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

There is a warmth trying to fester within Stryx. It comes easily at first, fed by the presence of Erzulie, her comments, her understanding. Then there is something that restrains that warmth. Not enough kindling perhaps. An unwillingness to be open and truly present with another person. For too long the aged creatures who served Askleipeion had been her only constant; Erzulie was so much like them, Stryx thought. Secretive to some measure, and seemingly wise, but the similarities made Stryx suddenly resistent.

There was a look that Erzulie held as she looked upon Stryx, something motherly, but cold. Maybe she was seeing a chill where there was none. Hearing compliments which were not intended as such. The unspoken word hung between them for a moment and Stryx thought, surely, that she'd heard it spoken aloud; her ears twitched to slant, her eyes turned sharp.

She broke her momentary silence to murmur, I left the order before all the teachings could take root. It was forbidden for her to speak too openly about those women - equally so to evade them, abandon them. With time perhaps Stryx would break that vow, too.