Page 41 of Daughter of the Serpent

Chapter Nine

As the first streams of pink and gold greeted the morning sky, Sylvie approached the hallowed grounds with a mixture of trepidation and resolve. Entering into the sacrificial chambers, the scent of smoldering incense and blood lingered. Despite the completion of the rituals for the rebirth celebration, the daily tributes remained, placed before the towering statues of the gods. Some offered grain, food, and water, while others offered a sacrifice from the flesh, whether from the body or from that of their animals. Today, she brought forward one of her own offerings - one she had hoped would atone for her misgivings. Shame had haunted her dreams and memories over the past few days, cursing her actions with every weighted minute that had passed locked away in her living quarters. Tara had been separated from her the day after her ordeals, and she hadn’t seen a wisp of the man with the amber eyes, nor anyone else but the healer since. She had been shut in, alone - and she wasn’t sure what had been more punishment, the whip, or the mercilessness of her own relenting thoughts.

While in the past, it had often taken many days to weeks for her wounds to heal, this time the recovery process had been remarkablyswift. Even the healer who had attended her the following day was taken aback by the miraculous speed of her healing.

If only internal wounds healed just as quickly.

As she approached the intricately carved idols, she felt her limbs falter. She could feel the lingering shadows of her transgressions, like they had been woven into the tapestries around her, taunting her failure.

She could only hope the gods would be merciful.

Retrieving the satchel from her side, she unfastened the flap and extracted the dress gifted from Sonya. Though the gown had seen better days, her dress now torn and damaged, she felt it a fitting way to offer up her apologies. That night, they had not only ventured outside of the temple walls, but had also forsaken their vow to uphold their righteousness and purity, symbolized by their devotion of wearing only white. They had besmirched their name and their solemn vow to keep the modesty of their bodies and reputation.

Guilt curled in her belly. Though she had felt the pang of rebellion, she still had a great desire to please them. She always wanted to be pure, wholesome, and right - things people claimed she had never been. For all of her existence, she had only wanted to be a good person, who served the gods and the people well. She had hoped with all her years of service, the gods would see her heart, the purity of her intent, and mark her as worthy.

After all, she had devoted her whole life to them.

From the moment she lifted her eyes to greet the day, til the moment she shut them down again, she toiled in their favor and for their will. Yet it still felt like it was never enough, and it often felt like she was failing.

Despite molding herself into the servant she had been taught to be, she still couldn’t change the one thing that brought her the most disapproval - her eye.

The mark she could never be rid of, no matter how much she bolstered her faith.

Will you accept your fate?

Visions of her passage taken at the rite danced behind her eyes - the strange and dark voices that had whispered in her ear, raising to remembrance. The question reverberated through her, a clawed hand tightening around her throat. The urge to scream surged, but she swallowed it down, her hands trembling at her sides. The weight of those words threatened to crush her. To accept this fate - a life of servitude, of unquestioned obedience - meant surrendering the dream of something more.

All choice denied, her fate sealed.

Could she endure it?

Could she continue knowing the path before her was already carved in stone?

Her gaze lifted to the idols looming above her, their wooden faces etched with a certain reverence and power. Their eyes looked down upon her in silence.

Hallva, the All - Father.

Bård the God of wealth and abundance.

Freya, the goddess of strength and beauty.

Frigg, the goddess of wind and sea.

But none of them spoke.

Until the rite, none had ever so much as whispered to her, not as they had to others. For all the years of her wretched existence, their silence had stretched, heavy and damning.

As her eyes cast over their idols she felt a barrier, a divide so wide she wasn’t sure if she could bridge the gap.

Would she remain forsaken? An outcast even in the eyes of the gods?

The thought cut deep, a fresh wound among so many others. Her chest tightened, her pulse thrumming in her ears. She tore her gaze away, unable to endure their stares or judgement any longer. Instead, she busied herself with the beginnings of the ritual, as she reached for the bundle of sage and mugwort. The herbs flared to life under the flickering flame as she submerged them in the ceremonial fire lit at the gods feet. Blowing out the fire their earthy aroma curled intothe air as she waved the smoke around herself and the offering. She focused on the cleansing, the removal of any and all negative energy that clung like shadows, imploring the gods to clear her of her wicked heart.

She would start again.

She would clear away the darkness clinging to her spirit.

She would dedicate herself anew to the light, she vowed - even as the ache in her chest deepened.