Asrael hesitantly sat on the soft bed- his back facing the back of Lita on the other side of the soft, silk-clad furniture. The bed smelled of her calming scent and in tandem with her soothing, melodious voice, he might’ve been lulled into sleepiness, had it not been for his lingering hesitance. A glance over the red carpet stilled some of his worries- the two girls still lay on the padded benches with their heads supported on the lavish pillows, similar to those that decorated the Psychomancer’s bed.

“My life... it began as any other...” Lita spoke down at her folded hands. He looked over his shoulder to see her long, white hair hung down to her lower back, but she remained eerily still as she continued:

“Born to a magical mother and an Inquisitor Father, I was blessed to have remained hidden until I reached the age of twelve... I spent my childhood as any child of Capita would. My mother stayed at home and taught me not to reveal my Curse, but... that was not all we ever did. She taught me how to read and write, how to knit and embroider- how to construe fables with my mind and how to have dreams of my own.” He could hear how talking of her early life pained her and despite wishing she would cease dawdling, he allowed her to continue:

“We would walk the streets up to Jurat Hill and await my father by the gates... I remember that look on his face whenever he saw the two of us- how he would always hide his exhaustion to carry me home on his shoulders.” He could feel her fidget her hands on the bed and hesitated a moment before continuing:

“They would tell me stories on our way back home- tales of heroes of justice and courageous men who would sacrifice their all for love. I even believed some of them.” She sounded a girlish giggle, but this one was different from the previous ones. This one was bitter- almost spiteful. He could scarcely believe that this lucid being was the one who had tormented him for months. No longer was she a nameless, crazed enemy. As she sat and nervously fidgeted her hands, Asrael could only see and hear a pained woman- not the monster he had made her out to be thus far.

“Perhaps that was what led me to dream that I would one day find a courageous champion of my own and mother his child... you might think me foolish for my dreams’ moderation, but under the threat of someone discovering our Curses, something as small as motherhood is just that- a distant dream.” Asrael could hardly relate.

“Surviving is difficult on its own, but mothering a child- thriving seems nearly an impossible feat for someone so used to cowering in the shadows. I truly thought I could be divine- to create life within my own body... that was always true magic, to me.” Asrael had always imagined it would feel akin to gestating a parasite- filtering the mother’s blood for sustenance while growing large enough to tear through her reproductive organs, but kept his uncomfortable thoughts to himself for her to continue.

“A sensate, of all things, would be the end of our lives. During a demonstration, she walked my father’s mind and found his secrets- our secrets.” Again, she sounded her bitter giggle.

“They came in the night and for the next week, proved to me that it had all been a lie. My father’s stories of courageous champions- my mother’s tales of love... the things they did to them before my eyes...” She sounded oddly weakly- almost human as she clenched her palms into fists. Asrael felt a measure of resistance for what he imagined to be some form of manipulation- how else could she transform herself so completely to appear so... human?

“Justice and love do not exist in a world where someone can do those things.. It took me years to see it...” Pain, torture and suffering- that, Asrael could understand. It was what had fueled his quest for vengeance and what had, in turn, set him into that chamber. Turning over his shoulder, he could see her rub her abdomen and speak:

“They dressed me in white and sought to break me... and to prove it, I-…" He was quickly tiring of her talking- those slow words, when they both knew there was a better way for her to tell her tale- one that would, hopefully, dismiss some of his suspicions that these were but neatly construed lies. He reached over the bed and hovered his hand above her shoulder- pausing, as if to ask himself whether this was truly a good idea... he had feared her intrusions just minutes previous, now he would be asking for them. As his hand landed on her shoulder, his intention was clear. Their green eyes met- one exuding a constant, unending agony, whereas Asrael’s conveyed a promise a strength in their shared misery- their common pain.

This time, he could feel her magic as she traversed his eyes and stole away his mind- whisking him away to a dark, musty cellar. Light had not graced the dark, terrible pit since its construction a thousand years past... he had been in a cell just like it- perhaps even the very one he sat in. Chains hung from the walls to wrap both his small, gentle wrists and neck in place. His naked body was transformed to something else- no longer was he a tall, famished man. Instead, he took the form of a naked girl- staring down at his slightly plump, pale thighs.

There, in a pool of her own filth, Lita had wept and mourned the fiery execution of her mother- the smoke and stench of her cooking flesh still clung to the long, tangled strands of white hair that now covered her budding breasts. Her tears had long since dried up- leaving her a melancholic, apathetic wretch who could feel naught but the hopelessness and dread of her fate. All she was, had now been lost- her mother, her father, their house-… even her clothes were no more. Lita was no more. For what felt like years, she had sat there in the dark- a single question burning in her mind, “Why?”. Why had she deserved this fate- why had her mother been set to the pyre and why had they all... laughed... as they wrought upon her such pain. The Inquisition- the world was supposed to be full of heroes and lovers, but outside her home, she had seen nothing but darkness and frigid pain... had it all been a lie? Had her mother and father lied, as they spoke of the heroes?

She was at the mercy of their whims, but none had spoken a word to her in days. Her hunger had nearly driven her to the brink of madness- her thirst likewise. Several times, she had wished she could lap at the reeking, concentrated urine on the floor, if only to wet her parched mouth... alas, the chains holding her to the wall would prevent it. For days on end, she lay there in the cold darkness- seeing the phantom images of her beloved mother's flames in the bloody bricks on the wall until finally, something appeared to look through the feeding-hatch of the door...

It was a man- his face was young and smooth- his chin pristinely shaven, but his eyes were shrouded by something white- a hood so bright, it seemed to illuminate her cell. His lips turned into a smile as he saw her there- huddled in the darkness. With a click, the door opened to reveal his tall, divine form, a beacon of light in the umbral hell that had become her life. His lantern burned her eyes as he approached to crouch down before her and speak a voice of harmony and hope: “My child... you’ve suffered so...” He stretched his warm hand out to caress her cheek, reminding her that not all in this horrid world consisted of cold stone and choking darkness.

The glorious shape of the man froze and instead of any words from the man, himself, Asrael heard Lita speak: “He is Father. First-reborn of the Purged- the founder and the leader of the Order... he gave me a choice, as he had given to all the other children before me. We would dismiss our lives, our wants and accept his repentance- to be purged from our congenital sin and use our curses to serve the Empire and Men.” Asrael did not need to question her for the alternative... he already knew it. Looking up at the frozen, divine man, she continued speaking into his mind:

“I accepted- what little girl would not? But... If I had known what he had asked of me, I might have reconsidered...”

Asrael’s mind and body erupted into agony- a thousand stabs, pokes, slaps and bruises as scenes of torment and more cruelty flashed before his eyes. Having died from a rain of arrows, he had imagined he had suffered more than most, but in comparison to what the savage men in their white robes did to her small body, his own torments were but a jest. Intermittent dismemberment and fleshmending seemed a favorite for them- tearing her flesh open while violating her every orifice with crude tools in a thousand different settings- in front of crowds, on their own in the darkness- in front of her fellow white-robed initiates... He screamed all his girlish throat could muster, but none would hear him- none of them raised a finger to stop the savagery.

“To serve, we needed to be Purged- not only of our Sins, but of ourselves. We were to be tools for the Inquisition- mindless, unquestioning, unspeaking... we were to be nothing save for what they wanted of us.” Asrael wanted nothing more than to break the spell, but Lita’s hold over him was complete. He had asked for this- he had wished to immerse himself in her agony... and he would experience it all. Years of torture passed before their common eyes, throughout which Asrael could feel Lita slip between his fingers to become more and more Sensate and less and less of a person... by long, he could scarcely recognize himself as a person and more as a tool for servitude.