She was born of womb,

Born of love.

Forged by pain,

And lived in sorrow.

-The Gospel According to The Holy First Handmaiden

Perched atop a gilded litter, Celeste clenched her jaw and tried her best to hold back the hot tears stinging her eyes. How dare they, she thought in frustration, how dare they hold them from me. It was long past noon, the True Father nearing the horizon now, and a warm late-spring wind brushed at her hair. Thin strands of golden blonde hair flitted across her face, only causing her further irritation.

Fussing with a golden tassel on the edge of her cushioned seat, Celeste looked up past the Southshore homes. They were not far from the temple now, its marbled walls visible behind crumbling structures. She glared at the domed roof, at the failures the institution it housed had perpetuated. They held them back. She growled inwardly, somehow that came out in Gardinal’s voice in her head. It seemed fitting in the moment, imagining her stalwart guardian commanding the priests and Faith Militia that surrounded her now. If he had been there, it would never have happened.

She replayed the event in her head again, refusing to let go of her indignation. They had been in a fountain square, the Priest Herald giving his pronouncements of her divinity, and the crowds had thronged toward her. The people beseeched her, pleading for her help. She had seen them, had born witness to their illnesses, their struggles, and pains. And when she he had reached out for them, had outstretched her hands to cure them of their ailments, the Faith Militia had forced them back at glaive point. Celeste focused on it again, burned the image in her head, the sight of men and women, pockmarked and shaking with disease, being knocked to the ground by the hands of the so-called faithful. She’d had enough of this.

Nearly three weeks now since returning to the temple and not once had she done anything that really mattered. And if she complained, her father would simply tell her that she was doing something. That she was providing hope, was being a symbol for the people. Celeste ground clenched her jaw so hard it nearly hurt, and a single tear began to stream down her face. No, that was not enough. She had seen what it was like to truly help people, to really make a difference. This life she lived now, whatever it was, was not that. It was not what the First Mother had meant her for.

Stewing in her frustrations, the procession marched its way through the gilded gates and into the central temple structure. The Relic Tree stretched out above her, its long boughs reaching out for the moonlight that would soon come. Fruits of all varieties hung from its branches and fell to the floor to rot. A sickeningly sweet smell filling the air.

“Let me down.” Celeste commanded, looking over to the two porters that held her aloft.

“Your Radiance I…” the first of them, a handsome young Fereni boy maybe a few years older than her, looked back at her unsure. She drew her brows together and set her jaw, doing her best to imitate Gardinal’s immovable gaze. The man swallowed nervously but did as he was told; perhaps Gardinal was on to something with that scowl of his. As quick as her foot touched the soft grassy flooring, her priest and priestess minders were on her like Charlotte on a mouse.

“Your Radiance perhaps it is best if you…” One began.

“I do not think it wise that you…” Another pushed in.

“Perhaps if you were to…” A third jumbled over. On and on they all butted in, talking over one another, each with some idea of how she should act, walk, move, talk, or breathe.

Celeste breathed calmly, looked at each of them in turn, and for a moment channeled Valleresa’s stubborn nobility. “I am going to go speak with His Grace the Bishop now.” She announced with all the haughty air she could muster. The assembled crowd of priests, handmaidens, and scribes all simply stared at her in confusion, seemingly unsure of how to respond to her being forceful. Good, perhaps it would buy her enough time to actually get to her father’s study.

Reaching down she wrapped her long silk gown, trailing down to her feet and pooling around her, and lifted it up. By the time she could move her legs, she held more cloth than any single bolt she had ever seen in her arms. Looking at it there, she shook her head. How many more people, cold and on the street, could this clothe? Instead of being here, on her, getting in her way.

Pushing past the crowd, well, pushing as much as she could at half the height of nearly everyone else and covered in layer after layer of silks, Celeste strode towards the stairs. He would be in his study now, he always was at this time. Likely pouring over some ledger or letter or the like, doing his best to pretend to be busy and avoiding her. Well no more, she had made a vow to her friends, had made a commitment to make a change in her faith. Climbing the marble staircase, she focused her eyes forward. She had thought long and hard on that day at Rekiak’s home, on what his wife Thelyra had told her. Spurned by the temple for lack of coin. No more, today that ended.

Striding down the corridor and paying little head to the dozens of ornate alcoves filled with ancient relics of the faith, an uproar rose from where she had just departed. Ignoring it, Celeste marched towards the door that stood at the end. His door. A Faith Militia guard stood out front, which was something new she had only ever seen since returning to the temple. She didn’t particularly like the idea of armed guards marching about every inch of this hallowed ground. She’d speak to her Father about that as well.

“Your… your Radiance.” The guard spoke up, taking a step towards her. “His Grace is busy at the moment perhaps…”

Reaching the man, Celeste let a grin spread across her face as she channeled Vallerian as best she could. Relaxing her shoulders and patting the guard on the arm she forced a casual chuckle. “Just you relax, I’ll only be a moment.” She crooned, slipping past the man with as much grace as she could muster. She stumbled over a small bump in the rug as she slipped past the guard, but she recovered quickly enough with a hand braced against the wall. Graceful Celeste, she chided herself.

Celeste could feel the guard staring at her dumbfounded, but doing her best to ignore it, and the sounds of a veritable army marching on her heels, Celeste reached out and pushed open the door.