Close-knit as the Sisterhood was, it only made sense that news would propagate quickly amongst themselves... which made it all the more confusing how it seemed as if Everie was the last person to hear of whatever had taken place.

Something big had occurred in the cult. Everie had been on an operation when she received summons to head back to the catacombs immediately, which meant whatever it was, it was sufficient to warrant the attention of the second-highest ranked assassin the Zabaniya had at their disposal.

It had been years since Addie and Ellie’s deaths. Everie hardly interacted with the other Sisters as much. She didn’t know if it was the pain that kept her from talking to the others, or if it was the guilt. She knew better than anyone that it was irrational - that there was nothing more she could have done for her Sisters, having been caught in the crossfire of a skirmish between an entire brigade of Brass-city soldiers and the cult’s guerilla militiamen.

But Everie knew, deep in her heart, that regardless of however hard she tried, she was irrational. She would always be irrational.

‘Ice-princess,’ they called her. Princess of Death, although that was a less common moniker. She was growing in infamy almost as fast as Selena had at her age.

And she hated it.

----------------------------------------

She stood before the four Priests of the Brass arm of Zabaniya. They were veiled, of course, not only to hide their visages from those that sought to destroy them, but also to generate the aura of mystique that their followers so loved. They received no love from their supposedly great patrons from above, certainly. It was the only justification Everie could think of for all this needless fanfare.

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“I heed the summons of the Mouth of the Demon King,” Everie intoned, voice dead-monotone. “What is the operation?”

The three of them stood in an eerily snakelike motion. They moved in unison, as they always did; the few times Everie had been granted access to them, she had never seen them move without the tacit understanding of each other.

It would have been impressive, had it not been so creepy. “There is a traitor-heretic in our midst,” whispered the first priest.

“She betrayed her trust, and her kin,” snarled the second priest.

“Her sentence must be commensurately painful,” agreed the third priest.

All four stiffened, before snapping towards her. Everie stared back at them, unperturbed. But within, she felt a tinge of regret.

She always hated operations that required her to slay another Sister. She may have severed herself from that community years ago, but it was still uncomfortable for her. Doubly so due to the fact that the higher-ups in the cult seemed to be relying on her increasingly for internal cullings.

It had not been a positive influence on her reputation amongst the Sisterhood, at least, even if they understood she didn’t want to slaughter their brethren. Se- oh-one made sure of that, at the very least, even if Everie refused to talk to her.

“Who is the heretic?” Everie asked, tonelessly.

A sense of foreboding washed over her. From behind their respective veils, the priests’ eyes glittered like blackbeetles.

No, she realized. No. It can’t be.

“The Demon King calls!” the fourth priest crowed. “Your duty, oh-two, is to Zabaniya. And he has ordered you to cull the heathen that is oh-one, and slaughter her for her crimes. Take her mantle and ascend as the eighth of Zabaniya’s holy virgins!”