smile with, but they have fled, left her alone. She finds only me.

"You have no idea, do you?"

Her grin falters.

"Wh-What do you mean-?"

"I was looking for you."

Her expression clouds and she is still, devoid of movement save for the rapidly crowding breath in her chest. Her eyes are wide and the dawning terror within them draws me closer. She covers her mouth with her hands and shakes her head.

"NO!" She shouts, pleads for it to be untrue, "NO! Why…?! WHY-?!"

"Separating chaff from the wheat is one thing-" The devastation within her eyes belies a guilt, a punishment that would sate any God, in this world or the next, and it's all mine. "-But you can't imagine how difficult it is to separate chaff from more chaff-"

"PLEASE STOP-!" I seize her before she can slip away once more and draw her close. She flails wildly in protest and twists every which way she can manage. "YOU WICKED-EVIL, EVIL-" She chokes on her words as I caress her, kiss her trembling lips again and again, losing myself, "-WITCH, YOU MONSTER, EVIL, GOD HOW COULD YOU WHY HOW COULD YOU WHAT HAVE YOU DONE-?!" She sobs, helpless in my arms as I kiss her face everywhere I can touch, her jaw, her neck.

"End it then." I intone darkly, leaving no room for misunderstanding, "Come with me-" I kiss the rose in her hair and breathe it in as she sobs miserably against me, bereaved, "-and give me all you have to give."

The flames around us illuminate the night, and the tears pouring down her cheeks seem to sparkle as she raises her eyes to me with fright, swallowing as though she's forcing back bile at the idea-

But she nods, as I knew she would.

I'll teach her to love me if it takes an eternity in damnation.

We're in this hell together, now.