“Sister,” Everie began, looking up from the cleaning-rag she had been scrubbing the floor with.

Her Sister turned, hefting her mop on her broad, muscular shoulders. “Hmm?” she asked, peering down at five-year-old Everie. “What is it?”

“Where do babies come from?” Everie asked.

Her Sister stilled. Everie tilted her head, then startled, as her Sister burst into laughter. The other acolytes in the room stared at them in annoyance, before turning their heads upon seeing that it was oh-three who had broken the silence.

Others, mostly younger, looked upon their conversation with interest. Childbirth was a subject their seniors in the cult hadn’t seen fit to test them with; unlike some other branches of the Zabaniya cult, elders had told them their branch was absolutely ascribed to something called ce-li-ba-cy.

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As expected of Zabaniya’s ‘holy virgins’, they said. The Sisterhood was, for all intents and purposes, left untouched by the other facets of the cult. From the acolytes, to the militiamen, to even the Priests - none dared touch them in any… untoward ways.

A blessing in disguise, her Sister had called it.

“Are you sure you want me to tell you? I know we’re all mature for our age, Everie, but that’s a subject even I recently learned of.

Everie nodded firmly. Her Sister sighed, ruffling on the head, muttering, “What am I gonna do with you...”

Later, Everie frowned, frustrated. It seemed her Sister hadn’t lied; Everie hadn’t understood a word of what she’d described after all.