CHAPTER 4

Date: February 10th, 110 P.A. / 2114 C.E.

The young priestess fidgeted nervously within a dimly lit room, the blood red curtains before her darkening the area. A glimmer of sunlight filtered through as a gentle breeze, smelling of salt and brine from the nearby sea, ruffled the fabric, glimpses of the balcony before her revealed to her eyes. Those golden rays illuminated particles of dust kicked up by the previous frenzied activities of the servants—but they had left awhile ago. Arei could hear conversations a few feet from her, overlooking the square below, packed with a large gathering of townspeople. Cries of arrays of emotions and volume floated up to her. She was to be presented to the people this day…and uncertainty, fear, made her bite her lower lip.

Arei had no desire to go out there…and as though he knew her emotions, a kind hand was placed on her shoulder to reassure her. She peered at the man in surprise. "Byron?"

Technically, he should not be touching her. Of that she had noticed quite swiftly in the past week…only her Handmaidens, her personal servant, were allowed to do such…and even then, it was for official purposes, not out of friendliness. God Abaddon was of course allowed to, but….

Well, he was uncomfortable of such, to say the least.

Yet Byron did not hesitate, and then gave her an encouraging smile to add, "Do not worry. Even if you fall on your face, no one can laugh at you. They'd be beheaded!"

Her eyes widened, and realizing she was not used to joking (and how could she be, considering her usual company?), his smiled faded, replayed by a sheepish grin. "Um…no, I did not mean that. They'd probably only go hungry for a few days, that's all."

She would not look him in the eyes, and he watched as she clasped her hands together. "But I don't want anyone to go hungry on my account!"

His smile returned. "That is sweet of you. Sometimes priestesses just don't care. Usually, in their past lines, they were noblewomen…and despite how God Abaddon attempted to cleanse them, they remained snobbish."

At the mention of past lives, curiosity prickled in the girl's mind. She asked, "Do you know who I was before the god gave me rebirth?"

What she had suspected, that she would not receive our answer, was confirmed when Attendant Byron shook his head, saying, "Does it really matter? Your old self is dead now, and you are who you are. Anything you were is nothing, as it should be."

Arei, if reluctantly, accepted what she said silently. Perhaps, she supposed, it was indeed better if she were not told. As her lord had put it, she had been alike to a grub, a worm beforehand…struggling to survive, with a fate that consisted of dying of the elements or by predators in this world. But now, with his aid, she had gone through a metamorphosis…a lunar moth, brilliant in the shadows, as he had so put it. So, looking at it as such, it was likely better that she remained oblivious—for if she knew, than she would know the suffering that could very well sully and embitter her now healed soul.

Yet, even though she knew what her life was now, she still couldn't help but wonder…just who she had been, and who was she now?

As they heard the Priests begin to shout to the audience in words of convincing praise, though all knew the truth of the allegiance, he pushed her forward gently. "All right, they're calling for you, High Priestess! Go get 'em!"

She did as he suggested, pushing past the heavy curtain, into the bright light. She repressed the urge to put a hand to her eyes, opening her eyes wide for a quick, if painful adjustment to the light. Immediately she felt grateful for the very opaque kimono she wore, that she had been given for her presentation. It was snow white, tied with a purple ribbon the color of her hair, with birds of an equal royal tone. Doves. Arei Dovasary. That was her last name. Dovasary.

But again, about the kimono. It was sweltering in this head, even though it was made by far lighter, with less layers than the traditional kimono of previous centuries. Yet, to her, it was very comforting in its soft texture, gleaming in the pale light. As she appeared in that manner, the chattering crowd became hushed…then, slowly, with exponential volume, cheers erupted. But also, among the shouts were…jeering. Scraps of harsh words rose up to her, and she quivered a bit, hurt and frightened. However, soon enough, there came a gentle voice, soothing, comforting to her perspective.

"Do not be offended, Arei. It always happens, for they forget easily: you are renewed."

She tried not to turn too quickly, yet inside, she was thankful for his presence. "Do they know me, my lord?"

"Not truly…but rumors never cease to arise. Especially considering how very young you are…a child compared to some of the others. That, more than anything else, will raise doubt.

"But I assure you, they will come to understand your worth. You are just as worthy as any who have come before you. Keep that in mind through their apprehension."

Suddenly, before she had time to blink, the sky tore, a bolt of lavender lightning shooting down from the clear sky, striking the tip of the marble obelisk erected in the center of the courtyard below. The Priests jumped on either side of her, and Arei herself stared, temporarily blinded. The silence that descended on the people below was deafening after the crack of thunder that swiftly followed. Thoughts turn to screams which poured from their eyes. It was a friendly reminder, her sire said, that my selection was of his choice, and that they had no right to question him.

Yet, before the teenager could say anything in response, she felt someone with hand shove her hard, deliberately, from behind, towards the edge of the balcony. The rail was very low, and so with her momentum unable to be shifted, she stumbled forward…and as planned, she tripped over the rail and fell, pushed over the edge. She was falling, down, down, down, the ground rushing up towards her, impact approaching her at a race. Ten feet, five feet, three, two—!

In her bed she jerked awake, in a cold sweat, shaking and shivering, her breathing coming quick and hard. Sitting up, she clutched her sheets around her tighter, feeling soaked through her nightgown, chilled despite the warm spring night air. Fear lanced through her as she recalled the nightmare, and she held back a frustrated cry…for she HATED dreamy. All that lay there were perverse terrors derived from memories…such as the incident.

In truth, the final part had been false. Displeased at the crowd's reaction, he had led her away, turning his back on his people, which had been enough to make their discontent attitudes with her alter. That night, there had been a terrible sandstorm, resulting in injury to more than one person, their skin flayed pink. It made her tremble, the though of what her lord's rage could result in.

"Another nightmare, my Priestess?"

She did not bother to glance around…she knew he was in another room. His room, opposite to hers. "The usual," she thought, knowing her would hear her. This was not necessarily true—there were no fire of blurred faces in this dream, bit it was equally frightening. Her heart raced just as fast after this imagining of falling as being surrounded by flame.

"They will pass, with time."

She hoped so….

For she was swiftly learning how much she despised to dream.