Oh, did that sting?

Crev is cold, the kind of cold that shocks you into feeling things, the cold hit of the truth, or icy water. She doesn’t know if she’s fallen through a frozen lake or just been towed out, but the grip is real, it’s genuine. She clutches onto the woman’s back, her short dirty fingernails digging into the shirt. Her head finds the crook of her shoulder, and as Crev talks, tears pool in her eyes, running down her face and onto the white linen. 

She closes her eyes and takes what she says as truth, because she wants to. Because she needs to. She didn’t deserve what happened to her. She didn’t deserve to be left to die six feet under. Does Vesta know? Toustain just buries her nose into Crev’s shoulder, wishing she could block everything else out. Her friend. Her protector. You’ll be okay, she says, it’ll get better, and she keeps having that thought over and over again. I hope so, I hope so, I hope so. 

She didn’t need Crevecoeur to be holy, or blessed. She didn’t care if she ever stepped foot in a church, though she wishes, she wishes - her hands tighten for a moment - that she’d recognize all that Good that burned in her, that Light that she wanted to eclipse. Toast sniffs, realizing her breathing had gone ragged and shallow, and comes back to herself.

“You’re a graverobber,” she says, some sort of melancholic moan sounding from her, “and I’ve made it awkward for you!” There’s a hopeless smile there, some guilt released. There’s a laugh that could be a sob, and she presses against her even more.

She can’t remember the last time she truly embraced someone, or when someone truly embraced her. It’s foreign, it’s comforting, and it pings in her mind that she knows why this isn’t something she’s supposed to do. This is how you get false idols. You start wanting this closeness, this comfort, this admission of peace, from this. Just this. Not even a kiss, no, not even the heat of distant lust or the glow of falling into some kind of romance, just this. Just contact. And that cold feeling mellows; she doesn’t know if she’s warming Crevecoeur, or if the woman just wasn’t as cold as she had thought at first.

Oh, Light, when was the last time someone gave this poor woman a hug?

Crev decides it’s better not to know as she simply holds Toast a bit closer, resting her cheek on top of her friend’s head. Things would have to be okay, or in the least, what passed for okay around here. Soon enough, the horrors outside would replace what transpired in here, they’d forget, they’d move on. They’d find new victories to drink to, more losses to drown. It’d be fine.

“Don’t worry about me and grave robbing. That churchyard is my chicken coop, and I daresay this old vixen hasn’t quite given up just yet.” She chuckles, giving Toustain one more tight squeeze before letting her go, and smiles warmly. There. That’s better. Much better. Crev takes one of Toast’s hands in both of her own, patting it as reassuringly as she can manage before gesturing back to the quiet street they’d meant to walk. “I meant it, when I said I wanted to catch up. If strange things are happening, I usually make it my business - and the sooner we sort out the past, the sooner we can look to the future. Somethin’ like that, anyway.” She rolls her shoulders, straightens her spine, takes a few more silent steps.

A bit cavalier, but a sense of normalcy is important. Between the crying, her friend being over, and this small... issue, with Vesta, a sense of normalcy was more than needed. So, a roguish archetype she was. it’s not all acting, she is The Grave Robber, but. A little bit of it is, over the more concerned, coddling part. Toast doesn’t need coddling.

“So. What’s rocking the Abbey’s world, at the moment, my friend? Did you catch someone making out in those meditation rooms upstairs?”

Nothing. Not a trace of her, not a smidge. No coal, no ember, no flickering flame, no sign that she was in trouble, no… she closes her eyes a moment. She’d convinced herself, that Crevecoeur had acted on Her behalf, that it was all orchestrated somehow, that a shadow had been called by the Light for some small thing - and yes, digging her up was small. There were so many other things in the world that were large and important, and she knows that she is not one of them. There’s a touch of cold within her. Some icy finger, shredding up her spine, making her shiver. The air is still.

When Crev’s hand moves away she wants to grab it and pull it close like a ship holding tight to an anchor. But she doesn’t, she watches her, wavering in the moonlight.

“I tried to convince myself of something.” Her voice wavers. “I think I knew it wasn’t true. But I wanted it to be true so badly that it burned a hole straight through me, and everything feels like everything’s falling out of it, now.” That doesn’t make sense, but she doesn’t know if she wants it to. “…It was just you. Only you. You, and luck, or intuition, and a shovel. I can get why graverobbing would feel a bit strange after that. Of course it’d feel strange, after… after that. After me. I’m sorry. You’re a graverobber, and I… you…

“You’ve given me so much. You saved me, all on your own, and not out there-” she flings a hand in the direction of the outskirts and badlands - “right here. Right here, where I thought I was safest. And…” she looks at the sky, willing it not to happen. The tears come anyway. “And I didn’t know what to do, was I remorseful, was I repentant, was I blessed, was I chosen? And what were you? You’re…” she looks at her, the shirt tucked now, the belt buckled. “You’re not what She’d choose, if the scriptures are anything to go by, but. I don’t… care. You’re still dear to me, you have been, you saved me, without Her, you didn’t need her, like I do.” The last words are choked and strange, her expression pained.

There is only a moment’s pause, before Crev wraps her arms around her. This was safer, now, without other churchfolk in the Abbey. Without those prying eyes, it was safe to comfort her. Never could stand to see someone cry, she thinks, lacing her fingers behind her friend’s back.

“It’s okay, Toast. I know you wanted to believe I’d...” Acted on something Holy. Been filled with Light for a while, like it wouldn’t burn her away. It’s a wonder she can embrace Toustain at all, really, without fading into nothing. “I was just doing what any friend would do. You’re a good person, you’re dear to me, and nobody deserves to suffer like that, so... I just did what I had to do. And it might not be... Holy, but listen. There’s something good in that, too. I’m not something She wants, by any measure. But I will always save you, and you never have to apologize for it.” It feels like an oath. Heavy, and binding, but she doesn’t shrink from it. Maybe Toast needs this. Vesta hadn’t been there when she was needed, but Crev had been, and maybe it would be a comfort to know she would be whenever it was needed. 

There would be reconciliation with the Light, later. She knows this; people like Toast didn’t stray for very long, they justify it, they confess their sins, and they absolve that unfeeling celestial circle for its cruelty. Then they go back to praying and repressing themselves like nothing happened. 

But for now, this, she knew. Crev can help with this.

“And don’t... you didn’t do anything wrong. It wasn’t your fault, what happened. I know that. Everyone who really knew you knows that, it was a mistake. .... She probably even knows that, or she would have stopped me.” Crevecoeur’s not sure of that. She doesn’t believe that at all. But Toast needs to hear it. 

She feels the effort in her voice. She was trying to act like she was fresh off the stagecoach, some wild and shadowed thing. Or maybe she was just being as she was? Maybe Toustain was going too far in her concern, wrapped up in her own strange insecurity, everything had just started strange and now she was off kilter, a top knocked off a table, skittering across a floor and towards who knows what. She can’t even hear her steps anymore, like Crevecoeur was trying to become something like a ghost.

“I don’t know if I’ve had too much trouble, a couple of…. minor altercations. Strange things. Very strange things.” Concern is evident on her face, dripping from her tongue. An abomination drinking holy wine. The tarot cards. The blood red holy book. Mountains of uncertainty, and she, stuck in an endless valley.

When a hand is put to her shoulder, when it squeezes gently… it isn’t a snap, it isn’t a break, no, it feels like the stretching of a sapling’s limb, a bending, seeing how far it would go until the green wick split from rough bark. She reaches up with one hand, and sets her fingers lightly on top of the graverobber’s. “You’ve stayed away quite well, it’s true.” Had something changed? Had she glanced away and become something different in the month between them? Surely she hadn’t. Surely they were the same two people, slightly changed, but no less friendly, no more parted than before - when she looks at her, though, Crev’s eyes look tired, and she wonders if that’s a truth, or her own reflection in them.“I… I need you to answer something, honestly, for me. Don’t lie. Please.

“..On that night…” Her lip twitches downwards. “There was no fire, was there. No, signal. No flame. No ember in your hearth that reminded you of me, there wasn’t…” she trails off.

Toast’s concern is immediately echoed in Crev’s face, all nervousness and shame forgotten as that... familiar beast takes her over. The same one that coiled around her heart on the first day, that turned her blood to fire when she realized where the Vestal had gone. The wild, sharp clawed thing that could like nothing more than to build a wall around Toustain and protect her from the world. She’d ask about these strange things soon. Very soon.

And as quickly as it rears its head, it settles back into its fitful sleep. Right. That night. Her jaw tightens, and she scowls, debating lying anyway.

She wouldn’t. She can’t. The only option is to shatter that fragile idea of divine intervention she could see Toast clinging to. Honesty was a virtue, wasn’t it? Virtues need to rebrand, this feels like Hell. “... No, Toustain, there wasn’t. It was... you were gone, and for some reason the silence felt wrong, and I remembered this ordeal in the graveyard, and...” she winces. She’d cursed Vesta’s name, that night. She’d dared her to send a sign, to stop her from interrupting this destruction or ritual, andt the moon had hung dark and sleeping and silent in response. No lightning to smite her, no sense of righteous purpose, only unholy, uncaring silence. “And I was just. So angry, I stormed over there and did what I had to. I knew you didn’t deserve it. But... no. There was no fire, no embers, no smoke.” She doesn’t mention the cursing. Toast doesn’t have to know that much. She’d be happier without knowing that Vesta didn’t even respond to that.

She waits patiently, head tilted a bit to the side and down, every passing moment feeling more sheepish than the next. At the sound of a voice - a feminine voice, no less - she swallows something in her throat that miraculously wasn’t there before. She tries to recall a verse to calm her, but it just doesn’t come. She wishes it would. She wishes these things came more easily to her when she so desperately needed their aid.

Toustain walks down the hallway at Crevecoeur’s suggestion, but pauses at the turn, glancing at her over her shoulder. Something was… wrong. She didn’t know what. But it was something in the way she spoke, in how she carried herself, or - or maybe that was. Just how, she sounded. Afterward.

She forces herself back to looking down the steps, and continues onward. “I… it has been. I think.” It’s been long, is what it’s been. “And about not visiting - I know you won’t visit me there, I don’t know why I thought…” She shakes her head as she passes through the tavern space, the air laced with smoke and steam from cooked beef. “I should have come sooner. You’ve been so busy, I’ve heard that you’re going to rid the Estate of its horrors all on your own…!” There’s a ghost of mirth in her voice, and she wonders how much those expeditions have cost her. “I feel like there’s a lot of things that we should talk about, or things I want to say, but.” Her brow furrows, hand pausing on the knob to the outdoors. Her throat feels thick again, like someone’s poured honey into the heart of it, but with none of the sweetness. She turns the knob, grateful that Crev had gotten the chance to pull on an extra layer.

Was she just selfish, in wanting to speak to her? Crev owed her nothing. Toast owed her everything. The cobbles’ cold seeps through her shoes.

Crev follows easily, the same silent steps as always. They’re even lighter, now, as she honed her art more, as she got more in tune with her shadowed form. But she follows anyway, not far behind, relaxing. It’s brisk out, in comparison to the warmth she’d come from, but not unbearable. Maybe that’s another benefit of being whatever she was, she thinks, smiling. 

“Light above,” she curses, rubbing an arm, “I should have brought Shadowlace, it’s freezing out! ... I’ll adjust, don’t worry.” She tacks the reassurance on quickly, before it can upset Toast, who already seemed on edge. The last thing the poor woman needed was any more reasons to be distraught.

She walks in silent contemplation for a moment, shaking her head to clear it. Pull together.

“So! How’ve you been, Toustain? I know I’ve been putting the senior mercs to shame, but that’s pretty run of the mill,” she grins, proud and devilish, “so tell me about you. Gotten into any interesting but generally harmless trouble, lately, my dear?” She runs a hand through her hair, forcing herself to relax. Toustain was taking this in stride, seems, so she’d have to as well. Like before, if she played down her sins, maybe Toast would as well. They wouldn’t have to talk about what the Vestal had almost walked in on. It would be okay.

But, just in case, she puts a hand on Toast’s shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze as they walk. She didn’t know what was wrong, but she wasn’t going to ignore it, not entirely. They’d voice it if Toustain wanted, when she wanted. No sooner. Not too unlike handling a young deer, really. You have to wait for them to come to you.

She’s confused. Confused, top to bottom, side to side, and all the way around, as well. Babe? And, a friend? She looks at Crevecoeur’s messily put together appearance - the slight pink to her cheeks, the lack of belt - she’s able to put two and two together rather quickly, and the blush that reaches the tips of her ears speaks more than she ever could bring herself to do aloud. “I can-  I can come back later?” She glances towards the now closed door - and the sound of bare feet trodding around behind it. Her feet shuffle, almost as if in response.

“If… if you’re busy, I mean…” she knows that Crevecoeur wasn’t someone who.. cared about the things that she did. Hedonism, and the like. She wasn’t a stranger to those things, and she was still good, Toast insists internally, she simply must be. But there’s a hesitation. The basket of bread and sweets dangles between them. She wishes suddenly that she had sought her out sooner. Her face. It’s the same as it was. And it says a thousand things to her, a thousand things covering up a hundred thousand hidden things.

“I wanted - to visit you. It’s been a long time. It feels like it’s been a long time.” She hopes that the pang she feels deep in her sternum doesn’t come out with her words.

Crev seems to consider this for a minute, face colouring. Looks like she got caught. After a moment, she rolls her shoulders, and holds up one finger to ask for a moment, darting back inside. The conversation is hushed and quick, the unfamiliar feminine voice inside sounding somewhat disappointed, but eventually settles, and the Grave Robber returns, pulling a belt on and slipping into a pair of simpler shoes. “It’s okay, it’s a regular friend, I talked with her, I’ll get back to that another night. ... Probably owe her dinner, but that’s fine.”

She pauses, and inhales slowly, frowning. It has been a while. 

“I’m sorry it’s been so long. There’s been a lot of expeditions, and between those horrors and forgetting those... I haven’t been a very good friend. Let’s... let’s go for a walk around town, catch up. I get the feeling we have a lot to talk about.” It’s a vague sense, more than anything, but she knows something’s bothering the Vestal. It’s not clear what, exactly, but if she hasn’t entirely lost the ability to read Toast, then something’s wrong.

“You look nice, by the way. It’s good to see the winter’s been kind.”

Oh god, this is awkward. This is going to be painfully awkward. She vaguely wishes she could disappear. It would be better than trying to justify that.

@dabbledincrochet

It’d been a while. A month, maybe a month and a half, the winter still blasting through the Hamlet, but the smallest, most stubborn green shoots have started to make their appearance. And like a small, stubborn green shoot, she’s emerged from the Abbey in order to visit a friend. A friend who hadn’t visited her, not in a while. Not even with shovel in hand and bent over a grave, attempting to “ruin” her night.

After a quick check with the innkeeper, she walks up the well-trodden wooden stairs to the varied hallways, lit with candles encased in glass. She adjusts her fingers on the basket handle, feeling a slight nervousness flutter in her throat. The vestal swallows it down. It was just Crevecoeur. There was no need to be worried about seeing her. But it had been so long, and… Crev didn’t like the Abbey, but…

Sighing, Crev edges herself out of bed, throwing a loose blouse on and pulling up some trousers as she goes. She combs her fingers through her hair somewhat blearily, trying to straighten into some form of presentable before she reaches the door. It obviously wasn’t going to happen, there’s too much to fix and not nearly enough room to walk, but she walks it nonetheless, turning the doorknob as she leans against the doorframe.

“Not your best timing, babe, I have a friend over- Oh! Toast, hi!” Her eyes widen, and looking back over her shoulder, she quickly steps out and shuts the door behind her. “Sorry about that, I wasn’t expecting you today. What brings a girl like you to this side of town?” Her smile is easy, like it hasn’t been long. As if she’d been suspended in time, somehow, waiting for Toustain to come by.

Crev isn’t any paler or darker, her hair doesn’t seem any longer. If not for a few think white scars on her arms, it would be as if she hadn’t changed at all.

Her words warm her in a strange way. Crevecoeur was so smart and articulate, but she starts into motion at her last words, her sweet concern. “No! No no,” She said, laying her hand gently to Crevecoeur’s arm. “No, I wasn’t harmed at all. You don’t need to worry about that, no. The dead only hurt…. in their absence.” She hadn’t known anyone who had died, not truly. But her family seemed dead to her, for all their absence, the memories of them hazy, and at times inconsequential. And the apparition of her husband, Monty… he had been only kind.

“The spirit that I saw was only kind - you do…” she looks at her, searching her eyes for recognition. “Did Randal… not tell you?” He must not have, if she didn’t know “… was visited, by your husband, Monty. He… spoke well of you, he spoke kindly, and sweetly. He told me he wishes you every kindness. Not to hurry. To love, and be loved.” She smiles sadly. “He was a good man. A kind soul… and he was journeying somewhere where he would find an eternal rest, a gentle and warm peace. He waits for you. Patiently,” she adds, not wanting to understate it. “I’d.. like to think that there is plenty for you still here.” Her eyes glance to Crev’s side, but she says nothing of it.

Crev’s easy smile falls instantly, and she sucks in a breath. “Is that so, Toustain? I’m... I’m glad you got to meet him, he really was a. A wonderful man.” Every time it comes up, the grief still feels fresh, raw, like it had only been days since he’d left her. Her voice warbles momentarily when she speaks, but she does not allow her eyes to mist. She’s stronger than this. It’s been years. “And I’m glad to know he’s going to go somewhere as welcoming as he was. He deserves that, Toast, more than anything. She deserves so much.” She forces her breath to calm, again, silent, eyes closed. 

“And yes, there is much left for me in this plane. There’s a reason I came back, and I don’t know why yet, but. There’s a lot to live for, Toustain. There’s so much I haven’t seen, so many things I haven’t experienced yet. And... I threw it away, before. Not again. I intend to live long enough to see silver in my hair.” The smile is weak, the laugh is worse. But there is, at least, a determination there. Monty, bless him, could wait. 

She had a new life to live, a new purpose. ... A new love to pursue, maybe. So much to stay for.

@dabbledincrochet

“Only once,” she admits. “And it… it was strange, it was.” Heartbreaking, in a way. She wonders if  Randal ever told her. About her husband. About how she had seen him, how he had said that he loved her, but that he wanted her to be happy in her life, even without him. About how forever could wait.

Tears prick in her eyes, and she hurriedly blinks them away. “To see ghosts, or spirits. It isn’t right. Those things need to stay, where they are, they need to find peace. I suppose… I pity the things that will not go. That stay when they are called away. Who do they wait for?” The vestal wrings her hands. “What could keep them from their long and gentle rest, their endless, warm embrace?”

There is a moment, as Crevecoeur runs a hand along her side. A scar under the fabric, a fatal wound, once. She didn’t know of her husband’s wandering, of his message for her. The only dead thing among the living she knew of was herself. “It’s... a long and winding road, Toustain, and it’s a dark one. Frightening, perhaps,” she begins, slowly, eyes closed. 

No, she didn’t long for death, for her rest again. But maybe, if she didn’t have to return alone... maybe. “Perhaps they are afraid to brave the journey to Hell alone. Perhaps they have last words to get to the living. Perhaps...” She looks at Toast, fondly, eyes flicking momentarily to her shovel. “Perhaps they are still needed by some grand design, in some small way.” She finally lets go of  her side, wincing at the aftertouch that still gripped at her like the hands of a specter.

She would not comment on the vestal’s tears.

Softly.

Send my muse one or a few of these questions (all of them related to death, life after death, etc. so please read with that warning in mind)

Have you ever come close to dying?

What do you think is the worst possible way to die?

Do you think there’s life after death?

If you were reborn as someone/something new, who or what would you want to be?

If you do believe in the afterlife, what kind of afterlife do you think awaits you?

Have you ever taken someone’s life?

Are you afraid of dying?

Do you ever wish you were immortal?

If you are immortal, do you ever wish you were mortal instead?

Name one (or a few) people in your life whose death would ruin you.

Who do you think would miss you most if you were gone?

Name one person you’d protect even if it meant sacrificing yourself.

If you had to choose a way to die, what would you choose?

Have you ever seen someone die (but you didn’t cause it)?

Has someone ever tried to severely hurt you?

Could you kill someone if it meant protecting yourself or someone else?

If you could meet someone who has died, who would it be?

Do you believe the dead ever come back to walk the earth?

Have you ever seen a ghost/spirit?

If you’ve ever had a near-death experience, describe what happened and what you saw/experienced.

BONUS: FOR UNDEAD/SPOOKY MUSES

How did you die?

What’s the last thing you remember before death?

Is the afterlife/undeath exactly as you pictured it to be?

What do you consider yourself (ghost, zombie, spirit, etc.)?

Do you wish you were alive and mortal again?

Was death frightening to you?

What have you learned since your death?

When you meet living people, are they afraid of you?

If you could be brought back to life, would you accept?

At the older woman giving her name, Madeleine feels her stomach sink. For the third time that evening, she forgets herself, forgets the practice at navigating sordid waters, at being able to deliver a quick parry and riposte with words and wit as well as sharpened blade, and she mutely watches Crev for a few steps of circling as her mind recalls a snatch of conversation from earlier, from Toustain herself.

‘You sound like Crevecoeur. She’s always talking about shadows, or being a shadow, or how the dark lends itself to her like light lends itself to me. She likes the dark. I think she genuinely believes herself to be a creature of its like.’

Still pulsing and alive from the rush of the ambush, Madeleine’s mind frantically struggled to connect the information at its disposal. Most fascinating, but presently least helpful was thought that this Crevecoeur might truly be a creature of the dark, between the cunning and suddenness of her ambush, and her present silence. Madeleine had no doubt that any noise that this woman made, was made because she wanted it to be heard.

More pertinently, her mind brought forth tenuously-related, disparate images. Her father keenly, casually emphasising his position as a 'master swordsman’ and aristocratic fencing instructor to all those Madeleine spoke to, sometimes couching it in singing her own intellect in picking up the talent, sometimes with all the subtlety of a champagne cork popped during a quiet outing, divorced from its confines by sabre-point.

(Though her mother, wiser by leagues, had swiftly put a stop to that–while endearing, and indeed excellent in keeping idiotic young noblemen in their manners, her mother had seen and known its far-reaching implications and damage.)

Images of pointed smiles that concealed fury, piercing looks accompanying casual chatter. A short, amusing anecdote one person would say of another, that, regardless of its content, regardless of it being a nobleman boasting to his friends over cards, or a noblewoman chattering with (warning off) her kindred on the side of the dance floor, always meant the same basic idea:

“This one is mine.”

(That Madeleine herself was guilty of delivering, always bristling with righteous certainty, each and every time.)

And so her mind insisted to her that she was viewing such a circumstance again; this woman, this Crevecoeur, had even said as much. “Call me a little protective, perhaps,” indeed.

Madeleine idly considered, for a traitorous moment, honesty. It’s not like her intentions couldn’t be guessed, even if they had been in vain.

Madeleine had also not gotten to her current position in life by being honest. After a considered silence, she speaks.

“Madame Crevecoeur,” she says, answering linguistically in-kind and punctuating it with a neat bow. She’d found within herself her ability to fight, again; or, at least, a stubborn refusal to back down, no matter how misguided. “What I was doing, I must confess, was having dinner. That is, dinner with–so far as I have seen–a kind pillar of this little hamlet’s community, one that would be invaluable for a newcomer such as I to know, and be familiar with.”

Madeleine tilts her head, offering a wry smile.

“Clearly, Madame Crevecoeur, I cannot be too unwise in my reasoning. Mademoiselle Royer spoke of you, over dinner, and so I conclude you’re familiar with her, as well.”

And now, a dangerous gamble. Madeleine does not speak the following words any differently, but narrows her eyes, carefully watching the other woman’s reactions, such as she can follow them.

“More familiar than I, by far.”

Crevecoeur pauses, looking the younger grave robber over with something between amusement and irritation. She had a fire in her, and if she wasn’t such a pain, that would have been amusing. Perhaps under another circumstance, a better meeting, she would have taken her under a wing, prepared her years younger mirror image for the horrors of such a place. But this was not a day for such greetings. Today was bristling with the overprotective urge she’s had since she stepped on that Stage Coach the second time, and perhaps with a hint of possession.

Something being threatened by this upstart, in any case. 

“Sister Royer and I are good friends, yes. Many of the veteran mercenaries are. So you understand my... trepidation, seeing a woman of your- our persuasion, interacting with her in such a manner as I saw you.” Trepidation, ha. She’d been internally ready to cut Madeleine’s throat for quite a time, now, there was no trepidation involved. Only cold burning anger and perhaps fear for what might happen if this got out of hand. 

Leaning back, she rests one foot on the wall, taking off her hat without any ceremony. That’s right. She doesn’t need to be standing, alert, ready for the chase, she could hunt the other woman down with ease without it. She may not have ever learned to be a swordswoman, but she had learned to be a criminal and a creature of the dark, and she was no stranger to acting like both. She’d spent a long time skulking in the alleys, in the wallpaper of grime and desperation that lived in between living spaces, on quiet streets, in the lines of disturbed earth left by lesser revival women. It suited her well.

“After all, you are an intelligent young woman. Surely you know that if a Vestal is assumed unchaste, she is buried alive and left to die by the Church. In being sure you knew that, as a educated woman of considerable lineage... I have to assume your getting familiar with the Sister was an act of aggression.” She’s casual about this, stating all of these facts, though the unnatural glint in her eye is more pronounced now that she’s narrowed them to hostile slits. Reflecting the sparing light in a way wholly unlike any feline or metal would, it is another beast.

A creature of the dark indeed.

“But... if you don’t do it again, being that kind of aggressive, or in the very least not where people of the cloth can see you,” the dig at the lack of subtlety was unavoidable at best, “then we won’t have a problem unless she asks for there to be one. Sound fair? I don’t like dealing with living people and graves.” Does she mean digging up the Vestal again, or putting Maddy in? Who knows?

But the real message was there.