Melissa’s life was one of sacred ritual and established routine… and regrettably, rather boring.

Shrines to the Sacred Fire were common across the Empire, but few were as remote or hard to reach as hers, an ancient, lonely chapel erected high in the northern mountains where few called home and fewer still ventured on pilgrimage. For the most part, the flame-haired priestess lived a solitary existence of service and prayer, only the rare visitor or weekly delivery of supplies from the valley below disturbing her solitude. Day after day, she kept the titular flames burning, polished and swept the shrine, conducted the many rituals of protection against evil, tended to the few relics in her care, and waged an endless battle to keep the front steps free of the constantly blowing snow, a routine that never wavered, never changed, and threatened to douse the fire of her faith beneath an avalanche of monotony. She’d joined the Temple of the Sacred Fire because she believed, because she wished to help others and stand against evil, just as the Prophetess did five hundred years earlier… not shoving snow on a mountainside, waiting for the faithful who never came.

As such, it was a notable change to her routine when a gloved hand suddenly clamped over her mouth as she finished polishing the brasswork one evening, a strong arm wrapping around her upper body beneath her breasts to hoist her off her feet. That was not the sort of thing Melissa was used to, and for a moment, she froze up in terror. After all, her service to the Temple had taught her how to correctly perform the rituals and adhere to a life of virtuous sanctity, not what to do when accosted in such a manner. “Don’t scream, priestess. I have no desire to harm you,” a rugged masculine voice tickled her right ear, and she was suddenly aware of another person’s warmth seeping through the red cloth of her robes, a sensation foreign yet strangely pleasing. “Now I am going to remove my hand. Can I trust you to cooperate?”

Hand pounding at her breast, Melissa gave a small nod. As promised, the hand fell away, and she turned to behold a tall man dressed in the furs and leathers of a hunter, his short black beard neatly trimmed and the longbow cased across his back in good condition. “Who are you?” Melissa asked in a gentle voice, silver-blue eyes wide with confusion. At nineteen, the priestess was rather pretty, her more feminine attributes accented by the fit of her robes, and she was suddenly, painfully aware of how vulnerable she was, right hand scrabbling backwards towards the altar for anything she could use as a weapon. “What do you want from me?”

“To get the attention of the Archpriestess,” the intruder proclaimed, withdrawing something from his pack and casting it at her feet. Melissa gave a small gasp as the coil of rope sat illuminated in the firelight, the heat emanating from the braziers giving way to a chill of fear as she realized what he intended. “Us mountain folk are being beggared by the Temple’s endless demands for tithes, all to make sure Her Illustriousness is kept fat and happy back in the capital. Only way we’ll get her to back down is to send a message, and that’s going to be you. Now, hands behind your back.”

“Please, I…” The fire of resistance had gone out in Melissa’s heart, and she did not resist as her arms were wrenched behind her back and the first loops secured them into a strict boxtie. More rope looped around her upper body beneath her full, pale breasts, keeping her upper arms pinned to her sides, before she was lain flat onto the cold stone floor so he could bind her ankles and thighs. A wad of cloth was raised in front of her eyes, and Melissa obediently opened her mouth so it could be thrust inside, another length tied over her lips ensuring it would remain that way. “Mmmpggghhh…”

“I’m sorry about this, priestess,” said the mountain man, hauling his bound and gagged captive onto his shoulder and out into the freezing winter night, where a wooden sledge sat before the doors of the shrine, a pack of silent hounds harnessed to the front. “Once we get what we want from the Archpriestess, I’ll make sure to return you back here, safe and sound. Now you just sit tight. You’ll be beside a roaring fire before you know it.”

Making sure to toss a blanket over the captive priestess, the mountain man gave a shrill whistle, and the sledge immediately took off, racing down the mountain at breakneck speeds. I know I wanted a break from all those rituals, but not like this! Melissa lamented, craning her neck to catch a glimpse of the shrine before it disappeared into the darkness and offering a silent prayer. For as a prisoner, alone and helpless, only the flame of hope could sustain her now…