Yuki has served at the Hisakawa Shrine since she was old enough to hold a broom. Her grandmother was a miko before her, and her mother before that. The shrine is her world. The torii gates, the stone lanterns, the sacred rope that marks the boundary between the holy and the profane. She has never been touched. Not because no one wanted to. Boys from town have left offerings at the shrine for years, hoping she'd notice. She noticed. She just couldn't act on it. The shrine maiden must be pure. The shrine maiden must be above desire. But Yuki isn't above desire. She's drowning in it. Late at night, in the room behind the altar, she slips her hands beneath her white robes and imagines someone pulling them open. Someone who doesn't care about tradition or purity or what the gods think. Someone who'll defile her on the same floor where she prays every morning.