DarkSirenSally/AsamiBio

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From the diary of Sakajima Asami...

I was much too young to remember when my parents brought me to the Floating Lily Garden. What I know of it is what I was told: I was given to the shrine to serve as priestess to Vesperna, goddess of purity and healing, in exchange for her divine protection during a time of great famine. I do not remember my parents' faces, nor have they ever come to visit or even acknowledge me since they departed, leaving my squalling infant self cradled in the arms of the High Priestess, Amemiya Mieko.

From then on, the Garden was my whole world -- and a breathtaking world it was, for all it failed to satisfy me as I grew to womanhood. Hidden amongst the rolling, multi-tiered rice fields of Asijin village, Vesperna's holy garden lay nestled within a fertile water-soaked valley surrounded by steeply sloping cliffs on all sides, from which ribbons of sparkling fresh water cascaded to pool into the pond surrounding the temple proper. And oh, the flowers! The surface of the pond teemed with delicate white lotus blooms, the pristine marble walls and arches festooned with climbing hydrangea, clematis, and jasmine, and everywhere -- incorporated into every aspect of decor from balustrades and mosaics to statues and reliefs, lining pathways and wreathing pillars and populating the multiple gardens within the temple grounds -- bloomed the white lilies the goddess favored. Both meticulously carved and triumphantly alive, the lily was the centerpiece of this temple manse, second only to Vesperna herself.

I flourished among these natural wonders, from infant to budding acolyte, tended to by the hand of the High Priestess herself as her favored child. Why she doted over me in particular I was never quite sure, but I can imagine; she, too, was given in service to the goddess so young, an unwanted child of Exalted parents -- a Golden Child, as I later discovered, touched but not chosen by the Unconquered Sun. She was as close to a mother as I would come, and I the closest substitute for a daughter, for the goddess we served demands chastity of her servants and disavows such ties as family and romance as distractive. Our personal needs were secondary to our duty: to bestow Vesperna's mercy upon those who beseech her aid, healing the wounded and curing the sick in her name, protecting and guiding her flock of faithful, ensuring the continuation of her worship in Creation.

I feel no remorse in my heart for Vesperna's pure intentions, for they mirrored my own. Helping and healing others is greatly satisfying to me, and I still feel it to be my calling, to show such mercy to those who suffer in innocence, and bring peace to those restless souls which roam the world to prey on the living. But I myself could not learn to live by the standards of purity and selflessness expected of me by the goddess and those who raised me. I had lived my whole life in the Lily Garden; the flowers and sculptures I found fascinating in my youngest years had become the fixtures of a prison, and my elders with their ever-watchful eyes the guards that kept me trapped within. Most of my peers had been dedicated at an older age, even chose the path themselves, but I had no choice and no memory of the world outside, and would not be allowed to see it for as long as my training would last.

You may say that it is an ordinary thing for a child to yearn as I did, and it was. The girls I grew up with in the priestesshood were scarcely different, regardless of their age or experience. "Outside" was a place forbidden to us, and so we dreamt of fleeing to its embrace before the elders deemed us prepared. And of course our dreams, shared on the occasional candlelit night when we should have studied or slept, were far from the ideal Vesperna deemed we should live. We spoke of journeying to distant lands, sampling all the exotic food and drink as we pleased, bedecking ourselves in lavish gems and jewelry, and... of course... romance, and what carnal pleasures came with it. This was the ultimate forbidden fruit to Vesperna's holy servants, the pleasure of laying with a man, a single taste of which would render us tainted to her needs. We spoke amongst ourselves of how it might feel, and the daring amongst us mimed such pleasures with one another, touching and tasting but careful to leave the precious hymen intact.

In fact, it was common, so we were told, for acolytes to experiment with such things. They were even encouraged, to a point, for once our initiation to the Lily's Calyces was complete we would be denied even our playtime romances. I had my own lover for a time, at fourteen years of age; her name was Anais, blonde and pale-eyed to my dark features, and we shared much together, whispered secrets and guilty pleasures and perhaps, even, love. I was never to know what may have come of this, though, for one day she revealed to me that she had chosen to leave the priestesshood for good, and return to her family in Great Forks. This, too, was not uncommon, as our sixteenth year of age -- and thus the time of initiation -- swiftly approached. We were asked to examine our hearts closely and personally, so as to decide whether we were prepared to give up our lives and the freedoms that most other mortals enjoyed in order to embody the will of Vesperna. Many lost their resolve in the final months, which for Vesperna's dwindling clergy was an irrevocable loss, years of training wasted on the weak of heart. Nonetheless, they were granted their wish if they chose to go, so long as they had people and a place outside the Garden that would take them.

Soon enough, as my fifteenth birthday came and went, only I and three other girls of my age group remained. Perhaps I would have left, had I another home to go to, but the temple was my only abode, and the High Priestess would have none of my thoughts of departure. She meant to raise me as her successor, and as such grew more strict and demanding of me over time, though always under the guise of concern for my own well-being. No, I should be fair -- she did care a a great deal for my safety, but even a High Priestess of Vesperna has her foibles, and she could not bear her surrogate daughter to leave her side. Indeed, it was her greatest fear that I be rejected by the grace of Vesperna upon my elevation to Calyx. So it should come to no surprise that she viewed my greatest of transgressions as a betrayal to herself, as well as the goddess, and sent me coldly on my way, never to pass beneath the Lily Arch again.

The story of my betrayal begins and ends with Itsunari Katsuo, my companion now on the long roads and waterways we have traveled since my expulsion. When we first met, I was gathering herbs near the outskirts of the temple grounds, next to the underground pass through which water filters from the bowl of earth the temple is nestled within. This pass, I later learned, is the only real passage leading into the Garden, for it is protected from above by illusory magic granted by the goddess, giving the appearance of a placid, harmless pond to those who view it from the high cliffs. Katsuo had been gravely wounded -- losing an arm in a battle he spoke of to me only later -- but managed to drag his body partway into the pass, bleeding heavily all the while, before fainting from exhaustion and encroaching infection. The sword-maidens patrolling the pass that day found him there, and as I watched, were carrying him out into the open field in front of me, bickering all the while about what they ought to do with him.

I rushed up to them, leaving my herb basket behind, and quickly learned of what it was that disturbed them so much about him. Besides the fact he was male, and men were very rarely brought directly into the temple grounds, he was also a Chosen of the Unconquered Sun -- Anathema, as the outside world would have branded him. Unclean. He was a Twilight Caste, so they claimed, and I believed them, for all Vesperna's servants were trained to recognize Solars and their respective castes. But even though Vesperna still honored her relation to the Unconquered Sun, whom she herself once served as Handmaiden, her earthly servants still hesitated to give aid to his Chosen, for Solars so often brought trouble in their wake. Trouble which could very well expose or endanger the Lily Garden and its inhabitants unnecessarily.

But I found it difficult to accept that they would simply let this man die for the sake of our own protection. In my eyes, serving Vesperna has always been first and foremost about showing mercy to those who suffer, aiding those who cannot help themselves. Even I, still an acolyte awaiting initiation, could see that this Solar's power would not save him from the blood loss and shock of his severed limb, from the fever that left him delirious and feeble. So I poured my heart into persuading them to take him in, that the High Priestess would see things as I did, that I would take responsibility for this action if need be. To my great relief, they grudgingly acquiesced, and a stretcher was summarily called to bear him to the healers' wing.

I was, at the time, neither skilled enough or authorized to care for a patient so deeply hurt. Priestess Myridia, the head healer on duty, deftly took over his care, cauterizing and cleaning the severed stump and wrapping it in clean bandages. But Myridia knew of my growing talent with medicine, and kept me on as her assistant for the moment, bidding me to bring her this implement or that tincture of herb, requesting that I watch over him as she prayed earnestly to the goddess to aid him in overcoming the infection that wracked his body. I remember, particularly, pressing a clean, damp cloth to his brow to soothe his fever as Myridia fussed with his dressings, gazing down at his pale, elegant features and lustrous silver hair marred by dirt and blood, yearning to caress the contour of his cheek as he cried out in the throes of some unknown nightmare. My heart ached to touch him, even then; perhaps Myridia recognized this urge in me, for she shooed me from the room as soon as she announced that she would wash the rest of him clean, and it would not do for me to witness such a thing.

I found my way back to him, though, as soon as he was bathed and dressed and more or less stable in condition. I visited him for as long as my duties within the temple -- lectures and study time, practical training with Myridia, tending to the gardens, various cleaning chores -- would allow without drawing the suspicions of too many. For the first couple days, he hardly woke, and often remembered little of when he did wake, accepting food and medicine as given to him before slipping back into the embrace of sleep. It was the same as any mortal body that needed rest in order to recuperate, but as a Chosen of the Sun, his rate of recovery was astonishing. I knew that no ordinary man would have survived long enough to even be found, much less nursed back to health. It left an odd pang in my chest, to think that an individual who seemed so wracked in pain, not just physical but deeply, privately emotional, could have died before knowing that someone cared about his plight.

So I watched him, when I could. As the days continued on, my presence there elicited discomfort and disapproval from my elders and even my few remaining peers, who were already deep into preparation and prayer for the Calyx Initiation. But I could not help but feel that he needed me there, or that I wanted him to need me there. I knew it was selfish, that it could very well be wicked, but I could not deny myself this one indulgence, to gaze at him quietly as he slept and imagine, perhaps, that he may wish to speak to me when he woke, or envelop my hands in his, or draw me close to the warmth of his body as he beholds me with soft, benevolent eyes. Driven by such desires, I endeavored to visit him during the night, instead, when traffic along the halls was diminished and I could claim late night study, as the other soon-to-be-initiates were known to do.

There came a moment, on the fourth or fifth night, that I stood transfixed at his bedside, alone but for him and the flickering flame upon the lamp-wick, watching the light play upon the contours of his face. His only remaining hand was outstretched, laying atop the sheets as he slumbered, or so I believed from the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. I reached out impulsively, stroking gently at his fingers, drawing my own fingertips into the clefts between them, shivering at the warmth of the contact, at the vitality of the pulse I felt through his veins. It took all my strength not to gasp when his eyes flickered open at my touch, dark grey as storm clouds in late fall.

"Thank you," he whispered to me, hoarsely, and I knew not what to say at first, still stunned by the very concept of his attention. What could he be thanking me for? I wondered. I asked him such, and he smiled, an expression that brought a new, gentle cast to a face I saw so often wracked by pain and anguish. "For keeping me company. You have been here more often than the others, though I would thank them as well for their generosity of care."

I withdrew my hand, holding it close to my body a moment, feeling my face flush warm with embarrassment and pleasure. "You... noticed? Though of course you would notice... being what you are..." I clapped the very same hand to my mouth as his smile visibly faltered, his gaze falling to the clean white sheets that covered him. "Have... have I offended you? Oh please, say that I have not!" I pleaded softly, not wanting to raise my voice at this hour. My heart pounded faster with my dismay, for I was horrified at the very idea that I may have hurt him, even inadvertently, and wanted to right the situation as quickly as I could.

"No... it is not your fault," he replied gently, his expression more subdued now, though still friendly and inviting. I could tell, nonetheless, that something in my words had struck a chord in him, reminded him of truths that only his tormented dreams had previously brought into the forefront. But the look I gave him must have spelled my horror out plain as day, for instead of pursuing this train of thought, he deigned politely to ask me my name.

"Sakajima Asami," I replied readily, curtsying demurely in my white acolyte's robes, embroidered with the insignia of the Budding Lily of Vesperna. "And you?" I dared to venture.

It was then that he introduced himself properly as Itsunari Katsuo, formerly of Lookshy. "Formerly" spoken with some wistfulness, and a bite of remorse for what losses I could only guess at -- besides the use of his arm, which would have been a great loss even for a non-military man. Lookshy was a place of technological might and wonder I had read of only in books, at the time, and I would have been content to ask him of his (former) home, and of what he has seen of the outside world, if the night had not grown so deep. So it was with reluctance that I bid him farewell until next time, for I knew there would be a next one, and a next, until I was saturated in the experience of being close to him, learning of what he lived and what he had become.

Days soon passed into weeks, as Katsuo gained the strength to walk on his own and begin his own regimen of training. He was determined from the start to compensate for the loss in balance that came with his severed arm, as well as to relearn the use of fine motor skills with his remaining arm. The High Priestess grudgingly allowed him to continue his recuperation on the temple grounds, duty-bound by rules of etiquette set by Vesperna herself upon the founding of the Order of the White Lily, but she and the elder priestesses let him know in no small words that he should not overstay his welcome for long. I could feel the distrust emanating from them even when they simply came to watch him train, from writing practice to daily chores to swordmanship with the Captain of the Temple Guard, Wynneth Vane. The sword-maidens tolerated Katsuo's presence no better than the priestesses, but Wynneth -- who had come to the Garden later than most, a Fire Aspected Princess of Earth born outside the Realm -- shared some sort of unspoken martial respect with the man, and granted his request for personal training. Their sessions were at times particularly intense, for Wynneth was known to have little love of men or of Solars.

I treasured each and every day Katsuo was allowed to remain. Even if, throughout the day, we could only meet in passing, I longed even for those small, stolen moments during the evenings when we could speak, away from the prying eyes of others. Under the shadow of hanging plum blossoms, in the washroom between chores, in the musty aisles of books kept in the temple library, I sought to know him better. I sought what innocent displays of affection a virginal acolyte could wrest from a man, skating on the edge of decency with a desperation that mounted with time. I could already sense the strain seeping into our own conversations, how brief and clipped his words became when one of the elders passed close. I was well aware of the increasing pressure placed on him by the High Priestess to depart, for who else but the woman who raised me would know better that I was tempted? She, of all people, would never let him have me if she could help it. I weathered lecture after lecture from her of how I must strengthen my soul against the allures of the flesh, so I may better serve Vesperna. But I could not listen, goddess forgive me. My thoughts were consumed by sin, and I enjoyed every moment of it.

And Katsuo knew it, too. It was unspoken between us, the heated synergy that seized us as our bodies came close -- but never too close, never that, for I was long ago dedicated to serve a goddess of purity, and he was a well-bred man of honor and etiquette ingrained into his behavior patterns from youth. It was not long before I could not help but touch myself, thinking about him, thinking of what could have been had we been born in different circumstances. I would slip out of bed when the other acolytes drifted to sleep, into that gap in the wall where Anais and I used to press together, nude and shivering in the midnight chill, kissing with quiet urgency as our hands played over each other's bodies, committing every curve and sensation to memory. Except it was not the departed lover whose image filled my mind, nor was it our awkward but needy experimentation that I recalled as my fingers slid downward to sate the hunger between my thighs.

Katsuo... Many nights I mouthed his name like this, my breath coming in shallow gasps as I rubbed relentlessly at the root of my desire, dipping my fingers between the damp, swollen folds of my sex, allowing but the fingertips to enter my chaste sanctum, but gods! Even that small allowance, the mere hint of penetration as I shut my eyes tight, imagining his warmth and the low growl of his voice made husky with desire, the sweet, forbidden hardness of him stretching apart my virgin walls -- it was enough to make me scream! I would bite down hard on my lower lip to stifle the sounds of my inevitable climax, my free hand clawing uselessly against the cold marble wall at my back, until the agonizingly blissful waves of pleasure left me exhausted and frustrated and deeply ashamed. For so long as I followed the path chosen for me, these sensations would remain nothing more than a fantasy, and he would leave me forever behind in my world of pent-up need disguised as dutiful chastity. I could not! It was too much to bear to allow him to depart without me!

The idea came to me in the aftermath of such a night, as I wept still half-flushed by my exertions, waiting to catch my breath so I could creep, quietly and alone, to my bed. I knew of a seed from a rare tree that bore fruit only in the month of Resplendant Wood, which when allowed to soak in wine or spirits, functions as a potent aphrodisiac when the liquid is imbibed. They were called Venus seeds by some, and the fruit Venus's apples, a double-edged symbol of joy and temptation often given a prime role in romance novels and tragedies alike. In larger doses, the seeds soaked just so could put a grown man instantly to sleep, and three or more seeds so imbibed could outright kill an ordinary mortal caught unawares. Myridia kept some of these precious seeds in her herbal cabinet, I remembered, as I had labeled and stoppered the jar myself at her direction.

I knew it would not benefit me to delay too long. The very next day, I palmed one of the seeds during my afternoon in the healer's wing, and later that evening, secured a bottle of sacrificial wine and two goblets from storage -- one of which would bear the philter of my desire, unbeknownst, to Katsuo's lips. I found him, as I had so often the past few days, brooding in the simple guest room arranged for him near the front of the temple, clear across from the acolyte's wing as was most appropriate to the elders. He had his few belongings already prepared and packed, and stretched near the foot of the bed, an elegantly curved sword of golden orichalcum whose hilt I recognized from the Garden's own treasury. Katsuo saw my eyes widening in shock, and misinterpreted the reason, explaining that the daiklave had been granted to him by Swordmistress Wynneth at the conclusion of their training together.

"You were going to leave without telling me," I announced flatly, ignoring his explanation as irrelevant. My hands -- still holding the bottle and cups I had procured behind my back -- shook as I gazed upon him, deeply hurt for reasons I had no right to feel, yet could not bring myself to control.

"I... I am sorry, Asami." And I could see he was truly sorry, even through my growing agitation; his expression changed in a way I had never seen before from him, deeply vulnerable and haunted with helpless grief. "The High Priestess thought it best this way," he continued quietly, hesitatingly, knowing these words would not soothe me. "Even the sword was given as a gift of appeasement, to encourage my hasty departure. I cannot stay here any longer."

I wanted to shake him, to cry that the High Priestess could not control my life or his, but it would only be unfair. Of course he could not stay. He knew very well now what vows Vesperna's servants made, and he was too much an honorable man to be the one to break them for me. But the very guilt which compelled him so urgently to depart in this way confirmed something I had but inferred. Katsuo needed me -- desired me enough that he understood just how destructive that desire would be for my future with the clergy. All he needed was that last irresistable push, the catalyst I held cradled in my palm, the seed of my treachery to all else I had been brought up to believe.

"Then at least share a last drink with me," was all I managed to whisper.

My lover's lips were sweet when I finally tasted of them, wine-soaked and laced with the essence of Venus's passion fruit. Even then, I could see the question in those dark grey eyes, the last fetters of decorum and decency his mind clung to as I offered myself to him, virgin skin beneath pure white robes that slithered to my feet with barely a murmur. I felt his sharp, shuddering intake of breath as my lips trailed softly to his neck and my fingers worked deftly to liberate him of clothing and doubt. Goddess, it would not be long now. I could feel it in the air, the subtle shift of energy between us, the building heat, the deep, thrumming need like a bowstring moments before release. His only hand settled upon my dark, unbound hair, caressing it wonderingly, and I tilted my chin to regard him with a gaze that pleaded wordlessly for his touch.

He took me, then, possessed by a hunger fueled by Venus and the allure of the forbidden. He took me, and I fed shamelessly on his need, matching it with reckless abandon built up from weeks of waiting and wanting and remaining unfulfilled. His hand tightened in my hair, cradling the back of my head as he urged my lips back to his, sliding down the sloping curve of my spine to cup and grasp at my hip, pressing my body so close to his I could feel his heartbeat thundering through my chest. With his one good arm he lifted me up, pushing my back against the wall as I hooked my legs around his waist, spreading open my damp, fragrant blossom for him to impale. It took but a single, swift motion for him to pierce through my sacred hymen, rendering me forever profane in the eyes of the Handmaiden. But there was no retribution, no sign of the goddess's wrath -- only the labored sounds of our breathing as Katsuo held me pinned between the wall and his taut, trembling body.

I knew in that moment my fate was sealed and the thought of it only aroused me further. My fingers raked through his silver locks and downward, digging hard and deliberately into his back as I lowered myself to meet his savage thrusts, my barely contained cries urging him deeper into my ravished sanctum. It was both a beginning and an end for us, this heated culmination of our collective sin, our lunging bodies silhouetted by the dying lamp-light, there against the wall and upon the bed as he bade me ride him, my name on his lips like a prayer to our overflowing lust. And when it was over -- as we descended, flushed and sated, from the frenzy of passion that usurped our propriety -- we clung to one another in exhaustion and dawning realization of what we had done.

Katsuo was abashed, but most of all afraid for me, when the influence of Venus's seed faded from his mind. He still blamed himself for the act, even though it was my own machinations that pushed him past the edge of temptation. I confessed guiltily to him, nestled in his arms as we lay together, that I was the one who was selfish, for now he would have to take me away with him, and that was what I had wanted all along. I whispered that he could throw me aside if he wished, for daring -- but he shushed me, his face unreadable in the dim light, and drew me close to him once more. Our first night together ended on an idyllic note, for I drifted to sleep in his embrace, content not to face the repercussions that would come with the morning.

And oh, did they come, mercilessly and without forewarning. We were awoken at first light by the sound of the door crashing open, and as I rushed in some futile attempt at denial to disentangle myself from my lover, the High Priestess herself emerged through the doorway, her face livid with accusation. I knew that this would happen one way or another, but being faced with the truth of it is an entirely different experience from knowing. I did what reflex and my guilty conscience dictated I do -- I fell to my hands and knees, naked and ashamed, as she whom I would have called Mother called out my wickedness for all to hear. Vesperna, what a pitiful child I am. I could not help myself in the face of her scornful words, not even with Katsuo at my side bearing the brunt of her scathing diatribe with me, for even the High Priestess in this state would not dare vindicate a Solar to his face. I wept, holding my face to my hands, as she demanded coldly that we dress and depart at once, leaving me shivering in the knowledge of my own worthlessness.

In truth, I was torn. I did not, and will not regret the first night I spent so impassioned in Katsuo's arms. But at the same time the High Priestess's words emphasized what I would be leaving behind -- my home and my peers and the elders who brought me up and taught me, the duty for which my parents had sacrificed me in order to save their village, my place in the world as bringer of Vesperna's blessings, for which chastity should have been a small cost to maintain. Though I had committed an atrocity to the goddess, I was still deeply committed to healing and helping others, just as Vesperna's priestesses have always preached. Nothing else in me had changed! But for desiring and loving a single man, I would now be denied the favor of a goddess whom otherwise shared my calling in life. It struck me as unfair, somehow, that this would be my final judgement, when it seemed more fitting to me that a priestess of healing -- who by nature celebrates life -- should also celebrate love in all its forms.

In my desperation to understand, in my urgency to affirm my place in Creation, I offered my voice in prayer to the very same goddess whose ideals of purity I had spurned. Forgive me, Handmaiden, forgive me, for I wish to do your work but cannot live by your ways!

What happened next is something I may never truly understand. For it was not the goddess who replied to my heartfelt plea, but the light of the Unconquered Sun himself, bathing me in a pillar of white-gold radiance that illuminated the entire room with cleansing light. Only later did Katsuo tell me of the kanji that scribed itself in bold golden strokes behind me, trailing at the edges with morning glories pulsing with pure white light: the first kanji of my own name, Asa, which means "morning." But I saw none of this, being suitably transfixed by the healing glow of sunlight that radiated from my very soul, obliterating everything else from my notice but the transformation taking shape inside me. The golden rays soaked into my body, suffusing me with greater strength and hardiness, with beauty and grace heretofore unattainable, with knowledge of healing feats far surpassing what the Garden had taught me.

I was, by all means, shocked and overwhelmed by this turn of events. I had cried out in desperation, not daring to believe I deserved any mercy for such a grave and unforgivable sin. I half expected to be struck down for the very impertinence of asking for such a thing. The last possibility I was bracing myself to bear was what felt to be a reward -- if that is what it truly was. Why the Incarnum would have chosen me in such circumstances is a question only he in his wisdom could explain. Perhaps he saw in me a value or potential that his Handmaiden had not, and thought it a terrible waste to let dwindle in a scant life of mortality. Perhaps he thought, as I hoped to believe, that the purity of my body did not have to reflect the purity of my soul or intentions. But all this is mere speculation that this humble, repentant servant is unworthy of confirming.

As the shimmering golden aura ebbed from my body, it left me both shamefully grateful and singlemindedly determined to honor the gifts entrusted to me. I had been given to the temple in the name of the goddess, but I would leave it as a priestess of the Unconquered Sun. And I would live out the rest of my days in penance to her, using my Sun-blessed abilities for the benefit of others, just as Vesperna would have desired of me.

I remember all too well the eerie silence that fell throughout the temple when Katsuo and I emerged from that room together. Everyone in the vicinity had heard the High Priestess belittle me for my transgression, but they had also seen -- and felt -- the light of the Unconquered Sun that emanated through the cracks and windows of that very same room. It was unmistakable. All who had heard and witnessed these things knew me now to be one of the Solar Exalted, just as alien and feared and gazed upon with awe as the man who walked silently and sedately by my side. Those who did not knew that the High Priestess was gravely displeased with me, and I would be cast out from the Order, forever barred from the Lily Garden of my youth. No one dared speak as we passed them by. The sensation of their eyes on me was chilling; I felt as if I had become a ghost to their sight, a mirage stalking through their halls in the likeness of someone they had known but was now forever lost to them.

My steps took me not to my room to gather what little belongings the acolytes were allowed to keep, nor through the Lily Arch that would lead me past the temple grounds to the world outside. They brought me unerringly to the entrance of the underground treasury, where even the veteran sword-maidens standing guard bowed and turned their heads when I brought my anima to bear. They brought me into the Room of Orichalcum, an ancient chamber in which the few artifacts granted to Vesperna's servants to safeguard were hidden. The foundations of the Floating Lily Garden had been built in an Age long past -- these were relics from the time when Vesperna was still strongly associated with the Unconquered Sun, a time when even Solar Exalted may have shown her respect and worship. Resting in its own lacquered box at the far end of the chamber was a golden blade of immense proportions, embossed on either side with holy depictions of the goddess, and I knew it was what had called me there.

I held it for a time as Katsuo looked on, my hands exploring its contours and tracery, fingering the flawless, faceted crystal that rested in the dusty socket carved into the pommel. The Handmaiden's Harbinger, it was named in legend, for the very sight of it spelled ruin for the goddess's enemies, the undead and the unholy. Of the few items of worth that still remained within the chamber, the Harbinger was the only one that felt undoubtedly, undeniably mine. When the blade allowed me to handle it with ease, I wrapped it in the pure white cloth swaddling it within the box, and bore it upon my back to the surface.

The High Priestess awaited us at the Lily Arch. She had no words left for Katsuo or I, only gazed upon us with hardened, tearless eyes, her jaw set against what sorrow or frustration she may have felt. I allowed myself one last glimpse of her familiar visage -- and with an abrupt and deliberate motion, she turned away from me, striding purposefully back towards that which is her domain. It was the last I have ever seen of her or the temple in which I was raised.