Seaside Moors Maybe I should get to church on Sunday...

it was there, a thin rime clinging to the underside of an otherwise pleasant expression. not cruel, but probing, wondering. erzulie was a reactive woman. given the barest hint of a sign that stryx was not to be trusted, the fire just beneath her skin would be provoked.
and yet there was nothing provocative about the other healer, nothing that erzulie could see might threaten rusalka.
intrigue now, and her gaze turned to honey even as stryx' own became shrewd.
"i was also part of an order once," the harlot purred, not taking the moment to question her companion. "i left before i could be ... domesticated." a different order, sure, the warm rooms where marie had brought her girls, but a cultish thing all the same, rot rampant along the shadowed parts no one else was able to see.