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It was the Demon's eyes, watching him intensely as he stood in front of the church full of people who came to hear the Sunday mass.It was the Demon's voice, whispering a quiet Bless me, Father, for I have sinned in the confessional. It was the Demon's eyes, burning him with their power, staring right at the bottom of his soul, hurting him in the most sensitive places he'd hoped would be forgotten.It was the Demon, appearing in the form he feared the most, out of nowhere, in his quiet, peaceful life, to test his devotion.It was the Demon, whose silent presence in the church made him stutter and get lost for the words, him, who was always praised for the way he could give sermons.It was the Demon's smile, glimmering through the lips of the young boy. Why was he put under such a cruel test? he wanted to ask but never dared. Here, in a God-forgotten village, where only elderly people who didn't have a chance to move away lived, and where the greatest sin could be drinking too much wine or sleeping through the Sunday mass - here, in the quiet peaceful corner of the world, the Demon offered him the most forbidden fruits.Why did the Demon appear? To steal his soul? To attempt to seduce him, shake his beliefs? Destroy his world? He's just a weak man. He's never done wrong.He's never given in to his desires.He's always followed the rules, no matter how strict they were. They were keeping him on the right track. At least that was what he believed.And still - the Demon was here, tempting and persuasive, provocative and well-knowing of his weakness - Why did he come here? The villagers say his father has died recently and his mother couldn't afford to live in the city anymore, so she took him and moved back to the village where she grew up.The villagers say - but they know nothing. They see a young boy, Paulo, they call him, living with his poor widowed mother.They don't see the fire in his eyes, the unnatural sparkle in them, the devilish smirk in the corner of his lips - they don't feel the strange vibrations in the air wherever he is, and, God forbid, they don't know about the dreams that Father Cristiano has been having ever since the newest resident appeared - "Why are you here?" he dares to ask, with a racing heart and clenched throat, watching the shadows of the confessional separator dance of the young boy's pale face."My father had died and we didn't have money to stay in our flat - "The false innocence, the eyes staring at the ground, furrowed eyebrows in the color of darkest coal, long lashes and hands clasped together in some mock-prayer right in front of his eyes - it all made Cristiano's blood pump faster. He clenched his fists. The Demon was right there, behind the separator, so close he could hear his breath, and they were all alone - why was he still lying and making a fool of him?"Why are you really here?" he puffed through his gritted teeth, looking at the raven-haired boy on the other side of the separator, though he knew he shouldn't.But where was his will now? Where was his strength?The Demon raised his head and gazed at him, he could feel the power of his stare, and the lustful passion made his heart stop."I'm telling the truth," he whispered. It was the Demon who made his days unbearably long and nights painfully short.It was the Demon who made him lose control over himself.It was the Demon who made him lose the battle with his own body.It was the Demon whose low voice took over his senses and forced him to do whatever he wished.It was the Demon who stole the purity of his heart and thought.It was the Demon who came in his life and offered him the unknown pleasures of being a man.It was the Demon who seduced him with his tempting beauty and young, soft body full of promises. Yet it was just young Paulo whose terrified eyes spoke in a voiceless plea even as his mouth was silenced by Father Cristiano's hand.