Chapter 100: Religious Freedom Act
Julius pressed the tip of his tongue against the roof of his mouth, bracing it against his teeth. In that fleeting second, he felt an overwhelming hunger—or perhaps it wasn’t hunger, but an itch that spread from the depths of his heart to the roots of his teeth, carrying an aggressive urge akin to the desire to bite and tear at flesh. It grew fiercer, almost impossible to contain.
Rafael lowered his head at that exact moment, completely missing the brief, almost feral glint in his otherwise polite Secretary-General’s eyes.
“This is not the time to discuss such matters,” Rafael said, calmly attempting to deflect.
“Is that so?” Julius sneered. He took a few steps forward—the movement was so aggressive that Rafael, who was seated, instinctively felt uneasy and leaned back against the chair. Julius noticed his retreat, and for a split second, a wave of fury and bitter disappointment washed over him.
If it weren’t me standing here, if it weren’t me walking toward you, but Ferrante or someone else entirely, would you still shrink away? Julius thought with a touch of paranoid malice.
But before he could fully register his own anger, faster than his thoughts, the Secretary-General dropped to one knee, crouching down, and gently placed his hands on Rafael’s knees.
It was just like the countless times before when he had bent down to massage the legs of a young Rafael. They hadn’t been this physically close in a long time, but perhaps the body’s memory was far more enduring than time itself. With just this small trigger, those faded memories surged back like a tidal wave, forcing them to relive the past.
The shift in posture dissolved much of the oppressive tension. Rafael lowered his gaze, his eyes meeting those of Julius, who now knelt a head lower than him.
Two pairs of eyes—identical except for their color—gazed at each other across the narrow space between them.