Silent prayer within the Convent of Atimae took place between the hours of seven to nine in the morning, twelve to one in the afternoon, and four to six in the evening. After which, dinner was always served at seven o’clock sharp. The routine within the convent had never been up for discussion. During the time the young priestesses had in between their silent prayers, they were free to go about their own business–completing the daily chores in the kitchen, managing the ancient library tucked away deep underground or tending to the garden behind the pristine white building in which the priestesses lived.

     Preeya’s hands were still sore from having sat for two hours peeling potatoes for dinner the other day, and pink marks from where she held the knife were still etched into her skin. She was supposed to be in silent prayer with the other women. Instead, the young priestess sat by her bedroom window with her elbows propped up against the sill, admiring the wonderful commotion of the city below.

     It was still very early evening, and already some city folks below were giddy with wine as they ventured towards a random pub of their choosing. Or they were off to meet a handful of friends beforehand.

     Preeya watched in a dreamy daze as young women, dressed up in fine, colourful silks, strolled around with the drunken men and steadied their gentlemen friends whenever they almost fell face first into the dirt. Even from where she sat, she heard the women giggle, and she let out a little sigh as she spied one man scooping a girl in yellow silks into his arms and giving her a full-forced kiss.

     A group of gentlemen were with their escorts on a night out, nothing more.

     As a virgin priestess, Preeya was forbidden to engage in any kind of vanity or sexual activity, down to even exploring herself with her own hand. Such behaviour of any kind was deemed a mortal sin, even discussing it was shameful. The priestesses were married to the gods, and to cheat them was a call for corporal punishment – death by stoning, that was the most popular of choices. Preeya felt ashamed whenever she admired herself a little too long in the single mirror within her room, which she shared with three other girls. She had turned eighteen not that long ago, and she wanted to be seen as a woman now. She was a woman full grown, and she believed she had been since she had started bleeding nearly four years ago. Preeya Atanna was a pretty young girl, her olive skin paled from years of being hidden under veils or within the convent. Forbidden to cut her hair, her brown curls now swung down to her thighs, and her thick baby hairs framed her soft features and dainty green eyes.

     The drunken men and the lovely ladies in silk had disappeared by now, leaving the streets silent for a moment. There was nothing else worth gazing at down below.

     Preeya shied away from the windowsill and pressed herself against the wall behind her, the white silk of her robe creasing. It would have to be a mighty stroke of luck, but she wished she could see the hooded woman she had dared to lay eyes on earlier that day. She felt ridiculous parading through the city streets every week like some prized cattle, yet each time Preeya visited the temple, she was there.

      The woman’s face was concealed by a hood each time, covered in leather down to her hands so she could not even tell the colour of her skin. But her small waist and ample breasts were clear enough for Preeya to know it was a woman.

     Whilst the rest of the citizens who gathered to watch the virgin priestesses pass by were filled with awe and adoration at the group of young women, the hooded figure stood with visible anger in her stance; the way her feet seemed to dig into the ground beneath her as though to stop herself from charging at the priestesses and cutting them down. The woman’s fists clenching and unclenching by her sides, even brushing up to where a sword appeared to be strapped to her side. But she never advanced any further than the other citizens. It was as though some moral dilemma was holding her back.

     Preeya had thought the woman was just a simple sell sword at first. Only after an hour of intense consideration, Preeya argued with herself that female sell swords were uncommon, near non-existent even. She used her hours of silent prayer to ponder through a reasonable identity she could give the young woman. Until she could not believe it.

     Ariadna Vikander, protected treasure of The Anari and disgraced sister of the Aphur Convent, was in this very city! She was living in Atimae.

     Preeya took this as a certain sign from the gods, to abandon her Sisterhood like Ariadna had and become a woman as liberated as her. Only, she knew she lacked the courage to do it all by herself – escape the convent, settle down somewhere and make something of herself. She could not fight like Ariadna, nor did she want to learn. She did not know what remained of her family; where she would go should she escape. She had already prepared a small bundle of things, tucked out of sight beneath her bed, should the day come for her to leave. But how would she do it? Footsteps nearing the bedroom door had Preeya leaping down from the windowsill, light on her feet, and out of a second door leading down to the kitchen and dining room. She slipped past them all and into the meditation room, which she should have already been inside for an hour now.

     The other sisters were too deep in prayer to have even noticed Preeya crawling inside and joining them at the very back, where she closed her eyes tight and placed her hands onto her knees, pretending she had been there the entire time.