The wide bed loomed behind her—four posters draped in black silk, sheets vast enough for a coven, pillows scattered like offerings.
Candles flickered on nightstands, casting golden pools that danced over the women's faces—flushed, eyes wide with the blood's vibration, a mix of holy terror and unspoken ache.
These were her chosen: all virgins, bodies sealed like sacred scrolls, hearts pounding with the weight of lifelong denial.
Sister Mira, lithe and dark-haired with olive skin and sharp features, her curiosity flickering like a candle in wind;
Sister Tessa, blonde and freckled, curves soft and inviting, her freckles hiding a tremble of doubt;
Sister Vale, redhead with porcelain skin and wide hazel eyes, her gaze darting like a fawn's;
Sister Laine, brunette with athletic build and full lips, her strength a fragile shield;
Sister Rhea, ebony curls framing a face of quiet intensity, her deep eyes shadowed with fear;
