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The Papal Hauntings Trilogy:
Perpetua & The Mirror
There is folklore amongst the Ministry that says, “If you say ‘Papa V Perpetua’ three times in the Golden Mirror at sunset, he will materialize through the mirror and Satanize you.”
This haunting rumor has been playing in your mind recently, especially since Halloween was approaching. Perpetua was Papa before your time here at the Ministry.
Recently, you've read about him in a violet leather-bound book in the library: "Papa V Perpetua: The Official Biography." Tucked away in a quiet corner, you sat beneath an extravagant cathedral window with iron framing, absorbing each page with blossoming curiosity.
According to this book, Perpetua presented himself as very romantic and sensual, with a playful dark side. He was a calm, compassionate Papa with a great sense of humor.
The illustrations depicted him with curly, chin-length black hair, and a silver half-mask fashioned into a skull. Black and white papal paint gifted him with a ghoulish visage. His eyes were ivy and pearl, hypnotic even in artwork.
Having been raised separately from his fraternal twin brother, Emeritus IV (or Copia), Perpetua grew up in a monastery where he discovered his love for performance art and mythology. His interest in gothic literature, the macabre, and love-making began long before he was admitted into the Ministry as the fifth Papa.
His Ritual color was purple, and his favorite flower was the black rose.
Fingers grazing the pages, you find yourself falling in love with this deceased Papa.
Although you don’t oppose the current Papa, he certainly isn’t as dashing as Perpetua was.
Fortunately for you, you’re free on this Halloween night, and you’ve decided to experiment with your favorite folklore.
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The lavender dream of sunset arrives, and you stealthily find yourself at the cursed relics room of the Ministry. Siblings are forbidden in this room, the door being locked with a bulky medieval padlock. However, they aren’t as slick as you are.
Plucking a couple of bobby-pins from your hair, you maneuver the padlock with expertise, the gears of the lock clicking against the hair accessories.
After less than a minute, the padlock unhinges. ‘Next time, actually challenge me,’ you think with a smirk.
The cursed relics room is circular, with mystical objects placed atop gothic pillars, concealed in glass containers. There is a papal ring with an emerald grucifix, a crystal chalice with a sapphire gem, and even an iron cowbell.
Why a cowbell? You haven’t the slightest idea.
Across from the door is a tall object concealed by a purple velvet blanket. Your eyes flicker with innocent curiosity. In a trance, you find yourself walking towards this grand object. The lavender light of the sunset softly pours through the cathedral windows, painting the floors an ethereal hue. Your fingers grace the velvet blanket before tugging it down.
A gothic, golden framed mirror stands before you with a beautiful amethyst gem winking at you from the top.
The Golden Mirror.
The framing consists of ivy and rose patterns, replicating a beautiful garden. The glass shimmers a lavender light as you see your reflection in the mirror. Dressed in a gothic lace mid-length dress in your favorite color, you feel somewhat bashful.
Staring at yourself in the mirror isn’t your favorite pastime.
Instead, you locate some matches, and light the numerous golden candelabras that surround the room. Recalling your mission, you lock eyes with your reflection and bite your lip.
“Ok, then,” you mutter to yourself. “Here goes nothing…”
Breathing in deeply, you settle your gnawing anxiety. Your eyelashes flutter closed as your lips form your desired Papa’s name.
“Papa V Perpetua. Papa V Perpetua. Papa V Perpetua.”
Waiting a second or two, you open your eyes. Nothing seems to be different. The light of the sunset intensifies, the room appearing almost dream-like. You sigh, crossing your arms in front of your chest.
“Maybe it’s just a silly ghost story,” in disappointment, you sigh.
Just then, a chill kisses your neck. Your spine shivers at the sensation. Looking to your side, you see that no one is there. Then, an enveloping pressure wraps around your waist. Breath catches in your throat, rendering you speechless. Your eyes scan the other cursed objects.
“Over here, cara mia.”
A voice composed of black leather and velvet skies arouses your senses. Your eyes are drawn to the Golden Mirror. In the mirror, you see a man standing behind you.
And he is a beautiful phantom of a man.
Although you can’t see what he’s wearing, you can tell that he’s dressed in a Victorian styled leather jacket and wears an old-fashioned top hat with a purple feather.
“Pa-Papa V Perpetua?” you stutter, watching him snuggle your waist in his arms. Leather gloves conceal his long, tapered fingers.
“Just ‘Perpetua,’ cara.” He buries his nose in your hair, the ghostly touch of his half-mask kissing your skin.
Perpetua hasn’t materialized, but he is seen and felt through the Golden Mirror’s reflection. Your mind has a difficult time understanding this supernatural logic.
“How can I be feeling you? You’re a reflection,” you speak softly. Your voice quivers as Perpetua’s grip around your waist tightens. The delicious pressure of his body against your back feels so real.
“Do you need to question desire?” he answers with a question. “If it feels pleasurable and it brings your body joy, why ask for evidence? Why do you require logic? Just feel.”
Perpetua’s reflection kisses the shell of your ear. You feel strange watching yourself in the mirror, thus looking away.
“Why do you do that?” he innocently asks.
“Do what?” you return your gaze to his reflection.
He removes his arms from your waist, a gloved hand resting on the swell of your hip. “You looked away when I kissed your ear. I noticed that you looked away earlier when you saw your reflection in the Golden Mirror. You’re beautiful, tesoro, why look away?”
Your lips part, but no words are spoken. You didn’t expect Perpetua to be a compassionate ghost.
“I suppose I feel strange seeing myself as desired. When you kissed my ear, I felt desire,” you pause cautiously. “…but then I became self-conscious.”
“That saddens me to hear that. I find you very desirable.” Perpetua lowers his face so he can kiss your neck. “And I want you to see that.”
“You can’t make me feel what I don’t feel,” you sadly correct him. The sensation of his lips on your neck is like a cool breeze. There are goosebumps where he touches your skin. His hands are a strange pressure on your hips. Perpetua is there, and yet he’s not.
“True, I cannot,” he calmly agrees. “However, I can make you feel… something.”
The flames of the candelabras flicker with the rise of desire. Shadows dance along the walls, merging in a sensual fashion. The lavender light of the sunset has faded into a deep silver as the full moon peers into the cathedral window.
Perpetua’s gloved hand slowly trails up your side and over your breast. You gasp at both the sensation and the sight of him feeling you in the mirror.
“Is this alright, cara mia?” he whispers in a deep rasp.
With shallow breath, you answer, “Y-yes.”
You can hear his deep exhale, his ghostly breath impossibly tickling your ear. His hand cups your breast before kneading it through your gothic lace dress. Tugging down your clothing, Perpetua frees your breast and runs his fingertips over your hardened nipple. You whimper as his thumb rubs your nipple. Watching him in the mirror, you place your hand on his reflection’s face. You can’t feel him, and yet you see how he kisses your palm.
His free hand lifts the hem of your gothic lace dress, his fingertips grazing your shapely thigh. A sigh escapes your lips as the need for logic slowly fades into the night.
This time, you can’t look away from your reflection.
You watch as Perpetua slips his fingers into your lace panties. You feel the thrill of desire as you observe his reflection rubbing your clit in slow circles. Biting your lip, you enjoy his spectral fingers teasing your slick folds. He maintains the massaging of your breast with expert grace.
“P-Perpetua,” you stutter. The sensations are overwhelming.
His eyes become heavy lidded as his black lips part sensually. Your sighs excite him as he flicks your clit with his thumb. Your arousal becomes his arousal.
To see how beautifully he reacts to your body gives you this sense of attractiveness. Your hair becomes fashionably disheveled. Your cheeks are flushed a rosy hue. Your lips form an “O” shape as the spectral Papa slips a finger into your wet entrance.
In the reflection of the Golden Mirror, you resemble the classic painting, “The Birth of Venus,” where a beautiful nude woman is presented upon an open seashell like the gift that she was— like the gift that you are.
“I want to feel you,” you confess in a quivering voice, your hair wildly framing your face.
Perpetua’s fingers leave your entrance; it weeps for his ghostly touch.
“And you can feel me.” He steps aside so that you can see his full body in the mirror.
A black silk shirt highlights each contour and dip of his lean upper body. A silk tie with a ribcage brooch draws your eyes down to his batwing belt buckle, where dark slacks hang low on his seductive hips. Long, elegantly shaped legs trail down to boots that are pointed and suede, a combination of vintage and modern fashion.
“I must know one thing first, tesoro: Do you wish to be Satanized?”
With a racing heart and heated cheeks, you wonder what he means by “Satanized.” You’ve heard the song on vinyl before, along with Perpetua’s silky rasp of a voice.
“What happens if I say ‘Yes’?” you carefully inquire as you fiddle with the sleeve of your dress.
“If you say ‘Yes,’ I will take you higher than you’ve ever been before.” The spectral Papa runs his hand over your hair affectionately.
You experience it as a breeze, but nonetheless, you feel his tenderness.
He continues softly. “I will take your desire and use it to bless every curve and dip of your body. I will sanctify you like the sensual goddess that you are.”
Your eyes tear up at his poetic words. Is he offering spirituality or sex?
It seems that the two are one and the same.
Running your hands along the lace of your dress, you gather the courage to answer him.
“Yes,” a breathy consent causes the candle flames to rise to the ceiling. The flames change from a golden orange hue to a mystical purple. The cursed relics room is the personification of a violet dream realm with gothic decor and eerie vibrations.
Perpetua’s black lips curl into a smile. He adjusts his leather gloves, the motion driving you wild with anticipation.
“See you on the other side,” he croons with a wink of his pale eye, his silver mask glittering.
His reflection fades away like mist in the Golden Mirror. Lavender shimmers dance like ocean waves over the glass. The glass itself moves like liquid as leather fingers poke through the threshold.
As an arm moves through the mirror, so does a pointed boot, stepping onto the wood paneled floor. The candle flames wave and dance in varying lengths as Perpetua materializes. The glass containers shiver atop gothic pillars, cursed objects rocking in their places.
The panels of the cathedral windows open and shut as the spectral energy intensifies with the birth of Perpetua’s physical body.
Stepping back in shock, you place a hand over your heart as you see a flesh and blood version of Papa V Perpetua.
“Mio Satanas,” you gasp, your lip quivering. “A-are you real?”
Perpetua smiles at your innocent humanity. “Yes. I am flesh and blood until the red dawn graces the earth, pulling me back into the spectral realm. I’m yours until then, cara mia.”
Cautiously, you place your hands on his chest.
He feels real. Very real.
You feel his chest rise with each breath, the silk warm from his skin beneath.
He hums in desire, his eyelashes fluttering closed. “I won’t object if you wish to check the rest of my body.”
You cock an eyebrow at him. “You’re a smooth talker.”
“I would like to think so, yes,” he smirks without hesitation. Then, he lowers his voice to a whisper. “Now you know my chest is real. Why don’t you check… here.” He gently moves your palms down to his lean stomach. The contours of his torso feel delicious. You imagine him to resemble an Italian marble statue in the nude. The swell of his lower belly is warm, firm underneath your touch.
Your breathing quickens. “Yes, this feels real, too,” you say, the thick of desire softening your voice.
Perpetua’s breathing becomes audible, human lust ravishing his physical form. “Now check…down here.”
He places your right palm over his bulging erection. You gasp at how firm —how thick— he is. Without realizing it, you massage your palm over his bulge. This earns you a moan from his black lips.
“You’re certainly real,” you hum musically, rubbing him harder.
“Mmmm. You little minx,” he chuckles dark and low. “Give me a moment.” Stepping away from your touch, he bends down to pick up the purple velvet blanket that concealed the Golden Mirror. Your arousal grows as you observe his shapely, long legs shift in the violet light of the flames. In the center of the room, he spreads out the large blanket. The violet candlelight gives the blanket an ethereal glow.
Perpetua takes off his top hat and tosses it towards the Golden Mirror. The top hat disappears through the glass, purple shimmer dancing along its entry. He offers you a gloved hand, ever the ghostly gentleman.
The moment feels magical as you gingerly place your hand into his. He holds your hand warmly, and guides you down to the velvet blanket with him. Embracing you in his arms, he pulls you into a deep kiss.
His black lips are warm as they suckle your lower lip. The tip of your tongue draws along his Cupid’s Bow as you exchange heated breaths. Your fingers tangle in his black curls, soft as raven feathers. Perpetua’s hands caress your hips, his movements slow and sensual as they cup your buttocks. Playfully, he squeezes your flesh, enjoying how full you feel in his hands.
You giggle softly, loving how his hands are worshiping your body. Pressing closer into him, you wrap your arms around his neck. A devilish desire coaxes you to press your breasts against his chest while your thigh nudges his throbbing erection.
“Mmmm,” Perpetua sighs, breaking the kiss. “I forgot how easily physical bodies are aroused.”
“I can tell,” you whisper as you thumb the outline of his erection.
“Aaahh, cara. Don’t tease your Papa like that.” He grins, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Let me drink from you the way I would drink blessed wine from a glass.”
A wetness stirs between your thighs. Intuitively, you know the intention of his poetic words.
“Am I the glass or the wine?” you question in a voice shaking with lust.
Perpetua leans into your ear, mumbling, “Lie back and find out.”
Violet flames quiver as your breath is stolen. The amethyst glow highlights every contour of Perpetua’s silver mask. His eyes seem deep set and concealed in shadows, ivy and pearl piercing into your soul. He is like an eternal abyss dressed in silver stars, embracing you in an all-consuming darkness.
You choose to dive into his abyss as you lie back on the violet blanket.
Perpetua leans over you, eclipsing the violet candlelight. He kisses you as he cups your face delicately. The heat of his body radiates over yours. It bewilders your mind that the spectral Papa became flesh and blood. His kisses trail down your throat, pausing at your racing pulse.
As he peppers your neck with kisses, you can feel his hand push up the hem of your dress and slide his fingers under the band of your panties. You gasp at the warm leather of his glove kissing your tender folds.
In a swift movement, Perpetua pulls down your lace panties, but stops at your mid thigh. He pauses kissing your neck, and looks down.
With the impatience of lust, you demand of him, “Just rip them off.”
Perpetua’s eyes flicker with desire, holding eye contact with you as he rips off your lace panties. The sensation makes your pussy tremble. Tossing the flimsy material aside, he resumes kissing your neck, this time suckling hard enough to leave a mark. Perpetua slowly circles your clit, your juices coating his middle finger. You whimper, grasping his black curls. He kisses the other side of your neck, playfully biting and suckling another mark.
A wave of heat washes over you as he slicks his middle finger inside your entrance. He curls his finger along your silken walls, finding a delicious sensitive spot.
You whisper his name over and over like a sacred chant. Perpetua stops kissing your neck and lifts up enough to watch you writhe in ecstasy. With a smirk, he slips another finger inside your dripping cunt. It drives him wild seeing your sensual lips part, your eyelashes fluttering closed. He watches your breasts heave with shallow breaths, his erection hardening against his slacks.
Pumping his fingers in and out, Perpetua takes you to the edge of passion, the wet noises blasphemous in the cursed relics room. His palm smashes against your clit with each pump, a shaking groan spilling from your mouth. Your juices soak his glove, the movements slippery and sloppy. He teasingly curls his fingers inside you, chuckling as your hips buck against him.
Suddenly, Perpetua removes his wet fingers from your entrance, and replaces them with his pointed tongue.
You can’t hold back a loud gasp, your back arching as Perpetua teases your folds with his tongue. His gloved hands wrap around your thighs, massaging them as he laps your juices hungrily.
Gazing up at the ceiling, you see violet shadows flickering along the cathedral styled room. The symmetrical, sloping sides of the ceiling are held in place by tall beams. Shadows slither up the beams and make love along the highest point.
You’re tempted to look at your reflection in the mirror.
Do you look?
Your question is shattered when Perpetua’s tongue tastes your entrance.
“Uhhnn!” you cry out, your nails digging into his scalp beneath his mask straps. He growls against your pussy when you claw him too hard, sending electricity up your spine. His ministrations become faster, rougher. Suckling your clit, he pumps his fingers into you, your juices dripping down to the blanket. Your thighs close in on him, but he forces them apart with his free hand. The taste of you arouses him as he groans, running his tongue over your swollen folds.
“P-Perpetua,” you choke out. “I’m— uhhhh…I’m al-almost—”
He kisses your moist folds before pulling his face away. His black lips glisten with your wetness as he licks his fingers.
“Not yet, cara mia.” Before you can object, he kisses you. You can taste your own musk. “I want you to finish with me.”
He begins to strip your dress off your flushed body. Tantalizingly slow, he pulls down your zipper, revealing the dip of your lower back. It feels intentional and loving. He brushes his fingertips along your back soothingly. You sigh sweetly, resting your forehead onto his cool mask.
Peeling off your dress like jewel-toned fruit, Perpetua drinks in your body. Your ankle boots are then removed. All that remains is a lace bra, composed of rose patterns and silken straps. He removes it sensually, running his hands over your breasts.
Moaning, you find yourself sneaking a peek at your reflection in the Golden Mirror.
Your breasts fit into Perpetua’s palms beautifully. Your nude body is a heavenly complement to his hellish appearance.
Bashful, you look away.
Perpetua hums with amusement. “Don’t be shy, tesoro. Look.” He gently turns your head to face the Golden Mirror.
You see your body glowing in the violet flames. An aura of mysticism and beauty enchants your view.
“That can’t be me,” you mumble. This reflection of you seems more goddess-esque than the version of yourself that you know.
“It can, and it is,” Perpetua speaks low, pulling you close to his chest as he gazes at the mirror. Your reflections rival that of a Renaissance portrait of a nude woman being embraced by her beloved devil. “By the time you’re Satanized, you’ll see what I see.”
His gloved hands sail over your back and rest on your waist. The buttons of his shirt fascinate you as you feel his silk tie.
“Undress me, cara,” he breathes, his command thick with seduction.
A ragged sigh leaves you as your fingertips hesitate. This is the point of no return, and you want him— so badly.
Sliding his leather Victorian blazer off his shoulders, you pause, noticing how deliciously broad they are. Ivy and pearl eyes calmly observe your every move, his Adam’s apple twitching. You force a swallow and continue to remove his blazer.
After the discarding of his tie and brooch, you unbutton his silk shirt. Pale skin and a light dusting of chest hair greet you. His breathing is soothing, like the ocean. A deep sigh from Perpetua is like a hymn as you run your fingertips along his chest. The rest of Perpetua’s clothing is removed with gentle caresses and curious pauses— the faded makeup line along his collarbones, the lean contours of his torso, the trail of hair from his navel to his firm cock. His pants are left, and yet you have trouble removing them while he’s seated.
Perpetua has a knowing smile; he decides to stand up. Looking up at him from your seated form makes your heart race with intimidation. Your lips part, gasping for oxygen as you’re facing his thick, rosy cock. He’s amused by how much he makes you quiver. He doesn’t say anything, though; he just embraces the moment.
Shaking from your stupor, you relish pulling his slacks down his long, muscular legs. They’re firm to the touch, sparse dark hair tickling your fingertips. Perpetua combs his gloved fingers through your hair as you wrap your palm around his warm shaft. Looking up at his ivy and pearl eyes, you run your tongue along the tip, tasting the salt of precum. He groans deep in his throat as he lightly pulls on your hair.
The firm length of his shaft slips into your mouth. Your tongue runs along him as you pump your hand firmly. Perpetua curses in Italian under his breath, pulling on your hair tighter. The slight pain arouses you, prompting you to suckle him harder.
“Oh fuck,” he gasps. “Aaahhh.” Perpetua grasps your hair and pushes your head back and forth along his cock. You choke slightly, but adjust quickly as you pump him firmly, meeting your mouth in a rhythm.
“Mmmm.” His legs shake with adrenaline as he exhales. “Wait, wait, cara.” He pulls his cock out of your mouth. “I don’t want to cum inside your mouth. I want to cum inside you.”
Your hands rest on his shapely thighs. The candelabra flames dress his pale flesh in a violet reverie. The mystical hue seems to be tailored for him. You look up at the spectral Papa with awe and passion, as if he were a fallen angel sent to make love to you.
Perpetua’s clothing and boots, lost in the shadows, lie beside yours. He kneels onto the velvet blanket, and then draws you close. Your skin melds against his. He looks down at your lips before looking into your eyes. Perpetua doesn’t say a word— yet you understand that he wants to merge with you in a sacred, sexual way.
You kiss him, your hands framing his face and mask. Your fingers caress his sideburns before tangling in his curls. He lies back as he pulls you on top of his lap.
“I prefer to worship you from down here,” he quips, smirking as he looks over your body.
You roll your eyes with a smile. With your fingers, you trace the hair beneath his navel. Perpetua bites his lip as you do so, hiding a smile. ‘Is he ticklish?’ you think with playful curiosity. With bated breath, you slip his cock inside your aching entrance. You pause, gasping as he stretches your walls.
“Easy, tesoro,” Perpetua soothes you, rubbing your thigh.
Sighing deeply, you sheath his warm cock deeper and deeper. The violet flames pulse like heartbeats as the heat between you builds. His fingers grip your thighs as he moans. Once the painful stretch subsides, his cock feels like roses as you ride him like an animal.
The sinful melody of shared cries and groans echoes throughout the room, reaching the high cathedral ceiling. Your nails dig into Perpetua’s chest as you steady yourself, rocking your hips against him. He winces against your nails, the pain enhancing his pleasure.
The erotic slapping of your thighs drives Perpetua to thrust upward with force. He grits his teeth as he slams into you. Your cries reach an octave higher as you challenge his thrusts with your own, his cock ramming into your tender spot.
With disheveled hair framing your face, you look at the Golden Mirror, seeing a wild woman riding her ghostly lover.
You don’t look away.
You like the woman in the mirror.
And you especially like the man beneath her, writhing in ecstasy, begging for her pussy.
Looking down at Perpetua, your thrusts become unhinged, slippery with your juices. Sweat beads glisten along his pale skin, falling down his chest and along his quivering belly. He revels at the sight your breasts bouncing, reaching a gloved hand up to firmly cup one of them. His other hand steadies your waist as you ride him like your favorite erotic toy.
The violet flames reach to greater heights. They signify the orgasmic crescendo emerging as bodies writhe on the velvet blanket.
As an orgasm shatters your cunt and shoots up your spine, you throw your head back with a final gasp. Your juices soak Perpetua, anointing him with your climax. Gritting his teeth, Perpetua releases deep inside you, his cum dripping from your aching hole. His fingers dent your flesh as he grips your waist.
Shivering and tired, you rest on top of Perpetua, your head beneath his chin. He traces slow circles on your back as he catches his breath.
A sense of peace and gratitude settles within you. Somehow, you feel different than when you first came into this room. You hug his waist, needing the closeness of his skin. You feel him kiss the top of your head. It’s strange: you hear a heartbeat, and yet he isn’t human. Saddened, you’re reminded that he won’t be flesh and blood for long.
“I don’t want you to leave,” you quietly confess into his chest.
“I won’t be gone, cara mia. My body will be gone, but my energy is eternal. You’re Satanized now, so my energy will always be with you.” He embraces you in his arms, holding you close. “Just enjoy these last few moments.”
You nod, resting your hand on his chest. Your eyelids become heavy as your breathing slows. A gentle slumber coaxes you as your spectral Papa watches you sleep in his arms.
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Time passes, and you awaken in a groggy state. A soft glow from the cathedral window kisses your face. It’s a mixture of an ethereal lavender and a warm red. ‘The red dawn,’ you recall Perpetua’s words. You’re wrapped in the violet blanket, the velvet caressing you. The candles have long been snuffed, the violet flames following Perpetua home.
Looking beside you, you see that Perpetua has vanished, having returned to the spectral realm through the Golden Mirror.
In his place is a sensuous black rose. You gingerly lift it, and see that its petals have a purple sheen that shimmers in the light. The rose looks as if it’s from another world. You smile warmly, thinking of him.
Standing up from the velvet blanket, you see yourself in the mirror. The black rose is a perfect icon for your reborn self, Satanized and blessed like the goddess that you are.
You bid your nude reflection a smile before getting dressed. It’s early enough that you can sneak back to your private quarters without anyone seeing you.
As you get dressed, there is a purple shimmer in the Golden Mirror. It disappears as you throw the violet blanket over the sacred object.
If it changed you for the better, then was it really cursed?
With your black rose in hand, you leave the cursed relics room a confident, desired woman.
Little do you know, each reflective surface that you pass bears a purple shimmer, following you wherever you go.