At Midweek, we sing.

Above the atrium is our place. It’s something like an attic arranged around an opening through which the bonfire smoke, laced with lavender and cinnamon incenses, rises with the chatter of the congregation. Stained glass windows dapple us in green, gold, and cyan light. Wrapped in flowing white-and-emerald robes and kneeling around the opening, we wait. Our usual masks lay between our knees and white silken ones cover our eyes. The Proxy stands at the back of the space, an ever-observant shadow.

The Proxy steps forward to join us. A silent count passes- One. Two. Three. Four.

These praises unite us as much as the people below. Here there is no competition. We all hold to our place in the harmony: Getye with her soft soaring soprano, Imeshan and I with our rich medium tones, Brea underscoring with her velvety contralto, and the Proxy, leading us with her powerful soprano. We blend into a single voice.

I follow her through the spiralling halls of Vandett Tower. Lush plants hang by the windows, their leafy shoots falling over the glass like living curtains, while multi-hued flowers and shrubs grow in pots along the far walls, filling the air with their aromas. These are statements as much as decorations. The world outside of Cratavn is greying and dead. Therefore, life is grown in abundance within the city’s walls in defiance of the rot. I rarely see them, but even more luscious gardens spread throughout the Tower grounds and the richer parts of the city, telling the decay outside, We will not surrender. We will persist. We will thrive.

They notice us in turn. “Speak of the Heavens,” Kabrell says, stopping in our path. “I was hoping to run across you, Officer.”

“You can.” Kabrell’s small blue eyes size the Proxy up. The left one is glass, its color unnaturally vibrant like the ocean in a storybook. “I don’t believe I received a full report of what happened at the Bone Factory.”

“Yes, I’ve read what your pet told you.” The Field Marshal slips me a dour look. “But I have difficulty believing that of the 1,500 personnel present that day, she’s the only one who saw anything.”

“No.” Kabrell steps past her to me. I’m taller than her, but her steely demeanour and false eye lend her a heavy presence. “I trust soldiers, trained to both follow orders and use their heads as needed.” She reaches up to take my chin in her hand and lightly jostles my face about. I don’t stop her. While I answer to only the Proxy and the Queen-Minister, I must respect the Field Marshal’s rank. “Not puppets, pulled about on strings.”

“I’d like to discuss them now, Officer,” insists Kabrell. Her voice is rough with decades of cigarette smoke. “Particularly her conduct towards our friend at the Factory.”

“That is under control,” the Proxy assures her coolly.

The Field Marshal’s companion clears her throat. “Ma’am…”

The Proxy stands in silence. Had something the Field Marshal said cut her? My jaw tightens. I must respect Kabrell’s rank, yes. But if she’s wounded my guiding star, such niceties may not protect her.

We soon arrive at the clinic, where I strip to my face mask and halo and sit on the edge of one of the many cots. The attendants then conduct their usual tests. Taking a blood sample from my arm. Shining a bright torch into my eyes and prompting me to follow it. Checking my thaumaturgy scars. They take a particular interest in the two long ones down my shoulder blades.

Just as my jaw begins to hurt, the attendant withdraws their fingers and allows me to close my mouth. Pencils scratch across paper. Electric lights buzz overhead. The air is cool and sterile against my skin.

“I’m only tired, Proxy.” A plausible half-truth.

I fear I’m losing Her Grace’s favor. I fear my sisters are surpassing me. This, pathetic as it is, is the truth. But I can’t say that. Such petulant whining is beneath her.

Despite my worries, a bashful smile steals across my face. I grab onto the first diversion I can. “Proxy,” I say, “I wonder about our new sister. She’s been here some weeks now, yet we haven’t heard any more about her.”

I perk up. I’d expected she’s doing well, don’t worry, perhaps you’ll see her again soon. Given the option, however, I decide I would like to. “Yes, Proxy, thank you.”

***

The Proxy leads me through the corridor, following the bundles of black wires choking the ceiling to power the electric lights. Finally she stops by one door and unlocks it. “You may speak freely with her,” she tells me. “But take care. She still has some way to go.” Then she pulls the door open.

She stares at me a moment. She was pale before but now she’s white as bleached bone. Finally, she reaches out a trembling hand and brushes her fingertips against the skin beneath my eyes. Her touch is light and cold as a midnight breeze.

“Yes.” I take her hand and give it a gentle squeeze. How long has she been here? Around seven weeks, I think. Perhaps eight. “Of course I am.”

“It does feel that way, yes.” I stroke my thumb against her palm. “For the first while. There’s so much you need to learn, sister. So much you need to forget, as well.”

“You will,” I assure her. “Soon. You’ll see such beautiful skies.”

I hesitate. She must not understand what the mask means yet. If it helps put her at ease, I decide removing it can’t do any harm here. I unfasten it and slip it off. “You do see the sun, though.”

I nod, remembering how the Proxy’s ivory uniform and fair hair shone down here in the dim light, back when I was learning and forgetting. “She’s our beacon. She’s here to guide us to our true purpose.”

I frown. “It does seem harsh at first,” I concede. I brush her hair back out of her face, trying not to see the bruise on her cheek. “But it’s necessary. Our eyes are closed when we first come here. She’s just teaching you to open yours.”

“What people?” I ask. “How?”

“Free them from what?” I keep my tone gentle. She must be coming to see, but enlightenment takes time.

“The only people left are those in Cratavn,” I answer for her. “The Host have killed everyone else.”

I set my hand over hers. “So what are we to free people from?”

I beam. “See? You’re getting it.” I set my cheek on the mattress to meet her face. “She’ll be so pleased with you.”

“I thought the same, at first.” A sigh escapes me as I recall the first time the Proxy ran the back of her hand down my cheek, the first time she told me how good I was being for her. “But once you accept this, you’ll be ready for Her truth.”

“Our Queen-Minister,” I correct her. “Yes, you’ll be ready to receive Her truth soon, sister. Hers is the only truth.”

My smile becomes apologetic. “I lost it in my enlightenment.”

“Sholanan,” I repeat. “You’ll be ready soon. Then you can join the rest of us, back in the sky.”

She’s cut off by two firm knocks on the door. “I thought that, as well,” I assure her. “And the path there is hard, yes. It isn’t easy, letting go of these lies and accepting these truths. I know it isn’t. But once you’re there, it’s worth every tear.” My heartbeat quickens, remembering the rush of serving Her, of killing for Her, and hearing and feeling Her praise. It’s as if the Hymn is droning in my ears.

“As sure as I’ve ever been.” I plant a kiss on Sholanan’s brow, then put my mask back on. “Sleep well. You’ll have such wonderful dreams soon.”

We sleep in a circular room near the top of the Tower, just below the Queen-Minister’s own quarters. Most of the beds are empty, not because we’ve lost sisters, but because so few of us have so far been enlightened. Night has fallen and I hear the others quietly snoring. Sleep eludes me, however. My mind keeps returning to the Bone Factory, to that moment I found the woman on the brain, Kabrell’s words repeating in my head. Perhaps, I consider again, that wasn’t like the night we collected Sholanan. Perhaps I did do something wrong. Should I have pursued the stranger? Would catching her have won me my Queen’s affections?

There’s a knock on the door.

The Proxy snaps her fingers, pulling our attention to her. “Good evening, my angels,” she announces. “You’ve all done well lately. So well, in fact, that Her Grace has decided to reward you.”

“Wh...” The figure wavers, struggling to even stay on their knees. Their hands are bound behind their back. “What...?”

The figure struggles, but they’re so weak that the Proxy only has to a grab their head to hold them. “What is this?” A woman’s voice. “You creepy bitch, what is this?!”

Imeshan peers up over her covers. She has the same sad eyes she always does but there’s something else in them now. Hunger. Just as I see in Getye and Brea’s. Just as I feel worming in my stomach. Very slowly, Imeshan comes out to join us.

Getye crouches before her, studying how the bag flares in and out as she breathes.

Our reward’s short brown hair is in disarray and there’s a wicked cut over her right eye, crusted with dried blood. She flinches back after finding Getye inches from her face. “The fuck...?!”

Our reward’s eyes dart between the four of us. She’s trying to wear a brave face but her breath quivers with fear. “Listen,” she says. “If this is about the strike, I dunno what she told you, but...”

The woman’s shoulders are so tense her arms might burst from their sockets. “O-Okay.”

Her mouth twitches as she tries to find words. “Are you not gonna...?”

“Hey, uh...” She doesn’t pull away but I can feel the tension in her neck, the muscles tight. “Wh-What are you doing?”

She flinches, as if the sight of my exposed face strikes her like a fist. Perhaps it does. At once her stare, so alert and wandering as she sought danger all around, narrows to me.

“So...” Our reward is breathless. Her attention stays on me but her eyes are losing focus. Her freed hands reach up but stop short of my cheeks. “S-So...”

I give our reward a smile, taking one of her hands in mine. They’re rough with callouses. Her expression melts into vacant bliss. “Pretty...”

I lift our reward’s palm to my lips and lick it with the tip of my tongue. Her skins tastes as it smells. Her only reaction is a slow blink. Then Brea tugs her tank top up, pulling her hand out of mine to remove the garment. By now she and Imeshan have stripped as well, and I take the moment to shed my own robe and kick it away.

As we play, our prey finally reacts. Little whimpers in her throat. Weak wriggling in our collective embrace, a thin line of saliva running from the corner of her mouth as she becomes overstimulated. On some level she senses our desires and, hollowed out as she is, can only comply. She starts to paw at our breasts, reach for my cock or the others’ cunts, trying to please us that way. I catch her hand as it passes near my womanhood and raise it to my lips again. They’re charming when they’re empty like this. I’d like to keep her for longer. Sometimes we do. Sometimes for days, toys for our free use.

I run my tongue up the inside of her wrist, savoring the taste. Then I bite into it.

Our prey doesn’t fight us. She makes no more sound than those small doggish whimpers. She recognizes this is what we want. Her mind is burnt out and all that remains is obedience. She knows she must please us. She must let us feed. I pull my teeth from her flesh and press my lips over the wound, drinking deeper. Hot red dribbles down my chin. Blood burns down my throat and settles heavy in my belly. Little by little she becomes limp, letting us take her into ourselves.

Brea and I exchange looks over our prey’s shoulder.

Afterwards we rest. Blood lingers in a slick of molten copper on my teeth, across my tongue and down my throat. Laid on my sheets, I wipe the trail from the front of my body and suck it from my fingers. Brea lounges against her pillow, wiping red from her lips and licking it off her hand like a great cat.

Content, Imeshan looks towards us. Instead, she catches on our reward. The woman is a pale husk sprawled out on the marble, that empty smile frozen on her face. Imeshan’s eyes regain their usual sorrowful cast. I try not to regard her remorse with contempt. I fail. She'd devoured the woman just as readily as the rest of us, once the blood began to flow. Besides, our victim was a gift from our Queen. We couldn't have refused if we'd wanted to.

I've also won a small victory tonight. I feel our reward's soul as a swell of warmth rippling in my belly. It isn't much- certainly not our Queen's approval, certainly not the soft music of Her voice praising me- but it's a rare delicacy. She's happy, my prey. A morsel content to be devoured. The emotion tickles faintly through my core. My own thoughts quiet as her hollow bliss spreads to me. I am falling behind, yes. I've not been able to shake that anxiety since we returned from the Bone Factory. But between this and helping to guide my new sister, today at least wasn't so bad.