Page 118 of The Cerulean Sister
She bows her head slightly, turns down the aisle, but then pauses like she has forgotten something. "Some day when we have a moment, I would like to hear your ascension story. Was it on that other world?"
"It was," I lie.
Her smile is genuine.
"And will you finally tell me of yours?" I ask.
"Yes."
I can't watch her exit the temple, walking slow and somber like a ghost, so I look up at the statue of First Mother adorned with flowers and candles.
The stones I held in my hands are below her, nestled and protected here within the temple ward.
I let myself get lost in the atmosphere again, basking in the silent temple, but even in the peacefulness, I feel like an intruder in this pew. I cannot remember the last time I said a prayer. One that is of my own will and not simply bowing my head during forced temple attendances.
Prayer may have never truly served me before, used only to ease my fears and anxiety, but if First Mother ever listens, I hope it is now. When I have come to such an impasse that I do not know if I will be able to continue.
I take a deep breath and center myself, just like I did before, when prayer was an integrated ritual in every part of my life.
I do not shut my lids or get down on my knees. I stay seated, staring up at the statue of First Mother, looking into her stone eyes.
"I have not turned my back on you. How can I when you have never spoken to me, when you lie asleep?" I whisper, the words coming out on their own. I am lost to them. "How can you sleep while your children do monstrous things to each other? How can a mother sleep knowing what we do? I will not ask for forgiveness, First Mother, but if my sister is harmed because you slumber and will not help me . . . you will have to beg formyforgiveness before I turn to you again."
My last words come out harsh and wild, and I stare up at First Mother's stone face, unmoved. If another heard how I was speaking to her, there would be no hope for me ever ending my atonement.
I take a large inhale and calm myself, remembering whom I still speak to. Even if I feel differently praying now, like a bitter child asking for their absent mother, I still need her help.
"I will not sin against you with a lie that I will devote myself in the same way as I did before, but I will defend your temple, your stones with my life if you help me, and I will never ask anything of you again."
I relax in the pew, pressing against the backrest to wait for some kind of sign, to be given divine knowledge for what steps I need to take next, but it never comes.
I wait for so long, another priestess comes into the temple, seeking solitude just like I have.
The lesser priestess sits a few rows ahead of me, across the aisle, and bows her head to pray. It's not unusual for temple members to float in and out when service is not in session, finding moments throughout the day to get extra clarity.
I wonder if I know her, if she is working toward her ascension or just took her vows. But for some reason, I cannot stopchecking in her direction, a primal feeling of alertness I do not dare ignore.
She keeps her head down a little unnaturally, her veil pinned a little too far forward.
The more I examine her, the more I cannot pinpoint what seems off. She looks like she belongs, but somehow, she stands out.
I cannot shake the odd sense that something is wrong, and soon it becomes all-out dread.
I shouldn't use my gifts, but I am desperate to know why her energy is so off-putting. I close my eyes and feel a surge of power as my gift of mind's eye wakes from its slumber and reaches across to slither up the aisle into her pew and probe at her mind.
But nothing happens.
She does not open to me or even react at all, as if I am trying to see into the head of a statue instead of a person.
She has no gifts that I can sense blocking entry, so I press further and my tether bounces away.
When I open my eyes, she stands from the pew, keeping her face forward, veil shielding her identity.
A shell of a person, here butnot,all at once. A mind erased entirely and still it felt . . . familiar.
A prickly pain starts to spread across my chest, concentrating directly on my scar. I touch the spot where I was wounded and remember.
I have seen inside the mind of someone like this before, so unique and utterly terrifying.
