Dragoncrest Cliffs some things only god can forgive

Her forelimbs bled freely after the objects were anointed. As much as it hurt it reminded Indra that she was present and alive in the moment, and that gave her comfort. The smell of the blood upset her stomach and she wondered if that was by virtue of its metallic smell, or the familiarity of it. There were memories in the blood. The more she dripped on to the altarpoints the more safe she felt from them.

The girl had just gotten to the last object for a second time when she started to feel a little bit dizzy. The wounds were deep and so the bleeding was more profuse than necessary, and as Indra was unpracticed in harming herself for this ritual, she hadn't accounted for the hazy feeling as it descended upon her.

Maybe that was why Rosalyn's sudden appearance didn't surprise her.

When the old woman moved towards the altar Indra thought, no, don't! And after a second she moved to prevent the objects from being disturbed, but it felt like she was moving in slow motion. The shells clattered like dice and scattered among the flowers; the wing was tipped over so that the blood that stained the feathers hit the dirt, and Indra didn't notice where the aloe shafts went - it was all gone, all —ruined, you've ruined it! What are you doing?! STOP!

Using her forelimbs now, she lunged to try and gather the objects as if they were incredibly precious, and while most of them were lost she found the wing and pulled it in close with a wince. A glare set itself upon the girl's face and she looked madly to the old woman.

I wasn't cursing anybody! It was for — I was protecting! Each item had come from a different place of power, each smelling strongly of a woman of Sapphique. Mother, maiden, crone, she did not know these coincidences, but they were present in her work.