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Julia lay on a cold metal cot, staring past the dark ceiling in the relatively silent quarters. Her body tingled with exhaustion, as she waited to fall into the arms of Morpheus. Arms crossed beneath her head, she listened to Belle’s soft, rhythmic snoring, hoping for a warm blanket of sleep to fall over her. Even after long days of battle or training, hours of litanies, and penance, her mind would not allow the rest her body craved. Instead, her thoughts filled with memories of the fateful day Sister Magdala took her away.
Her mother, Emmaleigh, smiled warmly at the child sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter. Something was wrong with the tall, lean woman’s eyes. What she glimpsed was the sad desperation of her mother—the woman who birthed her, the woman who would let them take her away.
Julia returned the smile and bounced excitedly on the stool as her mother reached into the oven. She extracted a delicacy they could never afford until today: an apple pie.
The aroma permeated the kitchen, making Julia’s mouth water. She’d never smelled anything like it before.
‘Is it ready now?’ asked the girl impatiently.
‘Five more minutes, sweetheart, then you can have a slice,’ her mother replied. Emmaleigh’s chuckle rang through her memory like a bell.
‘I can blow on it so it cools down faster.’
‘No. You must learn patience, Julia. Rewards come to those who wait and work hard. Now finish your drawing, and then the pie will be ready.’
Julia nodded sadly and looked down at her unfinished drawing of an Aquilla. She struggled to remember if the bird looking forward had the open eye or if it was the one looking back. Her mother would be disappointed if she got it wrong. She decided it had to be the one looking forward. Tongue between her teeth, she took a chance and drew the eye.
A strobing red light broke the darkness of the artificial night. With a deep sigh, Julia sat on the edge of the cot, scratching the bumps on her scalp with her right hand. She flexed the enhanced fingers of her left, massaging the fine motors that knitted her remaining nerves. As Julia stood with the other penitent sisters, waiting for instructions, the phantom pain of the replaced limb persisted.
Her body ached from flesh to bone to augmentic. Some fresh injuries and old wounds vied for her attention, but she embraced the pain. She deserved it. Julia’s mind filled with memories of the witch who sowed the seed of doubt in her mind and caused her to take the Oath of Repentance.
His long nose, pale, pasty skin, and the knowing smirk he wore as he violated the sanctity of her mind were etched forever in her memory. Those putrid black eyes of his peered playfully into hers. A wave of fiery rage burned through her. The heretic had shattered the will and resolve of her squad and subsequently paralysed them. He unweaved her faith, years of resolution and dogma and reduced her to a cowering, terrified child. Oh, the shame she felt for falling prey to a measly psyker. She had let him escape. She struggled with the insurmountable guilt that came with her failure, which was only made bearable by the physical wound she could wear over it.
The witch had simply sauntered away. Julia, Sabine, Mila, Belle, and Luvia struggled against his heretical powers as incomprehensible forces shattered their armour of contempt. No, not Luvia. She had recovered quickly and fought the witch for a time, but he escaped nonetheless. Luvia’s failure in battle, not of will or faith, had brought her to renounce her name and rank, joining the squad in the quest for repentance.
A klaxon blared, pulling Julia away from her shame. She had been lost in time longer than she expected. The cots had been pushed against the walls of the room. Mistress Delphine Delongchamps stood in the centre of the makeshift arena, barking orders.
‘The Aurea Veritas is ready to translate into the warp. We will journey to the world of Sonloran, where we shall deliver the Emperor's justice to an incursion of traitor forces and sympathetic cults.’ The mistress smoothly transitioned from orders to briefing, while the crimson alert lights strobed over her. Beneath her right hand stood an altar with a flickering candle, symbolising the Emperor’s Holy Light. It would shield them as the ship made its way through the perils of the Warp.
The scent of incense replaced the sour smell of sweat. Julia’s stomach rumbled loudly as the memory of the aroma of freshly baked apple pie resurfaced in her mind. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Her hunger would have to wait. Her life was one of war, deprivation and repentance. Everything had to wait.
‘Is your penance funny?’ growled Delongchamps as the strobing light passed over her face once more. Her sharp, dark eyes glared at Julia with a deep rage. ‘You’ve been here almost a year now, failing to be forgiven in combat by the Holy Emperor, and you smile?’
Julia did not reply. If the sister had an ounce of humour within her soul, Julia would have returned that her joy was their coming mission. Instead, she averted the mistress’ steely gaze with a well-practised mask of shame.
After another short blare of the klaxon, the strobing light suddenly stopped. Mistress Delongchamps looked away; her brow creased as the silence rang throughout the vessel. The process was never this short; Julia could only ponder the reasons.
Delongchamps, still wearing a scowl, clicked open a vox link and listened to whoever was on the other end. Julia and the other Repentant Sisters waited patiently.
The woman rolled her eyes at the words of her interlocutor. Her reply came loud and filled with questioning condescension.
‘Is that all? Do you fear the darkness of the Warp?’ she asked. 'Where is your Navigator’s faith?' demanded Delongchamps. Her voice betrayed her annoyance and resentment.
‘The absence of faith is the mark of the weak and leads to the path of damnation. You would do well to remember that. Now pray, and the Emperor's Light will protect and guide us through our journey into the Warp,’ she scolded and immediately clicked off the vox link.
Moments later, the strobing light coloured the dark room crimson once more. The corner of the stern woman’s lips curled slightly upwards as the klaxon blared again. She held her head high and squared her shoulders. Julia resisted the urge to comment on the Mistress’ pride.
Pride is a gateway to heresy, but Delongchamps knew that and would not take kindly to the reminder. Julia remained impassive and awaited further instructions.
‘We've been chosen to deliver the Emperor's judgement on Sonloran,’ announced Delongchamps again. ‘You will stand in His name and purge the heretics. Some of you will achieve the highest honour and rest, forgiven by the Emperor, but others will live to purge again. You have been called upon to be His judgement, and you will cleanse the impure, the xenos, and the heretic. You will show no mercy to the filthy traitors that try to take Sonloran from the light of the Emperor!’ barked Delphine.
‘We live by the Emperor's grace and die in His name,’ Julia's voice rose, joining that of the repentant.
‘As we venture into the Warp, it is our duty to ensure the safe passage of the Aurea Veritas. Now that the initial stages of the journey have finally begun, I will read the litanies as requested by the Lord Captain of this vessel.’
The woman cleared her throat smugly and opened a ship-wide vox channel.
‘We serve the Emperor with our faith and devotion. But there must also come sacrifice with faith.’ Delongchamps' voice echoed through the halls of the ship.
‘We live by the Emperor's grace and die in His name,’ intoned the sisters once more. The Mistress of Repentia continued praying for the Emperor’s Light to give safe passage to the vessel, and Julia replied to the litanies out of rote.
Soon, the stern, smug woman closed the channel. The klaxon blared again, and the strobing lumens continued as a lump of unease rose into Julia’s throat, the telltale sign that the ship had begun its journey into the Immaterium.
‘Let us pray for the Emperor’s guidance and mercy upon our souls. May you be forgiven for your trespasses and purge the evil that assails the Imperium. May we stand strong and tall, a bulwark against the darkness threatening the Emperor’s Light and may we die in His name.’
The Sisters knelt and bowed their heads.
As the vessel's engine lurched and the gellar field engaged, former Sister Superior Julia Sansoucy, now a nameless Sister Repentia, cleared her mind and focused on the Emperor’s Light, dispelling her unease.
As she did so, her thoughts wandered to the witch again, stirring a dark rage that caused her skin to crawl. She grimaced at the memory of his snide smile and pride. She recalled the moment her faith had wavered, and shame washed over her like a tidal wave. An Astartes had done what she could not. The Emperor’s Angel had been immutable, incorruptible and captured the witch.
How could she have failed the Emperor?
The Emperor had forsaken her. He should have protected her, and her faith should have been enough. Never again would she allow the evils of this world to lie, manipulate, and corrupt her.
Julia scolded herself again for her heretical thoughts. A sudden shiver ran through her spine. Something was wrong; she was failing again.
A bright golden light reached out from the darkness of her mind and grew a thousand-fold until the warmth of His light filled her mind and soul. Slowly, the image of a man, a god, came into view. He sat on an ornately decorated golden throne. His eyes as golden as the light emanating from his Holy Spirit. He smiled at her, his glorious sword in his gauntleted hand, encouraging her to stand until she could stand no more. The mistress had taught her that on her first day at the schola, she vaguely remembered.
The golden aura of the Emperor protected her.
‘A sister of battle turns to the Emperor in her times of need,’ she murmured.
As she filled her heart with the golden light, she watched him, felt his power, prayed for his protection. Suddenly, the light receded, leaving her in the dark room of her mind. Julia climbed slowly to his throne, her awe replaced with fear as his sword clattered loudly to the ground. With every step she took, an armour plate slid off his body and was replaced with rotting flesh and bone, intertwined with wires, connected to the golden throne.
Soon, there was but a small amount of armour clinging to an undead Emperor who remained silent, cold, impassive, helpless on a throne. A symbol of power and faith destroyed, now just a man, a corpse of rot with empty eye sockets, and flesh slipping off his skeletal frame, dripping putrid substances around the base of the seat.
Julia scrunched up her nose at the putrid stench. The Emperor was dead. She knew it in her heart. He had shown her the truth. She stared at what used to be the ruler of mankind, her defender, her father and now a mess of oozing body parts, bones and wires, until he… it rose a gauntleted finger and pointed at her accusingly. The digit fell to the ground, followed by the entirety of the golden hand. Julia screamed as a cold sweat shook her.
The Emperor was dead, but he was also alive. He had one foot in the Immaterium and the other in the Material world. Her heart hammered against her chest as fear rocked her, and she whimpered.
She shook her head violently and forced her thoughts to the shrine where she had prayed for forgiveness. It flickered into existence in her thoughts, but a pair of comforting emerald eyes soon replaced it. They glimmered with passion as Luvia’s stern face called to Julia.
It’s not right, this is not right.
She pushed back at the thoughts of Luvia and the terrible images of an undead emperor, trying once more to summon images of her shrine and regain her wavering faith. Though Luvia inspired her, she was her sister, nothing more.
A soft, glowing light fell upon her, comforting her like a blanket radiating warmth from the outside inward, stopping in the pit of her stomach. A soft moan escaped her lips. Julia had never felt as loved and comfortable as she did at that very moment.
The frantic murmurs of prayer reached the edge of Julia’s consciousness. Delphine Delongchamps belted threats and encouragement at the gathered penitent sisters.
‘Fight the daemons that assail us. Do not waver in your faith! Argh!’ cried the stern, relentless woman as she began her own string of murmured prayers.
Julia heard the words of the mistress, but she didn’t understand. She was not under attack; she was calm and cared for. Was this not what it felt like to be loved? She heeded the mistress’ words and tried to focus on her words, but she struggled against images of blissful happiness with Luvia by her side.
I am a servant of the Emperor. I am on the Aurea Veritas. I am a nameless Sister Repentia, seeking absolution and absolution I will receive.
She forced her thoughts back to the mission, to her purpose, but doubt flickered, threatening her resolve. A bead of sweat formed on her brow. Julia let it slide down her cheek like the gentle brush of fingertips. She licked her lips, tasting the salt and fear and rage in the air. Butterflies fluttered in her chest, causing her body to quake with desire. Her heart beat faster, but she breathed in a slow and calming breath.
‘Julia.’
Sansoucy’s eyes blinked open in surprise. Around the room, the strobing red lumens ceased their incessant flickering, replaced by flickering amber emergency lights. Julia frowned and looked at the sisters gathered around her.
The repentant sisters panted and gritted their teeth, grunting and struggling against the corruption of the Immaterium. Slowly, they slumped forward. Belle was on hands and knees, panting and moaning as her skin shifted unnaturally, like waves in the sea.
Julia pushed herself up to one knee. She would not die here, not now, not today.
She wanted to live.
For the first time in a long time, Julia wanted to live and forget her role in the Ecclesiarchy. She did not want to purge His enemies in His name, as she had been told she was born to do. She wanted to live, to experience life, love, and all the good things the world might offer: freedom, smiles and laughter, the gentle caress of a lover's touch, everything.
Julia’s gaze fell on the mistress’ dark eyes. The woman howled—Holy rage twisting her face into a mask of hatred. She flailed at invisible attackers as a thin crimson cut slashed across her face. The woman cursed the warp as she fell to her knees.
Ignoring the hectic sounds of alarms, prayers and struggles from the humans aboard the Aurea Veritas, Julia tried to clear her mind. Her thoughts were jumbled; they were filled with heresy, and it was beautiful. She realised then that she was under attack but not like the others. The scions of chaos were using her most secret and darkest desires against her, and it felt so good.
Her gaze fell to the object of her desire: Luvia Savant. The woman was somehow more beautiful than she had been in her memory. Her ivory skin was tinted lightly pink, and her emerald eyes burned with passion. Every blemish and scar on Luvia’s skin disappeared. Her face was hard, and a vein throbbed in her forehead, as she struggled. Julia’s gaze softened as she basked in the glorious emotions in the air.
Desires lead to depravity, she repeated to herself, attempting to dispel her wicked thoughts.
With a rage-filled roar, Luvia squeezed her eyes closed, and her muscles tensed. She stood in one fast motion, her lips moving fast as she mumbled what might have been a prayer. Her thumbs locked together before her chest in the sign of an Aquilla, and she let out an ear-splitting roar.
If Luvia stands against this, so shall I, thought Julia, pushing herself to her feet. The candle's fire blew out next to the squirming Mistress of Repentia. Julia’s nails bit into the palm of her hand, drawing blood as she tried to dispel the goosebumps spreading across her flesh. She had never wanted anything, not since the day Magdala had taken her away. Julia’s heart skipped a beat as she struggled with the powerful urge to hold Luvia, brush her soft brown hair out of her face, and kiss her wet lips.
Luvia’s faith would hold. She was the strongest of them all. If Luvia held, Julia had to do the same.
Cries of desperation, pain and death echoed through the vessel as Julia struggled to shield herself with Luvia’s faith and the Emperor’s Holy Light.
The invisible assailants responded with violence. Talons pierced the skin of Julia’s shoulders, pushing her down, trying to force her back to her knees.
‘No! The Emperor guides us, He loves us, He protects us,’ Julia managed half-heartedly. She closed her eyes and licked her lips again, tasting death, fear, rage and freedom.
‘I am far from absolution. Lost to any exculpation. I offer myself to repentance. Before the Emperor, I have sinned. Beyond forgiveness. Beyond forbearance. Beyond mercy…’ murmured Julia frantically.
‘Julia. Stop,’ came Luvia’s voice, yet the woman was still resisting; she could sense it. ‘Accept the gift. We will love you as no one has before.’
Julia would move mountains to feel Luvia’s love. She craved the love that she had lost as a child when Magdala had stolen her away; she longed to be free of this life. She longed for Luvia’s touch.
‘Stop fighting it, stop searching for something that is not there. The Emperor is dead. His light is gone; he has never loved anyone. You have known this for some time now. Why do you fight?
For whom do you fight? Is it not time to fight for yourself, for us?’ Luvia’s voice was a sensual, pleading whisper.
The tickle of warm breath on her neck sent butterflies fluttering down her body to rest low in her abdomen. The clawing fingers loosened their grip on Julia’s body and mind. Fingers stroked her bare skin, gliding up and down her neck and her arms. Julia let out a quiet moan, basking in the touch.
Blood trickled down her back like a lover’s gentle caress. She loved that touch.
‘Luvia,’ she asked quietly in the eerie silence.
‘Yes,’ answered the voice.
‘He does not protect, Luvia. He does not love us,’ whispered Julia.
‘I know,’ came a soft murmur in her ear.‘Don’t you want to feel happiness? Feel the pleasure that comes from true love. Don’t you want to be free?’
A multitude of fingers gently caressed her with every whispered word. Warm breath teased her neck and ears. The sweet aroma of freshly baked apple pie replaced the tangy scent of sweat, incense, fear and death. Julia moaned softly and shivered as a wave of hunger and pleasure cascaded through her body. Heat rose to her cheeks as she held back a cry. She remembered where she was. The sisters would know, and they wouldn’t understand.
‘Rejoice for the repentant have shown you the pleasures of pain, longing, nee—’ the voice trailed off.
She longed to feel something other than hate and guilt. She wanted to feel pleasure, not the one that came from pain or from purging the heretic but a more sensual, primitive one: ecstasy.
But as quickly as the voices had risen, they receded.
A cold loneliness and longing settled upon her soul. The warm breath, the sweet aroma of pie and the caressing fingers were gone, leaving Julia unsatisfied.
Opening her eyes, Julia spun to seek out Luvia’s comforting emerald eyes, but she was alone. Frowning, she stood in the blood-splattered mess hall. Corpses of crew, serfs and sisters lay strewn across the floor.
‘How?’
The shock of the sin stalled her. Where was their attacker? The danger? How did she come to be in this room?
Julia still searched the mess of upturned tables and benches. Signs of battle scarred the walls and the furniture but still, she found no enemy to fight and no survivors to answer her questions until she heard a tepid, anxious breath. She looked past the massacre to a tall, gaunt man covered in blood, kneading dough at the kitchen counter.
‘You. What happened? Who is responsible for this?’
‘Y-You are,’ his voice quivered. ‘You and your…those-those things.’
An unexpected surge of pride rose in her chest. Her hands tingled. Both of them. She cocked her head and looked down. A long, sharp bone protruded from her right palm, dripping crimson ichor. Her left hand held up a severed arm by the shoulder joint in a large pink claw. She grinned out of the pure joy of having a biological limb instead of a cybernetic arm and hand. She could feel again. The voices said she would. Her body buzzed with a newfound excitement.
She tried to wiggle her fingers, as she would have for a regular hand with digits, and the arm fell to the floor next to a dismembered unnamed repentia. Julia cackled in delight.
The claw clicked as she worked it, and the spike in her right hand retracted back up her arm. She shivered and ran her hand through her pink hair. A whimper returned her attention to the baker.
‘You’re alive; why is that?’ she asked. The ghostly pale man reached under the counter and pulled out a bowl containing half a dozen red apples.
‘Y—you wanted me to bake a pie.’
‘I see,’ she nodded, ‘So how’s it coming?’ she asked casually from the centre of the massacre.
The man momentarily stopped kneading the dough. He answered with a silent, terrified nod and pulled out a rolling pin from an unseen drawer. Julia couldn’t help but imagine how satisfying it would be to beat the man to a pulp with a rolling pin or maybe a meat cleaver, but she thought better of it. She really wanted the pie, and he knew how to make it. She needed him alive, for now.
Her gaze fell on a bowl of red apples, and something inside her stirred: desire.
Crossing the mess hall, she stepped over limbs, severed heads and the bodies of crew, serfs, and repentant sisters who must have stood in her way. She felt nothing, nor did she pause to pray for mercy upon their soul. She strolled over to the crimson-stained counter with a seductive stride and leaned against it.
The baker halted his work and watched as she reached for an apple. Julia could hear his heart beating and his rapid, shallow breaths. He was terrified, and she loved it.
‘What?’ she barked.
‘For-For the pie,’ the man squeaked.
‘Are you going to stop me?’ she asked incredulously, picking up the fruit.
The baker shook his head furiously. Julia’s smile broadened. Her lips parted, and a forked tongue flicked at the air, letting the scent of fear, blood and food fill her senses.
She bit into the apple and let out a euphoric moan. It tasted better than anything she had ever eaten. She glanced back longingly at the bowl of fruit. Remembering the smell of freshly baked apple pie, she knew that if it tasted as good as it smelled, she would be in for an exhilarating experience. Her patience knawed at her, but before she could act out in frustration, the doors to the kitchen slid open.
A battered and bloodied woman marched inside. Her face was a mess of fresh wounds, crimson ichor and raw rage. Her flowing robes were ripped and tattered, caked with blood, and her eyes filled with fire. Julia smiled wickedly at the mistress of repentia. Delongchamp snapped her neural whip, and it crackled through the air.
Julia thought she heard the baker whimper. She tasted the air: relief. The baker thought the mistress would save him. How pathetic.
She turned with a mischievous glint and added, ‘Hold please,’ tossing the apple at him. He caught it and swallowed hard. Suddenly, the air tasted of terror and righteous fury, stirring something primal inside Julia.
‘You!’ raged Delongchamps, ‘of course. It had to be you.’
Julia chuckled, pushing off the counter. She sauntered toward the woman, hands raised in mock surrender.
‘You’ve caught me, oh, righteous and prideful Mistress of Repentia.’
Julia smiled as she licked her lips, tasting the bliss of excessive hate and uncontrolled rage as the whip arced into the air. She caught it with the newly gifted claw, her gaze wild on Delphine's silent rage. Julia pulled the whip toward her, accepting the pain with abandon, embracing the feeling and craving more. She was alive, she could feel, and she was free.
Delphine was a fool. All the righteous sisters served Slaanesh with their dogma, deprived doctrines, and zealotry. They simply didn’t know it. Delphine would die thinking she served the corpse-emperor, but in truth, it was always the Dark Prince. The thought spiked a feeling beyond the lashing whip; it was almost nostalgic despite being new to her.
‘Perhaps I should continue to let you live,’ mused Julia, still holding the whip. ‘Your pride and righteousness surely please Slaanesh. What to do? What to do?’ She feigned uncertainty, glancing up at the ceiling.
‘Heresy! You vile woman!’ shouted Delongchamps. ‘I should—’
Julia tugged hard on the whip and wrapped it around her elbow as it pulled the mistress closer to her. The woman’s jaw dropped, and her eyes widened in surprise, but she recovered quickly, releasing her whip and unsheathing her sword.
Behind the mistress, the door slid open to reveal two women dressed in the traditional repentia garb splattered with crimson droplets.
‘Ooh, what do we have here?’ asked Belle. Her body was covered with pink and purple quills. The second woman was barely recognisable. Her form was covered in dark purple scales, and her pink hair was long and luscious. Julia wouldn't have recognised Mila if it hadn’t been for her eyes and stance, with hands on hips. They were beautiful to behold.
‘Belle, Mila. Good of you to join me. You’re just in time.’
Delongchamps scowled and turned on the two women. The engine of the chainsword roared to life as it raced down on Mila. She casually sidestepped the blade as Belle’s quills rose and darted off her body. Julia watched, amazed at the display.
Another new feeling began to develop inside of her. She wanted what Belle and Mila had. She wanted to be as beautiful and powerful as them, but all she got was a forked tongue and a claw.
She tasted the air. The room was filled with rage and pleasure, but there was more, and it was coming from her. She smelled jealousy. There was no time for that. She could handle it later.
The quills reached Delongchamps and pierced her body. The woman swayed in place. Julia’s anger begged to be released, and in a sudden burst of movement, she stepped forward, grabbed
Delongchamp's head, and clamped her claw shut. The body of the righteous mistress dropped to the ground, but the head remained in her claw.
‘Hey! We were having fun! Why must you be such a bore?’ asked Belle, pouting as new quills sprouted from her body.
‘Do we have control of the ship?’ asked Julia impatiently.
‘Almost. Luvia and Sabine are cleaning up. We have a few people in lockdown,’ said Mila.
Julia’s breath caught at the mention of Luvia’s name, and her heart hammered against her chest. She couldn’t wait to be with the object of her desires.
‘Yeah, Sabine thought you’d like some playthings. I figured I’d test out the quills and see what they can do,’ added Belle. ‘Do you want to try?’ she asked as an afterthought.
‘it’s pretty great, not like that guilt stuff they used to give us. This is awesome,’ Mila waited for Julia to reply, but she remained silent. ‘You need to relax a little, Julia. It’s not like we aren’t supposed to enjoy ourselves. That’s the whole point, no?’
‘Fine,’ added Julia angrily. Belle stepped closer and purred quietly. Sansoucy laughed and petted the woman’s head. She felt a small prick on her finger and breathed in deeply as a new sensation of calm fell over her. She was impressed at how quickly the drugs worked when all her worries were washed away. With a swift motion, she threw the mistress’ slick head at Mila, who caught it mid-air.
‘Let’s play!’ shouted Mila. Crimson ichor painted the mess hall as it streaked from the severed head, and Belle ran to catch it at the opposite side of the dining hall.
Thinking back on Delphine’s words, Julia knew that her penitence was indeed funny, and it was finally over. She had suffered only to please the Dark Prince, but now, she knew that Slaanesh would accept her joyous moments and plenty as much as he was pleased by her pain and suffering.
Julia had a chance to experience life to the fullest. Now, she would reap the seeds of pleasure and happiness. She would taste the most glorious of fruits and feelings, her needs always fulfilled and never know deprivation again.
Julia returned to the counter and extended her right hand. The baker handed her the apple she had asked him to hold, and she took another bite. The man took the unbaked pie and turned to place it in the oven.
Julia felt her heartbeat race as she watched. She grinned in anticipation of the gastronomic pleasure she would soon experience. The door to the kitchen slid open again.
Though Mila and Belle continued to paint the dining area with blood trails, Julia’s eyes were drawn to the perfection that slipped through the open door. The Sisters laughed and shouted at each other, but Julia barely noticed. She had eyes only for her. The jealousy she had felt for the other two women was absent when she watched Luvia, for she knew the woman would be hers.
Luvia’s gift was terrific. All marks were smoothed out into the perfect pinkish, sparkling complexion. Her emerald eyes shone with an intensity Julia had never seen before.
Had she not received a method of defence? Julia wondered. Perhaps Julia was gifted such crude mutations to better protect Luvia.
Pushing off the counter, Julia sauntered over to Luvia, who smiled.
‘For me?’ she asked.
Julia furrowed her brow and looked at the apple in her right hand. She extended it to Luvia, who accepted it and bit into it. Every emotion she could name, and some she could not, rushed to her and fluttered inside her body as she struggled with her desire; she spoke before she let herself indulge in the moment.
‘We are the Sisters of the Night, as the Order of the Dawn brought the false-god emperor’s light to Aurora, we shall bring the darkness wherever we go and share the truth about the false-god. We shall destroy the prideful and righteous. We shall bring forth the blessings of the Dark Prince.’
Luvia smiled. Julia embraced her and inhaled deeply. She smelled of passion and fire. A soft moan escaped her lips as Luvia’s skin began to move beneath her fingers.
Luvia’s skin tore between her shoulder blades, and large leathery wings sprouted from her perfect form. They closed around Julia, holding them tightly together. The darkness enveloped her in a loving warmth like the night had finally come. Julia could finally rest in Luvia’s loving embrace; all her dark desires embraced and shared with those she loved.
THE END