In a small concrete room beneath Fort Kroeder, Vaschael kneels.

She’s been stripped of her armor and weapons, leaving her in a thin grey undersuit. A heavy net of chains has been laid over her wings, and her hands and feet are bound in steel manacles. It was found, quite by fluke, that seeing her exposed face won’t burn a mortal’s mind out so long as the smaller wings at her temples cover her eyes. A rope now holds those wings in place, her dishevelled hair spilling down over them as her head sags. One more chain binds her by the neck to the floor, clipped to her collar, and holds her in this kneeling position. She’s too powerful to risk bringing into Cratavn. So, she will be enlightened here.

And I have been given the privilege of helping.

The Proxy circles her, heels rapping in slow rhythm. I watch from the doorway but feel the static arcing through the air just as intimately. The raw, hungry anticipation. 

“What an honor this is,” announces the Proxy, beaming as she looks down on Vaschael. “We have with us one of the Silver Goddess’s seraphim- a true seraph, not those abominations the troops have given that name to. This is one of the Goddess’s most distinguished and powerful servants.” She stops with the toes of her boots under the seraph’s downturned face. “Vaschael the Shepherd. That’s what they used to call you, isn’t it?”

Vaschael is silent. 

“Vaschael the Shepherd,” repeats the Proxy, kneeling down so her lips hover just over the seraph’s head. “Leading the faithful to sanctuary during times of strife, assisted by her loyal hounds.” Her gloved hand works languidly into auburn hair. “That was a long time ago. Now you have no flock to lead, and your pack is a single wayward girl.”

“I forced Canrie into my service.” Vaschael’s voice is ragged with thirst and the drugs still trickling into her through the collar. She has been here a week already, contained and then left to languish in darkness until we came to her. Even so, her words fills the room like a citadel organ. “She’s innocent. Whatever plans you have for me, spare her.”

The Proxy chuckles. “Yes, we’ll come to her.” I perk up, taking this as a good omen. Brea and Imeshan did find the girl and dragged her thrashing and snarling back to us. Canrie had fought so fiercely to get back to her mistress, then wept so pitifully at seeing her defeated, that we’d had to sedate her as well. Such sorrow for so meek a creature. I hope to give her sanctuary soon.

“I say all this, Lakera,” the Proxy continues, turning to me, “so you know the significance of what you’ve accomplished for our Queen-Minister, and so you see how far your sister has fallen without Her guidance.”

Chains clink as Vaschael lifts her head. “Fallen?”

“Yes.” The Proxy cups her chin. “You have no flock and no pack. You walk your pet through the wasteland, looking for fights you can’t win. You’ve stagnated under the Goddess’s false guidance, clinging to a mission this world no longer needs.”

A clatter of metal strikes my ears as Vaschael’s wings try to rise. “You serpent,” she growls, voice a bludgeon of righteous indignation. “You cruel, idiot snake. You strut about as if no blasphemy can stain you, speaking on things you can’t even begin to understand.” She raises her head as high as her leash will allow. “And worst of all, you corrupt my sisters.”

I am not corrupted. Vaschael will learn that soon.

Twining leather clad fingers into the seraph’s hair, the Proxy lowers her face to Vaschael’s. “Rage all you like, Shepherd. The Heavens have not changed, while our world below has.” 

“There are such things waiting for you and your Queen.” Vaschael is lost in her own little world of fury, the wings about her face twitching against their restraints. “You may succeed in whatever you’re doing here. You may live to an old age and pass comfortably in your sleep. And then you will wake to learn that even if there is no longer justice in this world, there is beyond it.”

A thoughtful hum. “Perhaps,” the Proxy concedes. Then she grabs a fistful of Vaschael’s hair and jerks her head back, bearing her throat like a lamb’s for slaughter. “But at that point, it’s hardly going to matter, is it?” 

Vaschael presses her lips into a tight line. I can feel her rage, radiating like the rippling heat of a summer day. How sweet it will be to see it break against our Queen’s truth. I can almost see it, like the great outer wall of Cratavn, an impenetrable reality waiting for her will to shatter against it.

“Of course, I understand change can be difficult to accept.” The Proxy studies her a moment. Every word, every movement, every minute twitch of one’s face, she notices. “Not to worry. We will guide you to the truth.” She releases her grip and stands. “Let’s begin with a hymn. Perhaps the one we sang together in Illenka, hm?”

Vaschael turns away.

“Lakera.” Our guiding star looks to me again, smiling so brilliantly as she beckons me with a hand. “Each time your sister sings the hymn incorrectly, pluck a feather from her wings.”

I take my place beside her. Beneath us, the barest hint of white teeth through perfect lips as the seraph braces herself. Her many wings twitch but her light is dulled. Even her halo’s eye is little more than a dull yellow sheen. “Lakera,” she begins, voice flat. “Sister. Please, listen. You’ve h--”

We begin to sing. Vaschael gasps. She tucks her head against her chest and does not sing with us.

“Vaschael.” The Proxy’s voice is firm but loving. “Sing with us.”

“I will not.” Solid as steel. 

The Proxy slips me a look. I go to Vaschael’s side, where her wings splay out against the concrete, and take hold of one of the long silvery feathers pointing out between the chains.

“Lakera.” Such resolve in my sister’s voice. “Whatever she compels you to do, know that I forgive you.”

I don’t need to be forgiven. This is for her own good. I tear the feather out. 

By the time we’re finished for the day, both my hands are full of gleaming silver feathers. Vaschael trembles at our feet, her face a rictus of bare-toothed pain, cheek pressed into the concrete as the Proxy holds a heel to her temple. My new sister never cried out nor begged us to stop. She also never sang with us.
 
Finally the Proxy removes her boot from Vaschael’s head. “Yes, change is difficult, isn’t it?” Her smile hasn’t faded. “Perhaps you’ll sing next time, my seraph.”

Vaschael mumbles, her voice shaking the words into incoherence.

The Proxy tilts her head. “What was that?”

Vaschael manages to lift her head to look at me. “Sister,” she says, trying to muster her usual strength. “You’ve heard Mother’s voice here. You have.”

I haven’t. A new mistress speaks to me now.

“That hymn.” Vaschael swallows. “That recording. Lakera, it’s--”

The Proxy’s boot strikes her face, snapping her head back. She crumples forward, rose gold ichor already blooming from a split in her bottom lip. I look to the Proxy. Her smile is gone. “Spreading falsehoods about the faith is a sin, Vaschael.”

Vaschael only lays there.

Gesturing to the door, the Proxy leads me away. As we go, however, I can hear my new sister speaking. Muttering something like, “It was her, Lakera. You’ve heard her. That was Mother.”

***

The Proxy, and by extension the Queen-Minister, knows best. If they say Vaschael is lying, Vaschael is lying. Falsehoods meant to pull me away from the Queen-Minister’s truth, back to the Silver Goddess’s dying ways. My Queen rallies Her armies to reclaim this world from the dead, and She’s made progress. What has the old Goddess done? Sent a handful of my sisters and I down to do… What, exactly? Sholanan didn’t seem busy when we claimed her. Imeshan was the second to join our choir, I was sent to fetch her from the Industrial Sector. She’d been posing as a worker in a munitions factory. The Silver Goddess sends her angels to help make shells?

After our time with Vaschael, the Proxy dismisses me to amuse myself, and so I do. A garrison of about fifty soldiers has moved into Fort Kroeder, likely both to help contain Vaschael, and in response to the incident with the Hierophant. The troops tend to give us a wide berth, regarding us with a mixture of awe and trepidation whenever we cross paths in the halls. We don’t see much of them. We’ve been given our own space, an old ammo closet converted into a bedroom just large enough for the four of us. To my pleasant surprise, Brea isn’t there when I enter now.

Imeshan, however, lays with Sholanan, a hand set protectively on my pet sister’s shoulder.

It’s not surprising anymore. Something has been roused in Imeshan. Perhaps it was Getye. Perhaps it was me besting her by claiming Vaschael for our Queen. Perhaps it was simply her having to listen to Brea and I wage our own little war over Sholanan. It really doesn’t matter, so long as Imeshan remains faithful to the Queen-Minister. But seeing her now, glowering at me between the dark waves of her hair, holding Sholanan to herself like a dragon clutching her horde, something curdles in my guts. 

Sholanan understands, at least. She lifts her head as I enter and tries to pull herself free. Imeshan wraps her other arm around her waist, crushing their bodies together. Surging forward, I grab Imeshan’s wrists and tear her hands away. Imeshan fights me, grabbing at Sholanan’s undersuit as I help her free herself. But she can’t match both of us. With a heave I pull Sholanan away, lifting her up, spinning as I hold her as if this were an old fairy story, she the princess and I the knight.

Setting her down, I kick the door shut behind me. I undo my mask, then hers, and lower my face to hers. For the briefest heartbeat, Sholanan hesitates, dull eyes staring. Her mind is damp clay, yet to fully form. She catches on, however. She brings her lips to mine, tenderly at first. I do like to start that way. Savoring her softness. It pains me that she’ll soon be taut and hard like the rest of us. We’re beautiful, but this dainty, docile state suits her better. 

Of course, that isn’t my choice to make.

I indulge where I can. Pressing into her lips, I slip my tongue between her teeth, feel hers laid sweet and inviting for me. A little gasp slips out of her at the force of my hunger, even as she melts into me.

Imeshan- this new, disgruntled Imeshan- can’t help herself. I hear her feet hit the concrete and see her face storm into view out of the corner of my eye. I don’t begrudge her this. Did I not lash out at Brea?

Releasing Sholanan, I lunge onto Imeshan, crashing her back down onto the bed and pinning her arms. She thrashes, but Sholanan- such a clever pet, my sister- pounces down next to me and helps to hold down her body. All Imeshan can do then is glare at me. It’s a troubling sight. Not because I’ve roused her ire, but because her serenity is broken. There’s no peace in her eyes. Only anger and hurt. Imeshan has become erratic. How long until it interferes with her service to our Queen?

Sholanan looks to me, doe eyes seeking further guidance.

There it is. I’ve been something of a guiding star myself lately, haven’t I? Dimmer than the Proxy, as I should be, but Sholanan seeks my instruction almost as much as our true leader’s. It’s a flirtation with sin, I know. A pending violation of the true order. But perhaps I can use it to serve our Queen, rather than defy Her.

Perhaps I can guide Imeshan, as well.

I stare back into her, considering. The glow of my own eyes reflects in the silver of her halo. I set a finger on the small triangular gem at its center. Imeshan tries to recoil from the touch, but with her head against the mattress there’s nowhere for her to go. I don’t have a clear plan, yet. But as she winces slightly at the light pressure I apply, I get an idea.

Looking to Sholanan, I tilt my head to the bed. Instructing her to get on it. She stares back a moment before registering what I want, then crawls past Imeshan to kneel behind her. Taking Imeshan’s wrist again, I slide her arms up towards Sholanan. My pet takes her hands and holds presses them down. Imeshan’s eyes start to widen as they flicker back and forth between us. Is she starting to see, as well?

She will.

I set my fingertip back on her halo’s centerpiece, getting another wince from her. Experimenting, I press my finger down a little harder. Imeshan lets out a small grunt as she starts to struggle again. I begin to rub the gem, just a little. A little is enough. Her fight wanes as small quivers begin to course through her. It only takes her a moment to start squirming again, however, fighting her own body as much as me. Her taut muscles tense and flex within her undersuit but she can’t find purchase. Sholanan looks down on her, something like interest stirring in her placid eyes.

Smiling, I rub a little faster, apply a little more pressure.

A stronger shudder wracks Imeshan, joined by a whimper she tries and fails to silence. Her eyes twitch, losing focus, though she tries to keep them locked with mine. Still attempting to mount some resistance. But she was never the fiercest fighter. If only I’d thought to remove her mask before this. She must be making such pretty faces under it.

A warmth seizes my loins. I finger faster, harder. Imeshan’s eyes bug. She can no longer contain those little moans, her body writhing under me as pleasure overcomes her. She and Getye had played with each other like this. These noises aren’t new to me. But their tone is different, sweeter, now that I’m the one coaxing them out. My smile broadens as I watch her sink, her defiance drowning.

Between her legs, I feel damp.

I pause, remembering that I shouldn’t do this. It’s not my place, not my power to have. And I’m pulling Sholanan toward sin with me, she’ll also be punished--

Panting, Imeshan blinks hard, her eyes coming back into focus. In them, fury.

Clenching my jaw, I resume rubbing. Her breath hitches as she sinks again, deeper and deeper as I work faster and harder, so much it jostles her halo. That wetness grows, soaking through the groin of her undersuit where my lower belly presses down on her. I start to harden.

Imeshan’s back arches, forcing her body up into mine, the muscles of her torso wracking. Her moans grow into a mewling cry as orgasm strikes her. I hold her head down, no longer rubbing. Just keeping her in place, and watching. Soon it begins to pass and she settles down into the bed, heaving and bleary eyed. As she fades into post-coitus, I move my hand to brush my fingers through her hair. She barely responds to the touch, eyes drifting away from me. It was already clear that I was her superior in our choir. But now, I hope, she’ll start to fully realize how superior.

Sitting up, I look to Sholanan. She’s still fixed on Imeshan, a dim fascination in her stare. Noticing my attention, she meets my eye. She’s done so well. I stroke her cheek, and she leans into the touch. Then she seems to get an idea. Raising her hand, she lets it hang at her side a moment. Uncertain. Then she reaches towards the center of my own halo.

I catch her hand. I love my pet sister. But even if I’m beneath the Proxy and our Queen, she must understand that I am above her. Planting a kiss on her palm, I pull her up from the bed and towards another. There’s still that lust roiling inside me to deal with.

***

Vaschael remains a rock when we go to her the next evening, steadfast and silent, raising her face to watch us enter.

Until she notices the smell of burnt oil and rotten meat, and sees what the Proxy has brought with her. Our guiding star steps in first, swinging a silver censer. Dark smoke trails behind it as it gently sways, and forms a loose fence around Vaschael as the Proxy begins to circle her.

"Take that away." Vaschael's voice is as resonant as thunder, even as thirst leaves it ragged at its edges.

The Proxy asks, "How long have you been on earth, Vaschael?"

The seraph's face remains set. "Take it away."

Vaschael’s chains speak for her, jangling as she shifts away from the censer.

"Long enough to know this smell, surely." As the Proxy makes her way back around to Vaschael's front, she lowers the censer to the seraph's face. "This is the smell of the enemy."

I spot the slightest twitch of Vaschael's lips as she tries to lean further from the stench. Her chains are too short for her to get far. Thick smoke billows into her face and she lurches with a gag.

"Of the Host." The Proxy sets the censer down, right under my new sister's nose. "Of what your Mother abandoned us to."

"Abandoned." Vaschael spits the word like venom. "We sent you five of our sisters." Another rattle of steel, her wings pushing against their restraints as she turns to me. "And look at what you did to them."

I expect I have changed since she and I last met. I know the truth now.

"Yes, we've made excellent use of them." Lifting her leg, the Proxy sets her boot atop Vaschael's head. "Better than your negligent mother. Sitting by as insects and rats gnaw on her children while they scream for her help."

A terse, bitter chuckle escapes Vaschael. "If only you knew."

The Proxy tilts her head. "Oh?"

"Do you truly believe we're unaware of your plight?" Vaschael pushes against the Proxy's boot. "Do you really think this is all we cared to do?"

Leaning forward, the Proxy presses her weight down. "Yes, your sisters have alluded to this. None of them ever cared to tell me more, however." She slips me a glance, and I wither. I would tell her everything if I could. If only I hadn't lost the knowledge in my enlightenment. "You, though." She grinds her heel into that flawless auburn hair. "Perhaps you'll tell me more."

"I will tell you nothing." Vaschael resists her easily, her physical strength beyond mortal bounds. My heart stirs with anticipation - such a potent weapon she will make for the Queen-Minister.

The thinnest smile forms on the Proxy's face. "No," she says. "You will." She presses harder, leans down lower, until Vaschael's face tightens with effort. Especially once the Proxy slides her heel down to rest against Vaschael's halo, where the metal meets her forehead. "You are far from your Heaven, sweet seraph, and your radiance means nothing here."

Through gritted teeth Vaschael says, "It did once."

"And now it doesn't." The Proxy pushes into the halo. "Because the Silver Goddess and Her angels abandoned us."

Vaschael grunts, feeling the outermost edge of disconnect. Still she insists, a sorrowful edge to her voice, "We didn't abandon you, little one."

The war above. Vaschael had mentioned it in Illenka. She didn't elaborate then, and clearly doesn't intend to now. The phrase doesn't rouse anything in me. Perhaps if the Proxy knew to ask about it, however. Perhaps if I handed her that key, she might be able to use it to unlock something in Vaschael.

I raise my hand.

The Proxy looks to me. "Yes, Lakera?"

My sister angles to me, her face warming with something like hope.

"In Illenka," I begin, "Vaschael mentioned something called the war above."

Vaschael's expression curdles into a wretched frown. Soon, sister. This is to help you.

The Proxy's grin spreads. Behind my mask, I beam in turn. She shifts her attention down to the seraph. "Tell us about that, Vaschael."

Vaschael lowers her head.

"Well?" The Proxy taps her foot in a slow rhythm atop her head. "Come now, seraph."

Such answers she might have for us. Such avenues it might give us to grind through her armor. If only we didn't then hear shouts and trampling boots outside the door, one voice rising above the rest to scream, "Attack! We're under attack!"

The Proxy heaves a sigh. "Later, then." She turns and storms towards the door, directing me to follow.

As we weave through the halls, my sisters catch up and fall in with us. Brea is the last to join. Her eyes are no longer so distant, but I can tell her attention still wanders at times. As to where she keeps disappearing to, I’m still not entirely sure. I did once catch her in the prison, where Canrie is kept in a small cell, watching the little hound as she pleads for her mistress’s freedom. Brea intends to steal that sweet prize from me, I’m sure. I intend to deny her that, as well.

We encounter no soldiers in the halls. Rifle fire and frantic shouts reverberate deeper into the fort from the entrance. As we near it, the Proxy steps aside into a doorway and waves us on. Our orders are obvious: defend the Fort. But as we continue, the cacophony starts to thin. Guns and voices dropping off, one by one. My first thought is gas. Any moment now the deceptive pepper-and-pineapple scent of chlorine will tint the air. Our kits, fortunately, include gas masks. The closer we get, however, the more I start to doubt this. By then we can hear the singing. Faint but achingly sweet, a chorus of airy voices weaving through the last straggling gunshots.

Once we reach the entrance and I peer out over the top step, I realize this is something entirely new.

Around twenty soldiers stand around the courtyard, gazes fixed at the moonlit sky above the walls. Some mutter to themselves, too low for me to hear. Some point their rifles up at the ramparts. Most stand slack, just listening to that soft singing. I try to place the slow, sanguine melody but don’t recognize the song.

From the other end of the courtyard, a metallic groan as several men push the gates open.

Before I can move to stop them, one is suddenly grabbed and pulled through the half-open gateway by a gangly limb. He doesn’t scream. He doesn’t resist at all.

Suddenly, a soft rattle of what sounds like metal sheets as a long dark shape swoops down into the courtyard. A soldier drops as it passes through him, his head toppling from his neck as he falls. Another shape darts down, taking another man with it. Then another, another, in a few heartbeats I’ve counted six. As soon as I spot another in the top corner of the doorway, I loose my SMG on it.

I don’t have time to know if I’ve hit it. A shadow slinks through the doorway like a breeze, grabs me by the throat, and drags me out into the courtyard.

For a moment I roll, disoriented, concrete scraping against my armor and stars flashing in and out of sight. Finally I catch myself and regain my feet. This gives me a heartbeat before the thing is on me again. A glimpse of lanky proportions and dark rigid wings as it pounces. But I’m swift as well and lunge forward to slide under it. A claw nicks the back of my armor as it swipes at me. I pop up to find it crashing into a heap, long limbs awkward, and I fire into its mass. A mix of sparks and blood spray where the bullets find purchase. Around me I smell blood and hear more entranced bodies dropping, followed by the crackle of automatic fire as my sisters join the fray. The singing is drowned out.

As my target goes still, I barely catch the click of talons to my right and turn to see wicked metal teeth closing in. No time to dodge, I twist to get my weapon into its path. I only partly manage, one side of those jaws closing on the base of the barrel. Grabbing onto my shoulders, the thing rears up, standing just taller than me. In the moonlight I see crude metal plating screwed into dark leathery skin. The head is vaguely reptilian and lacks any eyes that I can see.

It shoves its full weight into me. I stagger but manage to plant my feet, and push back. For a moment we’re at a standstill, it jerking its head to try and tear my weapon from my hands, me trying to keep it locked until I find enough purchase to push it off. My pauldrons tighten around my shoulders but I doubt its claws will pierce the steel.

Then it giggles. A woman’s voice, airy and sweet.

The Host often have a surprise in store for us. Some new weapon or breed of monster. They’ve gotten frighteningly clever, as the Hierophant attests. This creature opens its jaws to release my weapon, yawning its mouth open so wide I can see a solid metal plate at the back of what should be its throat. Then that plate too folds up to the roof of its mouth, revealing our enemy’s latest trick.

A woman’s face smiles back at me. Human, so far as I can tell, her eyes a pleasant blue and her skin pale like she sees too little sunlight. But those eyes are hollow. Beads of glass, painted a pretty color but devoid of light. Her smile is empty, like her lips were sculpted that way. A doll’s face, with a doll’s pleasant but hollow voice as she says, “Hello, bright one.”

I blink at her, forgetting the monster built onto her body.

The doll’s eyes narrow a little, a mimicry of a fond look. “She told us we’d get to meet you soon,” she muses in that dreamy tone. “And here you are, right where she’d hoped you would be.” Her eyes roam my body a moment. “Oh, you’re as radiant as she’d said. So nearly perfect. As one expects of angels, of course.” She leans a little closer. Just enough for me to smell stale sweat and crude oil and burnt meat. “But soon, you’ll be even more beautiful. Entirely perfected, once she has you.”

Shock wearing off, the clamor of battle returns to my ears. I remember the weapon in my hands.

“Won’t you join us, bright one?” Her smile widens, before the plate folds back down and those metal jaws snap shut.

With them, I snap back into focus. I launch a kick into the doll-thing’s ribs and send her leaping back. Twin fans of blade-like wings flare from her shoulders, oscillating to stabilize her. They serve her less when I unload into her front. Some bullets strike armor but enough find flesh, and she spasms before flagging to her side. There she lays, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. It occurs to me the black material between her armor isn’t hide but some kind of body suit.

“All the same, bright one,” I hear her rasp. “She will make you perfect.” In that moment, I can’t deny she is beautiful. Radiance in pure devotion, however deranged.

I turn to assess the field. My sisters are holding well. Sholanan is on one doll-thing’s back, wrestling one of the wings out of the way as she moves her knife to her foe’s throat. Brea side-steps another’s pounce to fire her sidearm into the enemy’s back.

More of the doll-things dart about the courtyard, either finishing any soldiers they’d missed or working to keep us separated. One leaps upon a soldier and snaps her jaws shut around their skull. This gives me a moment to take her in, the long segmented tail trailing behind her, ending in a wicked metal hook. This one will be my next target.

As I raise my SMG, I notice something else across the courtyard. Imeshan is staggering towards the open gates. One of the doll-things saunters by her side.

Pieces of a puzzle I hadn’t thought to see start clicking together.

I forget my quarry and rush towards my sister- and am cut off when another thing leaps across my path. Something seizes my wrist and I’m almost pulled off my feet as it jerks my arm after it. I pull back and feel something graze the sleeve of my undersuit as it pulls my gauntlet clear off. One of those wicked tail hooks, I realize. My attacker laughs aloud, a girl at an innocent game, as she circles to come at me again. I haven’t time for her. Gritting my teeth I dash for the door again, spraying a burst behind me to dissuade her. Imeshan is almost through the gates.

“Imeshan.” The Proxy’s voice, coming from the darkness outside the walls. “Here.”

As my sister disappears through the gateway, her escort notices me and charges. I feint to her right, then roll past her as she lunges.

“Here, Imeshan.”

I reach the gates and charge through weapon first. The sight I find there, however, gives me pause. A short way down the slope stands Imeshan. Looming over her, white coat and exoskeleton almost gleaming in the moonlight, is the Hierophant.

“Imeshan.” The Hierophant’s mouth doesn’t move, but I hear that perfect imitation of the Proxy all the same. “Down.”

Imeshan drops to her knees and sits prettily. Back straight, hands folded in her lap. Looking up at the enemy.

Shaking off the Hierophant’s influence as best I can, I train my SMG on it.

Something lands heavily on my back, shoving me face down into the dirt. Winded, I try to shake the attacker off but she’s taken me off guard and is heavy as bricks. “Soon, bright one,” whispers the doll above me. “You’ll have your turn.”

Gasping for breath, I try to find Imeshan. I see her staring back at me, her eyes glazed. Suddenly I’m struck with regret, a blow heavier than any other I’ve taken tonight, hitting me square in the chest. Regret for every scornful thought I’ve had of Imeshan. Regret for how I used her yesterday. Regret for every time I helped the Proxy discipline her, regret for every time I abused or neglected her myself, because whatever her faults, she is still my sister. Growling, I fight with all I have to free myself.

The Hierophant’s secondary arms unfold from its waist, and turn Imeshan’s face back to it. One hand cupping her cheek, the other caressing her hair. A mockery of the Proxy’s praise. It curdles my stomach, even as I crave that touch myself. “Good, sweet angel.”

Then it lowers one of its long arms to her face. In the starlight I see something glisten as it slides out of its wrist. A tendril, slender and flesh red. Imeshan trembles as it wraps around her neck like a leash.

I feel my strength ebb. It sickens me, this perversion of our Queen’s authority. It enrages me, seeing my sister rise to her feet and the Hierophant turn away, leading her off into the night. Imeshan casts one last wide-eyed glance back over her shoulder at me. Poor Imeshan, who among our choir has been tormented as she has? I wish the Hierophant would take me as well, so I would suffer the penance of sharing her fate.

Then Imeshan turns away, and follows the creature away into the night.

The doll-thing nuzzles her helmet into my hair. “Soon,” she coos. Her fellows are gliding down from the walls after their master and its new captive. Then she bounds off me to follow as well. I could pursue. I could fire after them. Maybe kill one or two more. But a void has filled me. I can only lay there, numb save for the stinging tears building in my eyes. Another of my sisters is lost, and once again, I was so close by, and did not save her.