My Femboy System

The air tasted of incense and judgment.

Delicious.

The ceilings above stretched into gold-veined heights, beams of holy light cascading from stained glass windows depicting various martyrs I probably insulted in a past life. Robed figures loomed above in rows of stone benches—the Council. And at the far end stood Cardinal Iareth, his expression like sun-baked parchment and his aura colder than a celibate’s chastity.

He raised a single bony hand. "Cecil Valen."

"I’m sorry, were you expecting someone more repentant?" I grinned. "I can do tears if you like. I’ve practiced in the mirror."

There was a shuffle of fabric, a mutter of divine incantations, and a sharp tightening of the manacles around my wrists. Ah yes. Court. So dramatic.

"You stand accused of heresy, treason, defilement of sacred grounds, impersonation of clergy, and the unauthorized redistribution of angelic relics."

"You forgot public nudity," I added. "I’m hurt."

The Cardinal leaned forward. "We are prepared to execute you now. Speak your final words."

"Ah, but here’s the thing," I said, smile sharpening. "You can’t. Because I happen to be holding onto a very valuable chess piece. Hollow. Your golden boy. Your divine pet project. He’s currently tied up in velvet chains back at my base, sipping aphrodisiac tea and struggling with a moral crisis."

Silence.