Page 123 of Godbound
So even if I will not stand beside Kaelzar during the Ball of the Bleeding Moon, wearing this dress will let me carry something of himwith me, as if his understanding of me is stitched into every thread.
“This one,” I say, lifting it from the rack. Butterflies erupt in my stomach just imagining what it’ll feel like to wear it.
Eva gapes. “That doesn’t scream ‘atoning for your sins.’”
I smirk, a spark of rebellion lighting me up from the inside. “Good.”
A few hours later, I stare at my reflection, barely recognizing who looks back at me in the mirror.
The bath oils have left my skin luminous, smooth as polished marble. My hair, swept into an elegant half-updo, tumbles in cascading waves that drink in the candlelight. But it’s my hands that hold my gaze, anchoring me in this moment of quiet wonder and the flicker of dread curling beneath it.
I’ve never seen nails like these. In Calcatra, painted nails are unheard of. When the man from overseas arrived, just as Kaelzar had promised, with his satchel brimming with glass vials and strange tools, I’d been skeptical.
“This is a new invention from Maraneethos,” he said, laying out his wares like a surgeon. “Though it’s been finding its way here through… less reliable sources, as of late.”
The Kingdom of Alchemy, some call it. They test the limits of nature, creating compounds that challenge what’s possible. I’d heard the rumors of powders that burn with blue flame, inks that glow under moonlight, explosives that reduce stone to dust.
As I rummaged through his vials and trinkets, I caught a familiar faint metal scent wafting from the box, the same one I’d smelled on the old Archpriest and Mael. But when I asked the man what might smell like that, he gave me a strange look and said he wasn’t sure what I meant.
Eva watched the exchange through narrowed eyes, then gave a slow nod. She’d also caught the careless ease he forced into his gesture as he waved me off.
Later, she assured me she’d find a way to get him talking. After all, he’d all but admitted to being one of those vendors who operate in the black market beneath the bridges of Bluerush River.
According to her, she’s a loyal customer of several prominent tradersthere, and they’d gladly do her a favor if she asked them to help track this man down and press him for answers. It seemed a better path to the information than asking my Godbeast to use his own methods to make the man talk.
“And what is this?” I asked him of the crimson liquid he swirled in a tiny bottle, glinting like rubies.
“This hardens once applied to the nails,” he said. “Won’t chip. You could wield a sword, and it would stay flawless.” His eyes flicked to mine. “Shall we try something bold?” The spark that Kaelzar keeps fanning answered for me.
Now, as I stare at my hands, I hardly recognize them.
The nails taper into fine, dagger-like points, elegant in form. The crimson polish gleams against the darkened tips of my fingers, catching the candlelight like blood on obsidian. I turn my hands in admiration, and decide that this isn’t vanity. It’s preparation.
Tonight, I will walk into that ballroom surrounded by enemies. Every smile will be a test, every glance a judgment. Beauty alone will not be enough. I will need presence, control, and power.
The dress clings to me as if it was made from raging fire and tailored for war. Crimson fabric traces every line of my body, threaded with a sheen of black that shifts like embers stirring in ash. The neckline plunges low and provocative.
With each step, the high slits part and the hem flares around my legs like flames licking the floor.
At my waist rests the whip Eva gave me, secured in a custom hook on a black leather belt, which seems to be the core of this look, the weapon that binds the entire image together.
Then there is the choker: a slim band of black leather encircling my throat, etched with the same thorned motif. At its center, a single blood-red gemstone glows, catching the light.
I take in the full image—the dress, the whip, the choker—and the woman in the mirror. I’m no longer someone pretending to be powerful.
Iampowerful because I chose to be.
The challenges are still unfolding. The gods are still watching. Thepeople are still deciding. But Kaelzar is the one who struck the match. Now I carry the fire.
A knock at the door breaks the silence. It creaks open, and Eva steps in, dressed in emerald silk, her hair swept up with silver combs. She stops mid-step, her eyes wide.
“You look like a queen,” she breathes.
“No,” I murmur, turning back to the mirror. My gaze locks with the reflection staring back. “Not a queen. An Archpriestess.”
We stepinto the hall outside my chambers, where the world glows crimson. The Bleeding Moon phenomenon casts everything in red hues, tinting walls and faces with its eerie light as it slips through the windows.
The crimson blends with the warm gold of the massive chandeliers hanging from the ceilings and the soft candlelight nestled in every crevice and nook. The effect should feel harsh—ominous, even—but instead, it wraps the world in strange beauty.
