I felt tricked, Olma didn't appear to be the monster that Ms Average implied. The willowy woman led me gently by the hand to various spots around the guild house. She took me to a large stone reservoir that was full of heated water. Other women were here too, bathing in the waters with soaps that were liquid and stored in glass jars. It was a strange place and an experience I would have savoured if my thoughts would leave me in peace.

If I saved the kids, where would I take them? To the head priest? No. I believed that he was trustworthy but he couldn't help them. If he was able to keep them safe and fed they would have been taken care of already, they would only find temporary safety at the church.

What about my village? No. I didn't know if my mother would forgive me. Even ignoring that, where would they live? Who would take care of them? There were too many unknowns. But what other options were there?

They could stay here.

The Mistress had kept her word so far. If I just submitted then– NO! I had always found safe refuge deep in my thoughts whenever I needed distraction. But where could I run when my head was polluted, why was this affecting me so much? I asked the question but I already knew the answer. It was the easy way out, the path I'd taken countless times before. The honeyed words offered a simple solution to all of my problems.

I washed myself top to bottom in the warm waters while the mistress' words continued to twist and mutate my thoughts. You can save them all right now with just two little words, freeing the kids would just condemn them to a life of suffering anyway. You felt her strength first-hand, do you think that there's a way out? You don't have forever to decide, if you don't submit before the rite you'll lose all value, all bargaining power.

I lathered, scrubbed, lathered, scrubbed, lathered, scrubbed, lathered, scrubbed, lathered, scrubbed, lathered, scrubbed.

Until I felt Olma grab my hands. I looked up and saw her long face staring back at me with pity. I didn't need that. I needed to get out of here. I needed to get stronger so that my life didn't become someone's toy. I needed revenge for Alessia and the kids. I needed my mother's forgiveness. I didn't need the pity of a random captor. My skin had been rubbed redraw and now burned in the water's warmth.

If I couldn't find peace in my thoughts I just needed physical distraction. I would spend every single moment looking for an escape route or training. I wouldn't slow down. I wouldn't stop to think, just act. I could think about the future once my immediate goals were accomplished.

Once I had dried off Olma took me to an adjacent room that contained wardrobes full of the signature fleur robes in many different colours. Olma offered me a silky red robe like hers but I declined the instant I was told that I could wear the green robes and ribbon combo. Based on everything I'd seen so far, red robes had a very specific meaning around here. I didn't want any part of it.

Next, she dragged me to a place to apply makeup, a vanity desk that was stocked with powders, brushes and other assorted stuff. I knew about makeup, but such products were reserved for the wealthy and it felt like a waste of time to apply something that is just going to get washed off. Olma waited for me to get started but I didn't even know where to begin. I looked around and picked up what I assumed was a square paint pallet with a fan-shaped brush but Olma snatched it from me faster than I could see with a whip-like movement of her arm.

"You'll look like a clown."

Olma said. Her slow, deliberate manner of speech and overall grace didn't prepare me for her lightning-fast action.

"Can you show me what to do?"

She nodded and crouched down to meet my eye level. She softly grabbed my chin and moved my head around scanning every contour and crease.

"Hmmm. Keep it simple, lipstick and blush."

It didn't take long for her to rummage around and find several different colours of powder and a few shades of glossy red pads. One after another she held each item up to my face. In the end, she decided on a light dusting of a very specific pink blush and burgundy lipstick. The powder blush was fine but the lipstick left my lips feeling weirdly sticky and waxy like I'd been drinking tree sap.

The application seemed quick and easy but I didn't know if that was just because she made it look easy. The final stop should have been the training hall.

"What are your blade dreams like? I need to know how to proceed."

Olma asked while she dragged me along to our next destination. My dreams were nonexistent but that wasn't something I could say. I tried thinking of a good lie, something that incorporated the types of things I'd overheard my classmates experiencing. I needed to vaguely describe a weapon that didn't exist. My father's flamberge was the only thing that came to mind.

"I see something wiggling back and forth in the darkness, as it moves I catch glints of its silvery-white body slithering away. I chase after it, slowly closing the gap. After the long chase I reach out my right arm to grab it but I wake up too soon."

I think I covered everything I needed to. The serpentine blade, the material, the number of hands needed to wield it and I kept it vague. So why did Olma stop? I was led to an area away from prying eyes and she now examined my face with intense scrutiny. I tried my best to remain calm but the longer we continued the staring match the more I tried to understand where I might have screwed up,

"Is something wrong?"

"Should there be something wrong? Why can't we take a break?"

Her voice was monotone and hard to read. Was she asking serious questions or probing me?

"It's just that we didn't take a break anywhere else. It seemed weird."

I desperately tried to play it off but I had no way of knowing how well I'd done.

"What about your blade's magic?"

I didn't know that you could determine the type of magic an Animus-Blade had before the first manifestation. I thought on my toes and threw out a response.

"Oh! Sorry, I wasn't clear enough. The blade was cloaked in the shadows, wherever the sword moved the darkness followed. Does that help clear things up?"

"It does."

Olma held her left hand open as a white orb materialised and stretched before it shattered revealing a guandao. It would have looked sleek and elegant if it weren't for the countless red lines crisscrossing its length. Each one pulsed with a familiar blood clot red and writhed like demonic veins. Instead of the expected song, a continuous, discordant screech burst forth from the blade. Like the death wail of a trapped animal, it screamed in apparent agony. The need to acknowledge the screaming didn't feel as strong as it had for the wordless songs, instead I felt a startling urgency thousands of times worse than being late for something.

"Liar."

Her crushing blow was swift and brutal, by the time my mind registered the instinct to evade my ribs were struck by the weapon's handle in a smooth spinning motion. I felt something in my chest buckle before I was sent tumbling down the corridor.

"I fell for it again."

I heard Olma mutter under her breath. I twisted upright but the throbbing ache in my chest was almost too much, the worst part was how dulled it felt. If I was in this much pain while it was numb when my adrenaline wore off I'd be incapacitated by the agony.

She took long and slow strides toward me. Her empty hand was just in front of her body while the guandao was held behind her with its blade pointing down. I didn't have a choice. I'd shout for help.

I tried to breathe deeply for a shout but the chest pain wouldn't let me take anything but short laboured breaths.

"Help. Somebody."

I tried calling out but I could barely manage a loud indoor voice.

"Lie again and you die."