Black Morass her body

good, ione said, her voice low and steady, a warmth curling at the edges. she stepped closer to the altar, the subtle press of her frame a silent invitation for irene to come closer still. respect and wariness. these are wise feelings to carry. solentia does not take lightly to those who approach without thought.

she turned her head slightly, her gaze resting on irene with a rare softness. you see what others miss. you feel what others dismiss. the reverend mother’s tail flicked faintly, a gesture of quiet approval. this is what sets you apart, child. what makes you worthy.

ione gestured gently to the altar, her voice dipping into something almost conspiratorial, like she was offering the girl a secret only they could share. step closer, if you wish. feel its power. and when you do, remember—this altar, this faith, it is not for the faint of heart. it is for those who will rise to meet it.

her head tilted slightly, her lips curling into a faint smile. and you, irene—you are one who rises.