They were running out of time. The thought echoed endlessly in Razia’s head as the days went on and Quentin still didn’t get his ass up. She was beginning to get frustrated and afraid that she may have been wrong. There was no missing the way others looked at her and talked about her behind her back. They all thought she was crazy.

Maybe she was. It wasn’t like people just got back up after dying. While healers and alchemists could stave off death at the last second, lying around dead for a week wasn’t something one came back from. But everything odd about the situation screamed it was different this time. She had to believe that, even if it meant she was crazy.

There was an appointment tomorrow with Mr. Cicero. There was a very real chance Razia was going to turn herself over rather than risk Piro’s men hurting any of their people. If there was any other option she’d take it, but this was something she wasn’t going to run away from, even if it meant going to her death. If nothing else, maybe she’d poison Christophe and take him out with her. That would be a satisfying enough way to go.

It didn’t matter. Quentin was going to get up. This time, they were going to do something about it. The only thing they could, really. They were going to pray, really, really hard.

“Are you sure we should’ve spent that many shards on this?” Samantha asked her, looking at their newest purchase. “Don’t get me wrong, I really like it and think it brings the room together, but…”

“I’m positive,” said Razia, beaming at the statue. There in the atrium, right between the couches and the pool and skylight, was the form of the Pierced Heart in gold. They were nude, legs close together, with both a penis and breasts, representing their dual nature. From their chest an orchrisus flower burst through the skin, thorny vines protruding out the back and wrapping around their body. “This is exactly what we need.”

Samantha nodded in understanding. “I don’t get it. How is this going to help? Shouldn’t we be praying to a statue of the Darkstar? Not that Mr. Q would ever let one in here.”

“Ahh, you’d think so, right?” Razia tapped her forehead. “But the Darkstar is the goddess of death. The Pierced Heart is not just the god of love and pain. They’re the god of in between. They go back and forth between the Daystar and the Darkstar, and spring is when they go from death back to life. We’re at the height of spring. It all adds up.”

“I guess so,” said Samantha. “But what about the rest of it? Why are we putting on a show? Why the audience?”

They were minutes away from opening. Tonight was to be a special night at the Moonlit Garden, and that was part of the plan. Rather than being open for normal customers, they invited more working girls and gladiators. Tonight was to be invitation only, the Garden filled with their people. That was important, in Razia’s mind. They had to be people who cared, and they had to be willing to participate.

“If we weren’t banned from the Temple, I’d ask them to do this,” Razia admitted. “It’s a ritual. A group prayer. There’s an audience because they need to join in and witness it. That’ll bring on the right mood, so the show will be a way to get the Pierced Heart’s attention, right? And then with all of us praying and begging along with Quentin being touched by the Darkstar he’ll get back up.”

Samantha wrinkled her nose. “Do you really think it will work?”

“I don’t think it’ll hurt,” Razia replied with a sad smile. “Worst case scenario, nothing happens but the Garden has a good luck statue for when I’m gone. But it’s going to work. I believe.” It was a rough time when even Samantha was skeptical and expecting the worst.

“Out of the way,” Bruce called out as he and Jonas carried a wooden platform to the center of the atrium. On the platform was a giant X made of polished wood with metal cuffs at the end of each arm. They set it down, groaning with relief. “That sumbitch was heavy,” he whistled.

Jonas stretched out his bad arm, wincing. “Not a moment too soon. A lot of people are here already, lined up outside. Are our two stars ready?”

“I was right about to check,” said Razia. She motioned towards the door, “Why don’t you let them in and get Tricia to get food and drink ready.”

“You got it,” said Bruce, flashing her a thumbs up. The lanky gladiator headed towards the entryway.

Razia went to Isa’s room, knocking before entering. Isa was already dressed for the part, much as Razia found her a couple days ago. She wore a light leather outfit that squeezed and pushed her breasts out, while her ass was barely covered. Leather gloves and thigh high boots gave her a black frame, and a choker necklace with a metal orchrisus flower in the center completed the look.

Lucy was dressed as well, for the most part. Unlike Isa’s dominating queen of pain look, Lucy looked as soft and pure and innocent as possible. She wore a concealing white dress that made her already pale skin look even whiter and her black hair pop. Isa was finishing up painting her lips red, the only source of color on her. She blotted her lips on a cloth and turned to make a kissy face at Razia.

“Hey girls. Lucy, you look great. How are you feeling about all of this?”

Lucy made a face and shrugged. “If you say it will help, then I’ll give it a shot. I’m going to be honest, I’m a little nervous about all of this, but I trust Isa not to hurt me. Well, too bad, I mean.”

“I notice you don’t ask me how I feel about this,” Isa sniffed, standing.

Razia smiled, eyes twinkling with mischief. “I don’t need to. I think you want Quentin back almost as much as I do, don’t you Isa?” She met her eyes until Isa looked away.

“I hate you.”

Lucy looked between them, not understanding. Razia just shrugged when she looked at her. Three was a good number here. One dishing the pain, one receiving it, and one leading the prayer. Not only that, but it was Quentin’s three favorite girls. There had to be power in that. There had to. “You two ready?”

“I am,” said Lucy. “I think.”

Isa looked at her sharply. “If it ever gets to be too much, if you ever want to stop, say the word ‘red’ when you can. And when you can’t, tap the cross with your left hand. Do you understand?” Lucy nodded. Isa relaxed and turned to Razia. “Ready. Let’s do this.”

People flowed into the room, the earliest among them grabbing the best spots along the couches and chairs dragged in from the other side of the house. The rest of them found places to stand, all surrounding the platform in the center. The statue stood tall behind the platform, watching over the entire room. Razia may have been small but she pushed a path through for Lucy and Isa to get through.

Lucy looked around nervously, stopping just before the wooden cross. She turned around and held her hands up. Isa gently cuffed her hands and ankles to the ends of the cross. Lucy tested her bonds. They held, and she had plenty of room to avoid chafing. With as much pain as she was about to endure, the little things mattered. Lynne came up with a small table, Isa’s instruments spread across a soft cloth on top of it.

As much as the entire set up was Razia going with what felt right to attempt to gain notice of the gods, the actual event was based off of a ritual she’d seen in the temple of the Pierced Heart. In the temple, only priests, priestesses, and a small handful of guests witnessed the ritual. It was her hope that a full audience would only make their prayers more noticeable, like a beacon in the night.

It was only a little longer before everyone was packed into the atrium, some sitting on the couches or on the ground nearby, the rest standing shoulder to shoulder around the edges of the room. There were a good thirty people there. Hopefully it was enough. Razia waited until she was sure no one else was coming before she stood in front of the platform and spoke.

“Welcome, everyone, and thank you for coming here. What we’re about to do is something I’ve been thinking about for a while now. For too long now the Moonlit Garden has operated with the quiet acceptance of the Pierced Heart’s grace without ever seeking it out or celebrating it. That changes tonight. With your help, we’ll bless this business and help get Quentin back on his feet again!”

There were a few scattered cheers and hushed, muffled conversations. Razia took it as a good sign. “You’ve all been instructed what’s going to happen and when to join in. So, be ready, and enjoy the show. You ladies ready?” Lucy shivered but nodded. Isa retrieved a bone dagger from the table. She held it up, pointing at Razia.

This was it.

“Today we come together with an offering and a plea. Today we invoke you, Dolas, the Pierced Heart. We call you here to witness our prayer, oh king of love and queen of pain!” There was a small part of her that felt a little silly, a little over the top. It was drowned out by earnestness. Razia believed, and would until all hope was gone. “Heal the pain from our friend Quentin Quintius. Heal him and bring him back to us from the brink of death. In return, we offer up the sensations of your disciple, Lucy.”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

This was Lucy’s cue. She swallowed hard and called out, in a voice that only waved a little, “I offer myself up willingly. Take my sacrifice.”

“What do you offer?” Razia demanded.

“M-my innocence!” Lucy called.

Isa held up the knife. Dozens of eyes followed her as she pressed the flat of the blade against Lucy’s cheek, gently drawing it downwards. The knife dipped down, sliding against her chin until the point was against her throat. Lucy shivered, holding very still. Isa kept going until the tip of the knife reached the edge of the dress. With a sudden movement Isa grabbed her by the front of the dress and pulled the knife through it, slicing it down the center.

Lucy gasped and the audience gasped with her. Isa slashed down and down until it was shorn clean through, hanging off her spread arms. Lucy stood there, strapped to the cross, exposed and breathing hard. Her chest rose and fell swiftly, and her eyes darted around the room. Her body was a plane of white, save for her pink nipples and the sparse dark hair between her legs. Isa stood at the ready, looking to Razia.

“What do you offer?” Razia demanded.

“A taste of my flesh,” Lucy responded.

Isa swapped out the knife for a length of leather. Again Lucy shivered, eyeing the strap nervously. Isa swung it around in a circle, slowly at first but picking up speed. Right when the whir in the air became hypnotic, Isa lashed out. The leather slapped against Lucy’s thigh, making her cry out. Isa struck again, and again, flicking her wrist and striking her on the other thigh, the soft side of her arm's, and finally against her breasts, making Lucy yelp.

A ripple passed through the crowd. Razia looked around. The gladiators were mostly enraptured by the sight, some ogling her openly, while a few of the other whores winced at the strikes. Still others nodded, either in approval or interest, Razia couldn’t say. It was enough that they had all of their attention. With each crack of the leather against Lucy’s tender skin, some people jerked, wincing at the pain. But there was no danger. Isa knew what she was doing.

It was only about a minute of light whipping when Razia held her hand up and Isa stopped. Lucy panted for breath, unshed tears in her eyes. All along her body was color now, bright red where the leather strap bit into her skin and left its mark. Razia wanted to shiver as well. Ritual aside, it was a beautiful sight. Isa put her hand under Lucy’s chin and tilted it upwards to her. Lucy gave her a short, brave nod.

“What do you offer?” Razia again said.

Lucy swallowed hard. She didn’t answer for a second. Long enough for Razia to fear she was going to call it off, but then she said, in a small voice. “A taste of my blood.”

The leather strap went back to the table and Isa brought the knife back. She waved it in the air, the motion liquid and smooth. Again she caressed Lucy’s cheek with the flat of the blade. This time when she got down to Lucy’s chin she brought the blade straight, with just the tip of it biting into her pure, pale skin. Isa drew it down her throat, just hard enough to leave a line of the faintest red. Lucy gasped.

Isa continued, bringing the knife down between Lucy’s small breasts, drawing around one in a slow, lazy, sensual circle. Lucy’s body jerked away from the blade. Isa’s hand shot out and grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled on it. The teen’s entire body arched back, presenting herself to the room and Isa’s knife. Again it bit into her flesh. Isa drew the blade to the other breast, circling it once before rising and circling around Lucy’s rock hard nipple. She licked her lips, shivering violently. She wasn’t ready to call it quits though. She was the perfect offering.

The knife dipped once more, leaving her skin just long enough to go over her navel, traveling lower still until Lucy moved away from the blade, whimpering. Isa stopped where the hair started, looking up at Razia for instruction. Razia shook her head and Isa pulled back, releasing her hair. Lucy slumped against her restraints, relieved. That relief wasn’t to last for long. The worst was yet to come, and there was a purpose for everything.

“What do you offer?” Razia’s voice was quieter now, but there wasn’t a person in the room who couldn’t hear her. Sometime after the ritual started, the Garden changed. There was a charge in the air, a heavy silence where the only clear sound was Lucy’s labored breathing and light whimpers.

“I offer my comfort!” Lucy yelled, forcing herself to sound confident.

Isa put the knife down. Next, she brought up a candle. She went to one of the lanterns and opened up the side, lighting the handle and holding it by the brass handle. She held the candle up for everyone to see. Razia could see there were people who were confused, largely among the gladiators. The others knew what was coming, and Lucy looked even more nervous for this than the knife. Isa stepped around the platform, displaying the candle and giving it time to burn.

When the candle came close, Lucy backed away from it. There was, however, no place to go. Isa raised the candle up high, tilting it to the side. At first, nothing happened. A few seconds later, the first drips of hot wax fell onto her skin, making her jump and hiss in pain. It happened again like that, a brief time of terrible anticipation before liquid wax dribbled onto her body, splashing between her breasts. Lucy writhed against her restraints, breathing harder and harder as she made sounds through clenched teeth.

Isa looked at Razia questioningly, jaw set. She was no stranger to dishing out pain, but doing it to Lucy was new and bothered her. Razia nodded and motioned for her to continue. Staring pointedly a second longer, Isa nodded and returned to her work. She held the candle sideways and a large amount of wax came down, sprinkling all over Lucy’s stomach and thighs. There was no escape from the raining wax, and every fresh drop brought with it another cry, rising louder and louder until it was a soft scream. Then Isa pulled it away.

The air was thick and quiet other than the increased breathing of at least half the occupants. Maybe some of them didn’t understand it, but they were affected by the ritual. Some of them looked at Razia and she met their gazes unashamed, her usual smile nowhere to be seen. The ritual was getting closer to completion, and Lucy shook in place. Her beautiful body was now a wonderful mess of red wax, red skin, and hints of red blood.

“What do you offer?” Razia whispered.

Lucy swallowed hard. She opened her mouth but no sound came out at first. “M-m-my eyes,” she said.

The candle was put away. Isa held up a blind fold. Gently, she fixed it around Lucy’s eyes before stepping away. From here on out, Lucy only knew one more part of the ritual. The rest was kept from her, and that had been Isa’s biggest complaint. But she understood. The Pierced Heart was all about duality, and there was a purpose to the pain. It was never alone. Isa brushed her gloved hands along Lucy’s sides. There was a sharp intake of breath from her as Isa touched her, trailing her hands down Lucy’s body. Teasing, tantalizing touches from soft leather against lovingly abused skin. This time, Lucy leaned into the touch, pressing herself against Isa’s hands only for her tormenter to pull away.

Isa circled around the cross, once more grasping Lucy’s hair and jerking her head to the side. She bent down and pressed her lips where Lucy’s neck and shoulder met. Another sharp gasp and Lucy struggled against her bonds. Isa kept the pressure up, tugging on her hair and kissing her neck while her other hand snaked around and cupped her small breast, gloved thumb and finger coming down on Lucy’s right nipple and pinching it hard enough for her to call out, “Oh!” as her entire body shuddered. She clenched her legs together tightly, rubbing them together.

“What do you offer?”

“My…My silence, and my control. My everything. I offer everything up to you, Dolas!” Lucy cried, voice cracking.

Isa was ready. The next tool was a rubber ball with leather straps. Tenderly Isa pressed the ball against Lucy’s lips. She opened her mouth and accepted the gag, and Isa buckled it in. Now Lucy couldn’t see, couldn’t speak, couldn’t beg and couldn’t plead. Now she was completely at Isa’s mercy, a helpless offering to a temperamental god.

Things were different now. Everyone could feel it. The rapt silence was broken, and whispers sounded through the crowd as Isa retrieved the strap once more. Razia turned in place, looking at as many people as she could, drinking in their expressions, their excitement and confusion and energy. When she spoke again, Razia wasn’t alone. There was something with her, a weight, a feeling deep inside her bones of being watched.

“We’ve taken everything the supplicant has given. We offer them up to you, Dolas, Pierced Heart! We beg your audience, we beg your indulgence, we beg for your blessing.”

Isa swung the strap around again, picking up speed. The whispers grew louder and louder and there was this buzz, barely audible and everywhere, enough to make your teeth itch. The expressionless statue of the Pierced Heart loomed large over Lucy, seeming to glow before their eyes. If ever there was a time to finish it, this was it.

“What do we pray for?” Razia called out.

Unified in a way that could never be natural, the room full of gladiators and whores spoke as one.

“Healing.”

Isa lashed out with the strap, striking Lucy’s breast. She jerked violently, ball gag stifling the scream.

“What do we pray for?”

“Healing!”

Another flick of the wrist and the strap came down.

“What do we pray for?”

“HEALING!”

Again and again Isa lashed out. Lucy writhed in place violently, rubbing her legs together. Razia’s voice asked the same question, one after another as the audience screamed their replies and the buzz grew to be unbearable. The energy of the room gathered and roiled like a sea at storm. Tears flowed down her face as it washed over her, penetrating her and carrying her along until she unleashed it.

“Through pain be cleansed and pleasure reborn!”

Isa dropped the leather strap. In a flash she was on Lucy, one hand closing around her throat gently, the other going between her legs. Her fingers ran tight, furious circles finally giving the poor girl the relief she needed. She lasted maybe half a minute until her body bucked against Isa’s hand and she threw her head back, screams swallowed by her gag as the ritual passed into her and through her and to the statue. As she slumped spent, there was a terrible sound of metal grinding.

The statue, facing forward with a featureless face, slowly turned upwards, staring towards the sky, arms spreading wide and welcoming.

All at once, it was over. The spell that had come over the room was broken and all that remained was a room full of confused, scared, and uncomfortably aroused people. Razia felt it as well, a deep ache inside her body. But more than anything she stared at the statue, marveling at the sign. Then she laughed, gentle at first but growing in volume until it was unhinged.

Razia took off through the garden, running through the courtyard, into their shared home. She threw the bedroom door open and went to the bed. Quentin was breathing, gasping for air, coughing and choking and very much alive. His eyes were wide and he looked around like a panicked animal wanting to bolt but too weak and too scared to move.

She threw herself on him, hugging him tightly as tears flowed down her face. He grunted at first but then his arms closed around her. “I never gave up,” she said. “Never.”