The carriage rattled on, its worn leather seats creaking, the forest road a blur of gnarled trees, their branches clawing at a gray sky. Gloria sat rigid, her hands gripping her knees, the sapphire's weight a secret in her sleeve. Sister Edith faced her, cloaked in green, her gaunt face calm, eyes sharp with a bitter glint, yet steady, no trace of the venom churned in Gloria's heart. The air held a faint acidic scent, Edith's presence, like wine gone sour, a master's control over Poison's bite. At fourteen, Gloria felt small, her gash crusted, her thoughts a storm of Helga's nothing, Tristan's absence, Julius's shadow.
Edith's questions lingered, her calm probes, father, mother, power, cutting too close to Gloria's raw edges. Gloria had answered, curt, truthful, He's cruel, She wants me gone, but guarded, hiding her Shadow, the writhing mass that tore her room. Edith's control, her steady gaze, unnerved her, so unlike Edgar's rage, Helga's frost. Yet something in her voice, low, deliberate, sparked a question, a need to know this woman who held her venom's mirror. Gloria swallowed, her throat tight, and spoke, her voice low, hesitant. "What was your life, Sister Edith, before this?"
Edith's eyes flickered, a shadow crossing her gaunt face, but her calm held, her hands clasped, fingers tracing her cloak's stained hem. "Not so different from yours," she said, her voice soft, like acid kissing stone. "My parents died when I was six, taken in a goblin raid, their blades quick, their fire cruel. My aunt took me in, her heart kind but weak. Her husband, my uncle, he was another matter." She paused, her gaze drifting to the window, trees blurring past, her words measured, no trace of spite. "He didn't like to keep his hands to himself, especially as I grew older. I endured, until I couldn't."
Gloria's breath caught, her hands tightening, a bitter pulse in her chest, not envy but something sharper, a recognition. Edith's voice stayed even, her eyes returning, steady, unyielding. "One night, he came, his breath sour, his hands grasping. I snapped, my venom woke, acid in my blood. He melted, his screams brief, his body a puddle on the floor." She spoke as if recounting a task, no anger, no despair, her control a blade honed sharp. "I was twelve. The Sisters found me, taught me to hold it, shape it. I chose this life, not his ruin."
Gloria stared, awe gripping her, her heart pounding, Edith's strength a light in her own dark. Melting a man, not in rage but survival, Poison mastered where Gloria's burned unchecked. Her thoughts flashed to Edgar, his wine-soaked laugh, his fist on her arm, the bruise still tender. Helga's nothing, her scorn, her plan to marry her off, a cage tightening. Edith's calm, her survival, cracked something in Gloria, a need to speak, to share the weight. She hesitated, distrust lingering, but Edith's gaze, not cruel, held her, and she spoke, her voice low, raw. "My father, he hurts me, his hands, his words. Mother, she doesn't care, calls me nothing, wants me gone."
Edith nodded slowly, her eyes narrowing, not with pity but understanding, her acidic scent sharper, as if her power listened. Gloria's throat burned, the words spilling, the truth she couldn't choke back. "Last night, my powers came, acid in my tears, because they're marrying me to Tristan, at seventeen. I don't want it, any of it." Her voice broke, her hands trembling, a bitter pulse for Helga's control, a sharp sting for Tristan's freedom, fear of the Sisters, despair for her chains. She stopped, her breath shallow, guarding her Shadow, the mass she hid, the lady's warning, ravenous, a secret too heavy to share.
Edith leaned forward, her gaunt face closer, her voice firm, not warm but steady. "What they don't know will end up hurting them, child. Your mother had no idea where she sent you." Her words carried a weight, a hint of bitter amusement, her control unshaken. "The Sisters of the Elements bend to no banners, no lords, no laws but our own. A treaty, signed at the end of the Great Salamander War, gave us this, our aid in crafting the desert that splits Cadia from the Salamander Territory, a scar of sand none cross. We answer to no one, not your mother, not your house."
Gloria's eyes widened, her heart racing, the carriage's creak a distant hum. Helga's plan, exile to control her, to shape her, was blind, a misstep. The Sisters, free, powerful, were no Eldeholt pawn. Edith's voice softened, her gaze piercing. "Our temple is four hundred years old, built by Dwarven women, rare mages, their magic in every stone. The last died two centuries ago, her name lost, but her craft endures. Within those walls, you'll have choices, Gloria, a life you shape, not one forced by marriage or blood."
The words struck, hope sparking, frail but sharp, cutting through Gloria's despair. Choices, a life beyond Helga's noose, Tristan's shadow, Julius's crown. Her Poison stirred, a faint burn in her fingers, not acid but a pulse, envy for Edith's control, bitterness for her own chaos. Fear coiled, her Shadow a whisper, hidden, the Sisters' taboo, a risk she couldn't name. The carriage rattled, the forest denser, trees like sentinels, their bark scarred, the road narrowing. Edith leaned back, her cloak rustling, her gaze drifting to the window, her calm a lesson Gloria craved, feared.
Gloria sank into the seat, her thoughts a storm, hope tangled with distrust, the sapphire's weight a secret anchor. Edith's past, her strength, mirrored her pain, but the Sisters' freedom, their temple, was a world she didn't know. Could she hide her Shadow, master her Poison, choose a path beyond Eldeholt's chains? The carriage creaked, the forest darkening, the temple's promise looming, a sanctuary or a trial.