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Papa had always felt his need for control justified by the fact that everyone else was either an idiot or out to get him. He could not trust the servants to do things properly when he was away, nor could he trust his idiot of a younger brother not to snoop around his office. Installing a surveillance system in his suite at the Church had therefore felt like the only thing to do for his own peace of mind.
The system was state of the art - motion sensor activated HD cameras, several per room to cover every corner, and a a control software that alerted him via text messages whenever there was activity. The software was set up on his laptop so he could access the footage (both recorded and live) no matter where he was. The cameras themselves were hidden, almost invisible if you didn’t know where to look, and no one but himself and the Brother of Sin who did the work knew of their existence -- he had made sure of that.
He had been away on official Church business for a few days - meetings and ceremonies and lunches that never seemed to end. He was returning to his expensive hotel room after a particularly exhausting dinner with clergy members. These imbeciles were merely pawns in the great plans he and the Old One had, but he had to treat them like he did value their input, and it had drained him.
Shutting the door with a long sigh, Papa leaned back on it and loosened his black tie and collar. He unbuttoned his jacket and walked toward the bed, where he placed it carefully. The tie and waistcoat were next to go, soon followed by his shiny leather shoes and trousers. He was left standing in his socks, underwear and partly unbuttoned dress shirt, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He could feel a headache coming. Alas, the one thing he knew for sure would make him feel better, he had left at home.
He selected a bottle of red wine from the cellar and downed the first glass. How many did he have at dinner? He was not drunk, but he was tired, and wine would only make it worse. Not that it really mattered, his schedule was free the following morning. He poured himself a second glass and placed it next to the bottle on the bedside table. He had begun to put away his suit in the closet when his phone beeped. A message. He groaned, but finished his task before checking it. Surely it was Sister Imperator asking for news on the meetings so far.
It was not. “Your surveillance system has been activated. The following sensors were tripped: 2A, 3A.” He threw the phone on the carpet, swearing under his breath. It was too late to be cleanup staff, and his brother was in the hotel room beside his. Someone had broken in, and not even in his office. He grabbed his laptop and sat on the bed, fuming. He’d catch whoever it was red-handed and would make them pay.
Camera 1A showed his empty office, as expected. 2A and 2B (the bedroom) did not show the intruder, but he could see that one of his lamps had been turned on. There was light coming from the bathroom’s door frame. Camera 3A was next. In a second he would know who to hunt when he got back, which son of a bitch he’d get-
It was her.
His jaw dropped. Her. She was the one who broke in? No, of course not. He had left her a key a few days ago, before this trip. She had let herself in.
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The previous week, Papa had caught her holding her lower back and wincing in pain. “You hurt yourself, little one. You should have been more careful,” he had said in a cold voice. She had looked down, avoiding his gaze. “I apologize, sir. I worked in the gardens yesterday, you see, and I must have hurt my back while pulling out a root. I am sorry. I promise to be more careful.” She blushed. “I will not let it interfere with anything you might have planned for me, sir.” He had felt his anger melt. “Follow me.”
He had brought her to his bathroom and had drawn a hot bath for her. She had sheepishly sat in it for a while, still unused to being observed like this, and did not waste any time wrapping herself with a towel when he’d told her to. But she had been grateful, had thanked him in a card left on his desk the next day. He had decided to give her a privilege none of the other girls ever had. “This is the key to my room. You can use the bathtub while I’m away, if you wish to do so.” Her face had lit up and she had bowed down to kiss the ring on his hand, “Thank you, sir.” He had nodded, hiding a smile, and turned around to leave. He had quickly stopped. “Make sure you lock the door behind you while you’re in there.” One could never be too careful.
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So there she was, in a plain but perfectly tailored black dress, sitting on the edge of the tub, one hand in the water to check the temperature as it filled. Her hair was loose on her shoulders and back, her head tilted to the side. She looked tired, but relaxed. More relaxed, in fact, that he had ever seen her. Papa took a sip of his wine, eyes locked on the screen. She soon closed the tap and reach into her nearby bag for a bath bomb, which she dropped in the water before getting up.
He watched her undress, slow, unrushed. Watched as she looked at herself in the full length mirror, his brow furrowed when the look on her face turned to disappointment at her own reflection. She was stunning, surely she knew that? She turned her back to the camera and tied her hair in a messy bun, her body stretching in a way that made him long to run his fingers down her spine. He smiled when she seemed to consider taking a bottle from the wine cellar and shook her head with a laugh. “Good girl,” he whispered to himself.
She sat in the purple-tinted water, sinking until only her head was out. The water was slightly opaque, but he could still see the faint outline of her figure underneath. She stayed still for long minutes, eyes closed, he face soft with the hint of a smile. Papa, too, was still, mesmerized, forgetting even his wine. She finally stirred in the water, grabbing a sponge to rub her arms and neck. His throat felt dry, and he downed another glass.
Her eyes were now open and her lips were moving. Was she singing? She must have been. She never sang for him, but he had heard her do so while working. He wanted, needed to know what she was singing to herself like that, unaware that she was being watched, but sound was the one thing his system did not have - an oversight that would have to be rectified as soon as he came back.
He watched her clean her legs, lifting them over the water, and he felt something burn deep inside of himself - something fierce and possessive that he refused to identify. But he could not deny that she was different from all the others; that her presence was pleasant beyond the release of sex, comfortable even; that his thoughts often drifted to her image, even during rituals. He could not let her know any of that, but the idea of not having her around anymore felt like a punch to the gut - another thought to bury deep down.
He watched her for an hour, maybe two, sitting in the bath, singing, having lost track of time entirely. Eventually she did get out and wrapped herself in a large towel. The thought of wrapping his arms around her like that presented itself, but he let it go - she had not earned that. Not yet. The towel dropped to the floor and Papa was almost afraid to blink as he watched her put on the emerald green nightgown he had given her. She looked so beautiful, so elegant, so… natural, right there in his bathroom. She looked like she belonged.
He switched back to the bedroom camera feed when she turned off the bathroom light and exited, wanting to watch her until she left. But she did not leave. Instead, she walked around the room, looking but not touching, before sitting on the corner of his bed. It was massive and ornate, all black, and made her look so small. She sat for a minute, then yawned, stretching her back and rubbing her eyes. She seemed to think for a while, then laid on her side across the foot of the bed, tracing the pattern on the bedding with her finger.
Papa watched her fall asleep on his bed, watched as the rise and fall of her chest slowed down. She did not move in her sleep, and an hour later she looked just as graceful and peaceful as she had when her eyes had closed. He watched her sleep until he himself could not stay awake.
His last thought was of her resting form. His first thought, though he would never admit it, was of a figure in a green dress curled up between his arms.