Page 13 of Daughter of the Serpent

"It’s brought me nothing but pain," Sylvie replied bitterly. "I’ve gained no more skill than when I first arrived at the temple. I have magic, but it refuses to spark. Everything I have, I've earned with my own two hands. I can’t trust it to bring me luck or special favor from the gods."

"Yet you persist," Tara noted, her voice gentle. "You’re still here, defying the odds - you have been blessed with much more than others born of affliction."

"I'm grateful for life.” Sylvie nodded solemnly. “I just wish I knew why the gods spared me, and what fate they have in store for me."

"Then let's discover it!" Tara declared, the anger dissipating as quickly as it had come. "We must seize the moment and embrace life, rather than dwelling on the worries of tomorrow."

Sylvie nodded, in agreement.

“Now, let’s leave this wretched ordeal behind, and talk of the future.” Tara collapsed onto her bed with certain enthusiasm, stretching out on her back with a weighty sigh. "Do you still have the dresses?”

Sylvie took in a large breath. “Yes…but that doesn’t mean we should keep them.”

“What do you mean?” Tara gasped, quickly flipping onto her stomach, shock meeting her eyes. “You cannot be serious.”

Sylvie removed the satchel from her shoulders quickly stashing it underneath her bed. Surveying the room, she quickly deduced that the wash maids had already completed their nightly rotations. There would be no inspection tonight, and she sighed gratefully.

Nightly inspections were commonplace at the temple, and were customary to root out any forbidden items that contradicted the ministry's standards. Upon conversion, any such items in their possession were to be quickly discarded, and if any were discovered thereafter, quick and decisive punishment followed. One was to completely start afresh, emptying oneself of any earthly attachment, ties to their former self, and even their family name. All were to embrace one singular and collective identity as children of the light, without title or distinction.

“If these dresses are found, we could suffer severe punishment - you know this.”

"Yes, but did we not just decide to live life to the fullest? Tara said desperately, “We cannot miss the festivities tonight!”

Sylvie cautioned. "The last thing we need is another uproar. If I’m seen again, without Hjalmarr’s protection, I don’t know what we’ll do."

“We will be cautious.” Tara assured her, walking toward her and taking her hands in hers. “We will be silent like the night. We will call upon the goddess of silence to soften our steps - just like last season.”

“We were extremely lucky last season,” Sylvie recalled, a small smile emerging on her lips, remembering how exhilarating it had been to slip away.

They had only made it to the edge of the property and had watched the celebration from afar. She had never seen so many people in one place at once, and the whole town square had beenalive and muddled with energy and movement. What she would have given to have gotten closer, joined in the dancing, been among the crowd, and have just been normal for a night. Just a night where she could leave behind the dogma and the rules, and just be free.

Such a risk was foolish, and she knew better. They couldn't risk being seen, especially in such a crowd where no doubt all sorts of delectable and sinful delights would occur - yet the thought was exhilarating just the same.

“If we wait till late enough in the night Hjalmarr will believe we're asleep and then we can make our escape.”

Lost in thought, Sylvie found herself revisiting Sonya’s words, their echo resonating in her mind.

I believe one should always choose their own destiny.

Despite Sylvie's desire to be the voice of reason, she could feel her internal struggles reaching a breaking point. She couldn't deny that those words had stirred a deep longing within her.

Was such a thought really possible?

Could one choose their own fate, in a world where all was foretold and certain?

Recollections of her past escapade lingered in her mind, intensifying her hunger for more. The rush of rebellion, the forbidden thrill, and the empowerment of acting solely for herself were etched deeply in memory. Since that day, she struggled to recall the last time she had truly taken action on behalf of herself without reservation. In this unforgiving world, authenticity was a liability she couldn't afford.

“Do you think it’s a good idea to try our luck again?” Sylvie asked. “We could get caught this time.”

The vision of the high priest slipped into her mind, his heated face, his hot hand reddened by the slap and burn of her skin against his fist. It hadn’t been that long ago that she had flared his temper.

“And miss out on this opportunity? I think it’s worth the risk, don’t you?” Tara exclaimed. “Besides, we only have another few weeks before the tests and examinations could begin. We should seize this moment.”

Sylvie hesitated, considering the thought. Maybe she was right. How much longer would it be before she was punished again for something she said or did that strayed out of line? It felt as though every other day she was summoned to the high priest’s quarters, shamed for failing to perfectly align with her duty. Joy was scarce, satisfaction even rarer. She had learned to suppress her thoughts, her desires, and to endure in silence - pushing through each day until she could retreat to the solitude of her quarters, where only her closest friend offered a brief reprieve. Yet, despite her efforts, Sylvie’s heart yearned for more. For freedom. For adventure. It ached to know the foreign sensation of genuine joy, to taste the forbidden: the press of a man’s lips, the warmth of another’s body. She longed for the life denied to her - a life beyond the suffocating confines of this existence.

Shame burned inside her then, as she prayed the gods couldn’t read her thoughts. She figured they must not often at least, for she was sure she surely would have been crucified by now if they did. She sighed, grappling with the expectation to feel grateful for her life and duty. Yet, all she encountered was emptiness – a monotonous cycle of service and neglect, leading to what end?

To ascend and be a mouthpiece for the high priest who exacted such pain and cruelty?