Jeanne D'Arc x Fate/Grand Order 64P (Patreon)

The church was silent, save for the faint echo of her footsteps on the stone floor. Jeanne D’Arc stood before the altar, her nun’s habit draped softly over her frame. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the walls, and the air was heavy with the scent of incense. She knelt, her fingers clasped tightly in prayer, but her mind was restless.

“Why do I feel this way?” she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible. Her hands trembled as she let them drift from prayer to her sides. The fabric of her habit felt rough against her skin, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside her. “Ahh…” she sighed softly, her breath catching as her fingers brushed against her thigh. The touch was hesitant at first, but the tension in her chest demanded release.

Her eyes closed, and she let herself feel—not as a saint or a warrior, but as Jeanne. Her fingers traced gentle patterns, her breath growing shallow as she surrendered to the moment. “Ngh… forgive me,” she murmured, though her heart raced with a mix of guilt and longing. The church, once a place of solace, now felt like a mirror reflecting her deepest desires.

When the moment passed, Jeanne rose unsteadily to her feet. Her habit felt heavier now, as if it carried the weight of her confession. She made her way to her small bedroom in the rectory, the moonlight streaming through the window guiding her steps.

Once inside, she let the habit fall to the floor, the fabric pooling around her feet. The cool night air kissed her skin as she stood there, vulnerable yet free. Her bedroom was simple, but it was hers—a place where she could be herself, away from the expectations of others.

She reached for a small wooden box tucked beneath her bed, her fingers trembling as she opened it. Inside lay a few keepsakes, including a small, delicate toy she had hidden away. “Ahh… why do I keep this?” she whispered, though her heart already knew the answer.

Her touch was tentative at first, but as she let herself explore, the tension in her body began to melt away. “Ngh… this is who I am,” she admitted to herself, her voice breaking as she surrendered to the waves of pleasure. The moonlight bathed her in its silvery glow, a silent witness to her quiet confession.

When the storm inside her finally subsided, Jeanne lay back on her bed, her chest rising and falling with each steadying breath. She stared at the ceiling, her heart lighter than it had been in weeks. “Forgive me,” she whispered again, though this time, her words were filled with acceptance rather than guilt.