Page 80 of The Cerulean Sister
"First Mother does not make mistakes. A stronger priestess would not have been tested as you have. Your faults are many, and when your faith is tested . . . you routinely fail her. She knows this," Crixa says.
"Forgive me. I beg forgiveness from First Mother and my highest."
The closest thing to hurt crosses her face for a brief moment. I hate myself for feeling anything at the sight of it . . . but I do. I don't know why part of me still feels like crying when she is disappointed in me; it scares me to know I have any empathy left for her at all.
"Your chance for forgiveness was written into our laws by your priestess sisters before you. I will do my duties as the Highest Priestess of Cosima, as I hold my vows at the utmost of importance. Even if the taking back of a fallen priestess is not what I want, it is for the betterment of the order, its future. You see, I am not without flaws, my dear. But I overcome them. I do not let my feelings of opposition cloud my judgment,myvow."
I can't meet her eyes again and risk seeing something that reminds me I loved this woman like a mother once.
Remember, she hurt you, used you. She is a master manipulator and anything you feel is the effect of that.
She grabs my chin, making me look up into her powdery blue eyes. "You renew your vow to the temple and to First Mother before the highest priestess of your order. State your name under First Mother’s loving embrace." She says the verse curt and monotone.
I can't help the stinging in my eyes, the moisture leaking from my nose from holding everything in.
She wants me to lie, even as I come to her under false pretenses of wanting forgiveness, a ruse of devotion. The opposite of who I had to pretend to be for her before. Yet even now, she wants me to lie further, to muck up, to complicate and twist me to her wishes.
I have wanted to say these words all my life.
What I have now is enough,I promise myself.
My throat is so tight as I swallow. If I have ever come close to true blasphemy, then this may be it.
"Blessed is the embrace of First Mother, the temple, and the . . . highest priestess. Blessed devotion to me . . .HighPriestess—" I gasp, almost choking on my words. "High Priestess Ferren of Cosima."
Chapter
Twenty-Two
I'm escorted out of the bowels of the Estate by guards, ushered forward to follow Lord Hollis and Crixa at the front. I draw in a crisp breath, finally able to taste fresh air again.
The Estate is busy with people like it is during any day, but the darkness makes it look haunted as handmaids walk around focused on their tasks, not even looking my way. It's a relief to still see the small hue of gold coming from the sky, letting me know I have time before the last days of the conjunction.
I am taken to a familiar wing, one I walked almost every day of my life here. I know the statues, the special flowers and candles used in this portion of the Estate. The doors are carved with precision, depicting different scenes from creation.
We stop at the door depicting First Mother’s hands coming down from the moon and presenting the very first highest priestess to her congregation, the one who would lead us into the new age. I know this wing well enough to know that Lord Hollis and the guards should not be here, even if Crixa halts them to wait outside.
The moment the doors are opened, the steam from the large bathing pool dampens my skin. The bathhouse is warm, and myold, dirty clothes stick to me, I have the urge to strip them and wade into the water.
Several elder priestesses from the Estate temple are dressed in plain gowns, waiting for me in the shallows. They hold linen, oil, and boar brushes to cleanse me, to scrub away who I was before in the sacred water.
Their expressions are unreadable as they stand perfectly still, waiting for Crixa to instruct them.
"Complete the ceremony, High Priestess," she says.
I turn away to remove my outer gown and step out of my temple slippers to walk into the steaming water. I hold my arms out for balance and close my eyes, letting the hot water seep into my sore feet. I have blisters from pacing in my cell for days in order to avoid the vermin imprisoned with me.
Once the water reaches my calves, I am grabbed by the wrist and pulled to walk fast out to the other elders. The pins in my hair are yanked out by the root and my dark chemise is pulled over my head.
They roughly scrub the bristles of their bathing brushes over me, the rigorousness stinging the thin skin on my collarbones and ribs. Oil is poured over my head and the elders begin scrubbing at my hair, holding out long locks like strands of spider legs all around me.
The wounds and bruises on my hand burn as they wash them. I am spun back toward Crixa for them to finish, holding my forearm across my breasts. A surprisingly strong elder immediately forces the limb out to be scrubbed.
I cup my sex with my palm, desperate for modesty. I can't bear to look anywhere other than the oily suds gathering around my thighs, but one of them swats at my hand for me to let go.
I was not this red and inflamed during this ceremony before, as the elders then were gentle, motherly. Tenderly exfoliating to make me new and ready for my life devoted to the temple. I criedthrough most of it, even remembering one wiping a tear away and hugging me.
The elders move out of the way, and I am turned toward the deep end of the pool, where a statue of First Mother is depicted in a fountain that spills into the water.
