Chapter Text
Night time on the Mithraeum was nearly silent, save for the faint thrum of some far off, unseen device. Harrowhark found herself unable to sleep once again, and opted to sit by the small window of her room, gaze on the smattering of stars in the vicinity. Her slightly chapped lips parted, tongue darting out to moisten them, before a knock at the door shakes her from the stupor.
“I know you’re in there.”
The voice of Ianthe causes the necromancer to groan, peeling herself from the window seat and shuffling over to the door. A boney hand opens it, and the shorter girl stands there, eyebrows raised in silence.
“What the hell do you want?”
There’s a pause, where the Reverend Daughter cringes at the tone, and her sister Lyctor simply gives her a smile akin to a predator confronting prey, not phased by the attitude.
“Oh, nothing. Just thought you’d want food.”
Harrow’s eyes are drawn to the outstretched hand containing a piece of fruit, but opts not to take it as she walks away to perch on the corner of her bed. Her hands clutched the dark fabric of her pants, painted lips screwed into a nervous frown as she stares at Ianthe.
“Why are you awake, Ianthe?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
The taller girl slips into the room, door sliding shut behind her before she falls languidly to her knees before Harrowhark, hand still clutching the pieces of fruit. One would think it was a position of worship, but the Reverend Daughter knew better. Ianthe worshipped no one but herself. And maybe, occasionally, the Emperor Undying on a good day.
“You know people are gonna start waking up soon, Harrowhark. Don’t you want to get some rest before you have to start doing things?”
“I’m not tired, Ianthe. Thank you very much for your concern.”
The unfamiliar venom in her voice has the Ninth necromancer’s brows furrowing and looking away as her sister Lyctor giggles softly and nods. As though she had given up on getting Harrowhark to eat, she deposits the fruits on a nearby nightstand and peels herself off of the floor with her hands clasped behind her back.
“The Gentle Emperor should be waking everyone up soon. I hope you’re ready.”
With that said, Ianthe turns on her heel as the door opens, and disappears into the hall as Harrowhark lays back down with a soft groan and her fingers pressing into her temples to stave off the headache. A shadow catches her eye, and she slowly turns her head to stare at the familiar sight of The Body standing in the corner of her room.
A ghostly hand reaches out, and the teen seems drawn to it as she sits up and shuffles over to the blonde apparition. Falling to her knees before her, Harrow is shocked to feel a gentle hand resting on the top of her head and fingers curling into her hair.
“Sleep.”
“I don’t want to..”
“I wasn't asking, harrowhark.”
Surprised by The Body’s stubbornness, the girl stands and shuffles over to her bed before flopping into it face first with the blonde sitting on the floor next to it. With the comfort of her love close, the Reverend Daughter finally falls into a fitful sleep.
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Another knock rouses Harrowhark, and her eyes open and trail over to where her guest had sat, but found herself disappointed when she was no longer there. Before she could finish waking up, the door sweeps open and the Emperor strides into the room.
“Harrow! Did I wake you?”
“...Only a little, my lord.” The girl says with a barely contained sigh, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed as her head hangs low. A hand reaches for the fruit still sitting nearby, and she takes a small bite before setting it back down.
“Excellent! We have a lot to do today, so I need you awake..more awake than this.”
A gentle snap of fingers in front of her eyes rouses her as she begins to drift off again, and she jumps up and moves to the sink to rinse her face. The girl turns, greeted with the sight of her God focused on the tablet that never seemed to leave his pocket..or his hands for that matter.
Retrieving the makeup from a derelict drawer, Harrowhark reapplies it before the sight of eyes that didn’t belong to her appearing in the mirror, causes her to drop the tin and jump back. Heart pounding, she stoops to retrieve the makeup, ignoring the eyes of the Emperor on the back of her skull as she finishes what she had been doing.
Makeup finished, and positively awake, the Ninth necromancer pulls a dark hood over her head as she follows John into the hall, where they’re joined by Ianthe and two others. The two elder Lyctors, who Harrow had learned were named Augustine and Mercymorn, seemed to be bickering quietly. The sight of the Emperor quieted them, and they followed him while throwing half hearted glares back and forth.
“Mercy called him a mean spirited little man, he called her a needy woman..it’s all very juvenile.” Ianthe whispered, and Harrowhark finds herself unable to contain the little smile that appeared at the thought that even the Emperor's Saints were still at the mercies of human emotions.
“What are we doing?” Harrow’s voice breaks the silence, and she catches sight of the older woman, Mercymorn rolling her eyes, before Augustine glances over his shoulder to shrug nonchalantly.
“Whatever the Emperor needs us to.”
“What the hell kind of answer is that?”
Ianthe’s shrill voice fills the corridor, and Mercymorn lets out an audible groan before spinning to face the younger Lyctor.
“It means shut up and listen for once, and you might actually get your questions answered, little baby.” The Saint of Joy turns back around and continues on her way, followed by Augustine and two shaken baby Lyctors.
Their walk takes them to an unfamiliar but ornate door where the Emperor has stopped and turned to wait for the group to catch up. Once everyone had gathered close enough, a wicked smile appeared on his face.
“It’s family therapy time.”
The door swung open to reveal unfamiliar objects, but Mercymorn and Augustine had walked right in and seated themselves at a table containing an odd game with letters on tiles. Like they’d seen it before.
“What the absolute fuck is this?”