My Femboy System

The first thing you notice about renovating a cathedral? It’s a lot like redecorating a mausoleum for the dead. Heavy on the cold marble and sacred dust, with a fanatical dedication to the holy scent of mildew and regrets.

I stood in the cavernous nave of the cathedral—soon to be Velvet Court headquarters, or as I liked to call it, TheVelvet Cathedral—surveying the chaotic ballet of construction workers, decorators, and a handful of robed assistants who looked more confused than committed.

The ceilings soared above like the lungs of some great divine beast, stained glass mosaics still catching the sunlight with a jeweled glow. But the pews? Gone. Replaced by sleek velvet lounges in deep wine red and black. The altar? A raised platform draped in silk and studded with black crystals. Glittering chandeliers were swapped out for chandeliers that glittered with a more... risqué kind of light—softly tinted to cast everything in the kind of glow that made every shadow a secret.

"Oh Cecil, you’re turning this place into a den of debauchery," Hollow said from the side, watching as a particularly muscular laborer struggled to hang a giant, feathered tapestry depicting an angel with impossibly long lashes and a wink.

I grinned, watching a stray sunbeam slide down the tapestry’s curves. "A cathedral should be a temple of truth. And truth is sexy."

He shook his head. "You’ll get the Council on your ass."

"They’re already on my ass," I replied with a wink. "Might as well enjoy the ride."

Renovations moved faster than gossip in a brothel, with the Velvet Court’s resources making short work of centuries-old dust and dour tradition. The workers—mostly discreet and somewhat enchanted by the promise of a paycheck, plus the occasional whispered rumor that I might be more fun than the average high priest—worked tirelessly.

My own office, once a stuffy little clerical closet, now glittered with art nouveau mirrors and shelves packed with arcane tomes, sex toys, and a few antique bottles of absinthe. The perfect blend of sacred and scandalous.

Today was the day I would deliver my first sermon as High Priest—more a performance than a sermon, really. Hollow watched from the sidelines, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. I suspected he was eager to see what kind of trouble I’d cause.

The dais was cleared, but the ancient wooden pulpit remained—a relic of forgotten sermons and sermons forgotten. I strode up, the silk of my tunic catching the light, my boots clicking sharp as gospel verses.