Jean’s Confession

My Mirror Maiden stands before me with a fake smile on her face. The sight of her makes me itch uncontrollably. It is not an ache I can scratch on my own. She suggests something outrageous. I gnash my teeth and respond with bitter words. She gives a snide retort and a smile that shows she knows, as well as I do, that I will submit to her demands in the end.

I cannot help it: it is the nature of our entanglement. Yet I cannot bring myself to act obedient to her, even though we both understand my place in this twisted arrangement. I am reminded of it every time I see her garish signature emblazoned on the skin of my back in violet ink: the mark of the Fatui, and her claim to ownership over me.

She branded me in exchange for sparing my life. I fell to her on the battlefield, and as she stood over me I realised to my shame that I didn’t want to die. She proposed an exchange that, in my desperation, I accepted. I traded my honour for another chance to protect what was important to me. I gave her my freedom, by allowing her to brand me with the evidence of my defeat, and I gave her my virtue, allowing her to sully my body with her sordid desires.

By selling myself, I was given the chance to repeat my mistake: that of thinking I could ever hope to defeat her.

That first encounter left me shaken to my core. I returned later to the scene of my defeat, desperate to reclaim the honour I’d lost. But I was too rattled, and compounded my mistake. She bound me in water mirrors and mocked me as she probed the deepest parts of my body, drawing my buried lusts out to the surface. She systematically broke my pride, humiliating me with her mastery of my own body and forcing me to humble myself before her.

I kept encountering her after that. I know she was hunting me. Every time, she would break me, either through trickery or a fair fight, and gather more materials that would compromise my position. Before I knew it, I was under her influence and could do little more than submit to her desires.

I know now that she will always best me. She has skills that are more potent than mine with the sword, and I am the poorest of matches against her. She strikes where I have no defences.

In time, she has twisted me to meet her own desires. She is truly a deviant, and she is moulding me into an object that fits the shape of her fantasies. I know I must resist this at all costs, to preserve what dignity and self-regard still remains in me, but I feel myself sliding ever deeper into the pit of her perversion, and the walls get shearer with every lapse that I suffer.

I could strike her down and be free of her influence. I entertain this thought frequently these days, but the memories of my repeated failures to this woman have poisoned my confidence. I can no longer imagine myself defeating her. When I picture myself raising my sword to her, that fantasy twists to have me licking her bare feet, or pressing my face to the ground as she grabs my raised hips from behind and takes me, with her taste on my lips as I gratify her in exchange for my unworthy life.

These are all humiliations that she has subjected me to. I know that I will fall prey to them again.

I know the sight of my body is endlessly exciting to her, and when she touches me it spurs her on to more elaborate perversions.

Now I am naked on the couch in my office. My clothes are strewn across my work space, door firmly locked against intrusion, and the guards sent away for the rest of the afternoon on the pretence that I am devoted to a secret project and cannot be disturbed. I have lost mastery over my body; I gyrate and whimper as she covers my skin from head to toe in blue lipstick marks, giggling with delight as she owns me absolutely.

The Mirror Maiden’s arms encircle me. No one knows she is here: she has entered through a mirror, like she always does, and when she emerged I did not raise the alarm. For a brief instant, I held my hand to the side, ready to will my sword into being; but I relented in the same breath, knowing it would do me no good to resist what in my heart I know I truly want.

I grit my teeth with shame as I feel her Delusion growing stiff against my rear, my body growing hot with anticipation. It is an unpleasant thing that has me so enraptured, an unnatural extension to her body that she uses to claim me. I know there must be some power involved that makes me desire it, but I do desire it; so much so, that I shift my hips to bring it closer to piercing me, betraying my inner thoughts. I don’t need to see her face to know that she is mocking me with her smile. As her phallus grows to its full potential, I see there is little point in resisting the inevitable; as soon as she appeared in my office I knew that there was only one way this was going to end. By accepting it so readily, I am forced to admit that I can sink no lower.

She finds a way, of course. She always does. With honeyed words she has me perched upon her lap, taking instruction on how to lower myself so I can gratify her under my own power. I am resigned to the fact that I cannot be a passive participant in this degenerate ritual; I see no option but to take her Delusion inside myself, my own body betraying me with its readiness to accept its passage inside. Now filled by her Delusion, I hear a trill of excitement in her breathing by my ear, leading me to conclude that she feels the sensations as much as they were part of her own body.

Bracing my legs, I push off her lap and then fall back, copulating with this enemy agent in my own office. Months of training have given me a taste for these sensations, polluting my muscles with the memory of how to please her Delusion with my hips, and absent any thought on my part.

I fuck her on the couch. It brings me pleasure to hear her groan as a result of my efforts, even though I understand that it is my act of self-abasement that titillates her, rather than any shared feeling of companionship. I try to clear my mind of intrusive thoughts and dedicate myself to the task of satisfying her, hoping to compel her to leave before any of the knights enquire after my absence.

Bliss and terror and shame make it difficult to keep track of the time. By the time her Delusion explodes inside me, filling my womb with its corrupting essence, the windows have steamed up and my naked body is dripping with sweat. I slide off of her lap to rest on the coach, and she strokes my hair in mock appreciation, as if I were a child who has achieved a difficult task.

She leaves me there, and I feel grateful for the withdrawal of her body heat. The air is stuffy from my efforts. I know that while I am naked and catching my breath she is rifling through the documents on my desk. She will find field reports, details of knight deployments and our position on upcoming trade negotiations. All of it is sensitive, and I am entrusted with keeping it safe. But I can’t; not from her.

She asks if I’m craving more and I lie, saying that I’ve indulged her enough for one day. She sees through my deception, not that it matters what I want. I can see she’s in high spirits from having completed her mission, and that insatiable Delusion of hers is already twitching at the sight of my dishevelment. I’ve barely caught my breath, but I can’t contain the gasp that escapes from my chest as she grabs my hips, traitorous proof of the thrill that her touch inspires within my flesh. She mounts me, and I shrink into position beneath her, allowing her to treat me as a spoil of her mission’s success.

She takes me hungrily, urgently, as I meekly submit to her desires. I can barely keep my voice in my body. I want to scream at the top of my lungs. But I have an absolute terror of being caught, with all that would entail for my position and the colleagues who depend on me; so I swallow it down, soaking myself in this debauchery without protest.

This is the truth that I cannot deny: she has exposed a void within me that I can feel even now. It claws at me in the form of a ravenous hunger that draws my thoughts away from my duties and towards my darkest inclinations.

I want to be touched. I desire to be held. I crave relief, but I know in my heart that I don’t want to be released from this hell of longing.

Yes, my heart: she has it. No matter how loudly I protest, I know that I am devoted to her. I think she sees me as little more than a toy, but I still find myself longing for her affection. There is a chink in my armour that still hopes to find evidence of genuine feeling on the part of my lover. Despite her barbed and honeyed words, however, I understand on an intellectual level that I am only fooling myself.

I know they’ll execute me as a traitor if they find out what I have done. But I can’t stop doing this. My body knows what it wants.

So here I lie in this hotel bed, waiting for my maiden to come. The other rooms are filled with enemy agents that I have allowed to co-opt this building as a base in the heart of the city that is meant to be under my protection, hoping that my anonymity has been protected by the flimsy mask that I wear, and the cloak of a Fatui agent that now lies folded across the back of the chair. My maiden has promised not to expose me. I know she can’t be trusted, but my heart can’t take the thought that she would betray me.

I know I have value beyond warming her bed: I am the Acting Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius, and my devotion to her while I am in good standing with the people of Mondstadt serves her cause better than a fallen knight ever could. It is a bitter thought that she could love my position more than she loves me.

But what can I do? I must continue to play the part of the virtuous knight commander and pray that no one finds out how weak, how in love with my maiden, I am. In the event of my exposure, I will lose everything. I am sure that I will even lose her.

I do not submit these words to paper as atonement for my traitorous acts, as I intend to cast this missive into the fire as soon as I finish this thought. I cannot allow this to fall into my maiden’s hands, as she will use it as material to further dominate me, if such a thing is possible. I also lack conviction in the values I project to the knights under my guidance, and am unable to bring myself to confess to my crimes and submit myself to just punishment under the rule of law. I intend instead to continue to gratify my maiden’s lusts, and my own, in the vain hope that my deception will not be discovered, and that my treason will not lead to harm for those I care about.

In truth, I care about my maiden more than any of my companions. The strength of my feelings terrifies me.

I write this to remind myself of who I am, without pretence. Compromised I may be, but I refuse to allow myself the luxury of believing in the lies that I tell to others. My name is Jean, and I am a hypocrite and a sensualist, who would rather live in disgrace than die with honour. I spy for the Fatui not because I believe in that organisation, but because my body and heart have been trained by my Mirror Maiden, and this is how I can please her.

I would summon my sword and attack her, but I can only bring myself to masturbate in her bed, waiting to see how she will tease me tonight. Only exposure will release me from her spell; and I will do everything in my power to prevent that from happening.

The End.