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The Priest and the Grand Prioress came for her early in the morning. She didn’t make a fuss. She’d long learned any fuss she made was sure to lead them to believe the dāemon was overpowering her will. She walked behind them obediently, head bowed and chains clinking as they exited the north wing and headed right. Her palms began to sweat, the dāemon already bridling with nervous anticipation. She didn’t know what to expect, but she knew it wouldn’t be good with the manner of things they’d done to her already.

It bleated in her ankle, the back of her skull, right wrist to her shoulder. The usual pain of its song. They took her into a room. A new room. One she hadn’t been in before. Her vexation increased when she spotted the array of vases spread over the floor. Several incense sticks were stuffed into each one. The same incense sticks that were usually only lit during temple in order to purify the air.

Shackles awaited her. This part wasn’t new, but her heart rate still spiked at the sight. The Grand Prioress ushered her over to them, and she took her place on the floor so she could lock them around her quivering wrists.

The Priest swept out of the room and came back carrying one of the torches that lined the hallway. He leaned down and began lighting the many incense sticks, his face void of expression. She wanted to ask them what they were doing, but she knew they wouldn’t be forthcoming. They thought it would privy the dāemon to their plans and give it time to prepare.

Thick streams of smoke filled the air as the Priest continued lighting more and more incense sticks. He coughed, waving a hand over his face. He gave the Grand Prioress a look, and she filed out of the room, coming back seconds later armed with a torch of her own to aid him in lighting the rest of them.

The suffocating perfume clotted the air. It singed her nostrils and sharpened the dull ache in her head. Her eyes burned. She recalled a memory of Syra saying the smoke of the incense carried our prayers to the heavens. She started repeating the prayer they’d ingrained into her head.

Heavenly Father, cleanse my heart.

From the shadows that tear apart…

The smoke had already gotten so thick the Priest took to holding the collar of his robe over his mouth and nose as they finished lighting the last of the incense sticks.

Renew my spirit, make me whole,

Purge the darkness from my soul

The chains protected her for a short while, but as the smoke began to hover like a dark brewing storm cloud, breathing became more difficult. She coughed, waving a shackled hand over her face as the smoke lingered around her. Her lungs were already burning. The Priest and the Grand Prioress started toward the door. “Wait! I can’t breathe,” she pleaded.

They ignored her. “No, please! Don’t leave me in here!” The door shut behind them with a loud clack. Her heart plunged forward, each breath like a thousand razor-sharp blades in her lungs.

With--your--grace-- I-- shall-- rise

Beyond-- where-- the-- dāemon's— darkness—

Lies.

She dipped her head to the floor where the air was cleanest. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

In your love, I find my rest

With every breath--

Still, the smoke gathered and thickened.

With every breath--

She gasped out a sob. Her nose burned, and she coughed and wheezed violently. Tears gathered and streamed down her cheeks. Her vision blurred, and her head lightened as dizziness overcame her. The dāemon rose up in her swiftly, a siren call in her blood. It surged out of her like a storm, a gust of wind, snuffing out incense sticks and shattering vases as it sent them clattering against the other wall.