Chapter Text
The room is freezing, silent, and filled with the scent of sacred incense. Pramanix is sitting cross-legged, her massive bell resting beside her. She is supposed to be "communing with Kjeragandr." In reality, she’s trying to take a nap.
< ENYA. >
A white, jagged eye suddenly slides open on the back of her neck, blinking against her fur collar. < THE WIND IS HOWLING. IT IS ANNOYING. > A black tendril snakes out from her sleeve and aggressively pulls her hood lower over her ears. < WE SHOULD GO OUTSIDE AND BITE THE HEAD OFF A SNOW BEAST. >
"For the tenth time, we are in a state of 'Holy Silence,'" Pramanix whispered, her breath visible in the cold air. "And don't call me Enya. Here, I am the Saintess. If the handmaidens hear me talking to myself, they’ll think I’ve finally lost it."
< THEY ALREADY THINK YOU ARE STRANGE. > A small, toothy maw forms on her shoulder, whispering directly into her ear while its "tongue" tries to taste the incense smoke. < YOU TALK TO BELLS. WE ARE MUCH MORE INTERESTING... >
The maw suddenly stretches wide, mimicking a silent yawn < ...THAN A PIECE OF BRONZE. >
"That 'piece of bronze' is the Bell of Kjerag," she sighed, adjusting her heavy robes. "It represents the will of the Goddess."
< IT REPRESENTS A HEADACHE. > Pramanix’s stomach suddenly gave a violent, wet churn that made her wince. < IF YOU RING IT AGAIN, WE WILL BE FORCED TO VOMIT OUT YOUR BREAKFAST. >
A soft knock came at the door. Matterhorn, seconded from SilverAsh’s detail to check on her, stepped in with a tray of hot tea and jerky.
"Saintess," Matterhorn said, bowing his head. "Your brother requested I bring you sustenance. He is concerned you are... overexerting yourself with meditation."
< THE BIG BULL! > Pramanix’s spine suddenly straightened with a crack as Venom surged with excitement. < HE BROUGHT THE DRIED MEAT! WE FORGIVE HIM FOR HIS LACK OF STYLE. >
"Thank you, Matterhorn," Pramanix said with a graceful, practiced smile. "Enciodes is too kind. Please, leave it on the table."
As Matterhorn set the tray down, a black, oily tendril—thin as a thread—slithered out from under Pramanix’s white fur cape. It moved with the speed of a striking cobra, snaring a piece of jerky and retracting before Matterhorn could even blink.
Matterhorn paused. He looked at the jerky pile. He looked at the Saintess. "...Did the meat just... move?"
"The wind in the tower is quite strong today," Pramanix said, her voice like silk, even as her left cheek bulged unnaturally as Venom aggressively chewed inside her jaw.
< NEEDS MORE SALT. > A muffled, wet crunching sound echoed from somewhere inside her chest cavity. < TELL THE BULL MAN THE JERKY IS ADEQUATE BUT LACKS CHARACTER. >
"I see," Matterhorn said, his eyes narrowing. He was a master chef; he knew when food was missing. "The wind is hungry today, it seems."
Suddenly, a loud CLANG echoed through the tower. A monk outside had struck the Great Bell to signal the afternoon prayer.
The reaction was instantaneous. Inside Pramanix, Venom let out a digital-sounding screech of agony.
< THE NOISE! > Pramanix’s skin began to ripple like boiling oil, her fingernails momentarily sharpening into claws that dug into her thighs. < STOP THE CLANGING, ENYA! KILL THE BELL! >
Pramanix’s body jerked. To Matterhorn’s horror, her shadow suddenly expanded, rising up the wall in a terrifying, jagged shape with white, slanted eyes that seemed to peel away from the floorboards.
"Saintess! Are you alright?" Matterhorn reached for his shield.
"I'm fine!" Pramanix squeaked, grabbing her own Bell of Kjerag to steady herself—which only made it worse as the small bell jingled.
< NOT THE TINY ONE EITHER! > A black tendril whipped out and tried to wrap itself around the bell's clapper to muffle it. < STOP THE JINGLING! >
In a fit of sensory-overloaded pique, a massive black hand erupted from Pramanix's back, grabbed a heavy silver tea canister from the tray, and hurled it with Olympic force at the meditation room's door, slamming it shut to muffle the sound of the Great Bell outside.
THOOM.
The room went silent. Matterhorn stood frozen, his hand on his sword hilt. Pramanix sat there, one arm still human and graceful, the other—erupting from her spine—holding the rest of the tea set as if weighing it for another throw.
"...An interesting new miracle, Saintess," Matterhorn said dryly, after a long silence. "I didn't know Kjeragandr practiced shot-put."
Pramanix closed her eyes, her face bright red. "It is... a very aggressive blessing, Matterhorn. Please... just leave the tray."
The massive hand shriveled back into her robes, though a small, bashful-looking eye popped out of her collar to look at the jerky. < IF THAT BELL RINGS AGAIN, WE ARE EATING YOUR BROTHER'S BIRD. >
"If you touch the silver hawk, I will ring this bell again," Pramanix hissed under her breath.
< .YOU ARE A CRUEL GODDESS. > The eye vanished, and Pramanix’s shadow finally returned to its normal, snowy-leopard-shaped self.