The day was close to its end by the time Tifalla was free to leave the premises. She was saddled with exhaustion, every step weighed and cumbersome. The dancing, wine, and conversation were all pleasant joys she was happy to take part in, but it often left her feeling sluggish. She was starving, forgoing her offered share of food in favor of saving her appetite. As she walked through the halls, she pondered if such an idea was a mistake, for her stomach growled incessantly. The swirls of hunger left her dazed. She could bear it for a while longer, but she knew a limit had been reached. She was terribly close to returning to her room. All that stood between her were rows of doors that felt near endless.

  As she walked, she passed a number of priestesses already preparing for the end of the day; the fortunate ones whose chores were less intensive. She said her greetings to those who spoke to her first.

  “Tif! How'd it go?” a priestess called.

  “It went wonderfully! The couple looked so happy!” she said in return, her breaths light with lingering happiness.

  “Oh, how lovely. Did your outfit hold well? Not too tight around the chest?” she was asked.

  Tifalla needed no consideration over the topic. She held up her bloodied sleeves, turned her body, and smiled.

  “It did! It fit perfectly. Thank you dearly for the help.”

  Her smile was returned by her, but with an added gaze Tifalla felt was more… voracious. Tifalla immediately grew timid beneath those sharp mature eyes and quirked red lips.

  “Anytime, my love. You can come to me for anything.”

  "Oh, of course! Thank you!"

  Tifalla fled before she could find herself undressed.

  The prevailing atmosphere over the residential halls was one of fulfilled exhaustion. Whilst laborious tasks were put before them, many felt satisfied when the day was finally done and over. Priestesses with their doors open disrobed from their work attire, all while having conversations amongst themselves with neighbors just across the hall. Tifalla would wave, tired, and find herself caught up in the most recent argument occurring.

  “Tifalla, you have to tell her that she has no chance with Harriet. Her mind is clouded by delusion.”

  “I do! All I need is one night! I'm not asking for forever here.”

  Tifalla stopped her pace to think on the topic and her brows lowered in deep thought. “Mmm… Well, Harriet has shared a bed with some of her admirers.”

  “Exactly! That means I have a chance!” the priestess shouted

  “Sure, sure, but that line is long. You'd be free to leave by the time she would ever agree,” her friend countered.

  “Why don't you express yourself honestly and see how you fare? I'm sure Harriet would be flattered to hear of your fondness,” Tifalla suggested.

  “Never. I'd look like a lovestruck idiot!”

  “You already are.”

  “It is not love!”

  Tifalla allowed the two to return to their bickering, a placid smile on her face.

  When she entered her room, she wasted little time in discarding her clothes and jewelry. A more humble robe replaced the stained garments, and her hair was left down to drape over her back and shoulders. She sighed, relieved, and gently rubbed the sore roots of her hair. Fresh braids proved rather painful, especially when styled to the customs of Silence. Tifalla greatly looked forward to meeting with her pillow later that evening. First, however, was dinner.

  Upon the loud call of the bell, priestesses made their way through Cantabile's halls. Some pushed to the front, eager and hungry, while others lingered at the back, relaxed and unbothered. Tifalla found herself in the middle, shuffling along with the pack as they poured into the canteen. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were served regularly by working priestesses, but many skipped their meals in favor of resting or working. Tifalla, with her troublesome hunger pangs, did not have such a luxury. She thus waited in line as portions were served.

  The menu featured the dish bear shank stew. Large chunks of tender meat floated in a rich bone and cream based broth seasoned with fragrant aromatics and spices. It was a spiced stew with plentiful vegetables that warmed up the body after a long day. Though not Tifalla's favorite, it was nevertheless well loved in her heart. In addition to the large batches of soup, a delicate hollowberry cake was served for dessert. Many were eager to get their hands on it.

  If anything held hollowberry as an ingredient, a priestess was sure to be nearby. Its floral fruitiness was loved by nearly all. Tifalla saw at least a few arguments break out over the treat, though, mostly from younger priestesses not yet accustomed to the serving policies of the canteen. Everyone gets at least one slice.

  She deftly snuck through the growing mob to grab hers once her bowl was full of soup.

  Though she wanted to dig in, Tifalla instead searched for familiar faces. Or rather, particularly familiar faces. She knew most of the priestesses sitting at the various seats in the hall, but she wished to settle with just two for the day.

  “Tifa!”

  She turned her head to the direction of the voice. Fast approaching her location was Rhea. She had several plates balanced in hand and a smile ever so wide. Not many paces behind her was Laetitia, her arms noticeably empty. Each of their faces were clearly worn from work, but that was nothing a meal couldn't fix— or perhaps exacerbate.

  “Let's go, this place is too crowded,” Rhea said, body focused on keeping her plates steady.

  “If you intend to leave again, I hope you'll return your plates properly,” Laetitia said.

  “Of course I will!”

  “That was what you said the last time.”

  “Uugh. I promise this time! I swear to lord Yua herself!”

  Laetitia's eyes narrowed. Before she could grow any degree of anger, Tifalla took the chance to step forward, herding the two towards her. “Shall we?” she asked, gathering both of their eyes onto her.

  Their trays, heavy with food and drink, were thus carried from the canteen hall. Away from the noise and away from the clutter, the three walked until a sufficient spot had been found by Tifalla's eye. They stopped at a small nook in the hall meant for a large statue. After a priestess severely damaged it, it found a home elsewhere leaving the area with a few cylindrical platforms to sit on.

  Laetitia took the most even seat and began to massage her aching leg. Rhea sat on the ground directly, content with crossing her legs and balancing her plates in her lap. Tifalla sat on a somewhat jagged platform lower to the ground, her plates beside her on the floor.

  “Better, Laeti?” Rhea asked.

  Laetitia nodded, her expression still rather disgruntled. Tifalla and Rhea left her to tend to her leg in peace.

  “How'd the wedding go?”

  “It went well! Everyone was very happy with the ceremony,” she said. Her head then craned to the side. “How did record reading go for you?”

  Rhea's lips pushed together, letting out a small droning noise. When her eyes averted, a telltale sign of absenteeism, Tifalla's shoulders slumped.

  “Rhea…” she began.

  The woman's eyes went wide. She quickly jumped to her own defense. “Hey, hey! They don't need to know! Besides, I've read the records before.”

  “Did you read the new ones?” Tifalla asked.

  Rhea looked away again.

  “If you could take things seriously for once, maybe you wouldn't get into trouble all the time.”

  Laetitia's words, sudden and harsh, tore through the peaceful veil settled over the group. That alone was not a cause for much worry, but when Rhea narrowed her eyes, Tifalla felt a stir.

  “If taking things seriously means living like you, then I don't want it. I'm forced to be here. If I have to choose my own way to survive, I will.”

  “Oh, because the way you function is so perfect right now. You rely on everyone else to do the hard work for you and cry when you can't get away with it.”

  Tifalla could see the tide turning. Though the two had their spats in the past, most were light in nature. She only needed to take one look at Laetitia to know she was truly upset. It couldn't have been at just Rhea. She was merely collateral for something deeper.

  “Laeti, did something happen tod–”

  “NO!” she barked. It was a sharp and burdened shout. One that left even her bewildered over her own behavior. Laetitia stared at Tifalla with wide eyes. Her lips trembled. The ghost of words sat just upon her tongue, but they never left.

  “Don't shout at her!” Rhea said, her expression darkening. “Seriously, people try to be nice to you and this is how you act! Every. Single. Time! What is wrong with you now?! Did Rufus hit you again?”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Tifalla nearly choked on her own saliva. Laetitia's teeth began to grind. Rhea covered her own mouth. The silence that followed those words was heavy. One would suppose, then, that Laetitia would retort; to defend herself, to call her friend's words for what they were. But no such thing came about. Laetitia looked calm; resigned. She didn't listen to Rhea whispering out her name, nor did she respond to Tifalla's touch against her hand. She stood, cane and plates in both hands, and walked away.

  Tifalla looked at Rhea, shaking her head.

  “That was horrible.” She felt bile rising in her throat. “You know what she– they– have felt.”

  “I know.” Rhea stared directly at her. Her remorse had faded. Left in its place was the fragile self assurance that she was not in the wrong. “B-But if she can't stop taking her problems out on everyone, then someone has to say it.”

  Tifalla shook her head. She couldn't muster up the right words. Even so, she was beside herself. Stressed, angry, dismayed, what more could she say when her eyes told all? How could she respond to such a thing? She shook her head once more and rose to her feet. Without the words to vocalize her feelings, she spoke sternly in a voice that didn't feel like her own.

  “You need to apologize tomorrow. Give her time to cool down before you say anything more. Please, if you cannot do it for her sake, then do it for everyone else. She's not the only one he's hurt.”

  It didn't feel like enough. She still had feelings in her chest left unsaid. But those feelings clashed with lingering affections. She wanted, deep down, to believe Rhea didn't mean those words. She wanted them to talk tomorrow as normal. Pathetically, she thought of herself and what she wanted, a folly she recognized as such. Laetitia almost certainly felt worse. If anything could be salvaged from this, Tifalla knew it would be nothing short of a miracle.

  Her appetite was near nonexistent. She scarfed down the cake, but failed to drink more than a few gulps of lukewarm broth. Both settled strangely in her stomach, and she didn't feel particularly good.

  She set out for Laetitia. Though she held it together and said nothing more, Tifalla knew the comment stung. She, for her hard shell and pointed tone, was still someone experiencing difficulties. To have her wounds clawed into and opened when they've yet begun to scab was not a fate Tifalla wished on anyone. Not Laetitia.

  She entered the canteen first and searched for her among the waning crowds. Though slower than most, Laetitia was more than capable of moving with haste when stressed and angered. Tifalla had chased her before and found herself out of breath upon finally reaching her. It seemed tonight would be the same. She set her plates into the large wash basin and made her way through the halls of Cantabile.

  In her midst, she heard ordinary conversations. Talks amongst friends that, though full of petty arguments, never devolved into more than childish jokes. Tifalla held her hands to her chest, fingers twisting the fabric of her robes. Would they ever return to that? Did she even want to?

  Rhea was a song bird amongst a crowd. She had many genuine friends, speaking to whomever whenever. She would not lose much if Laetitia departed from her side. Her reluctance to feel much of Laetitia's pain came from an unspoken understanding that she had what Laetitia didn't.

  Laetitia, by contrast, was a solitary soul. If others didn't regard her with disdain, it was fear. The taps of her cane alone elicited dread in most.

  Tifalla ventured to her room; the north most wing and the second to last door. She found the door shut, as it so often was. When she rapt her knuckles against the door, no response came.

  As far as she knew, all Laetitia had was her.

  She knocked again, speaking up to the best of her ability.

  “Laeti! It's Tifalla. Are you there?”

  No response came forth. Tifalla tried to listen to see if she could hear her breaths, but the room was eerily silent. She tried once more.

  “Could I come in?”

  She waited. Waited, and waited, and waited.

  “No,” was what she was given. It was muffled, flat, and utterly devoid of Laetitia's wit or grace.

  Yet, Tifalla smiled. It was an expected response. She was simply relieved Laetitia didn't decide to hide out in the outer temple instead. Knowing she was safe inside was all she needed.

  “Okay!” Her voice sounded too eager. She lowered it with shame. “Can I stay out here? I'd like to keep you company, if that's well with you.”

  Tifalla supposed she was feeling a bit greedy. She didn't want to just leave her alone. Even if it was through a door, she wanted Laetitia to know that she was still with her. If she willed it, however, Tifalla would turn on her heels and leave her alone.

  “Do what you want,” Laetitia said.

  A still and long quiet came once more. This time, Tifalla accepted it and made herself comfortable from outside the door. Her back pressed firm against the stone walls beside it, and her head craned up to stare at the lanterns growing dim. It was almost time for bed. Though she would have preferred to spend the night in her own cot, if Laetitia, by chance, decided to let her in, she wanted to be there for her. Tifalla had spent evenings in worse places, she thought with nostalgia.

  She sat as priestesses passed her by. She sat as the hall flames grew dimmer. Calmly, knees tucked to her chest, she waited. At some point, a strong drowsiness took root. Every blink became more labored as her eyelids grew heavy. The lingering food in her belly made sleep a comforting prospect. More so after waking so early the way she did.

  To think, Laetitia awoke early to search for her. Was she tired too?

  That lone question marked her departure from the waking world. She fell into a heavy sleep just outside Laetitia's door.

  It was a strange sight, that dream. She was standing in something that tickled the skin of her ankles, delicate and light. Yet, nearly all was dark.

  When her eyes found light, all was bathed in red.

  She couldn't help her eyes being drawn to it. It was an ominous but enchanting glow. Just off in the distance to where she stood, a red moon stood large and grandiose. A beacon amidst the darkness, Tifalla was drawn to it.

  She took one step forward. Then another. She stumbled in the manner so common to abstract dreams. Every step felt both heavy and light. She made little progress in reaching her goal. Even so, she wouldn't stop.

  The light called to her. It was beautiful; so very beautiful.

  Something stood before it, a shadow cast upon brilliance. She couldn't see what it was, but it sat like a fracture within pristine porcelain.

  As taken as she was, every step only worsened her exhaustion. Her energy was sapped before her eyes.

  Before she collapsed into the bed beneath, she saw only the faintest glimmer of purple amidst the red light.

  What a lovely shade it was.

  She fell into something soft. It was so comfortable she dare not lift her head.

  She wanted to sink deeper. Yet, when her eyelids closed once more, the illusion was shattered.

  Her body was suddenly pulled away from the ground.

  Tifalla's eyes snapped open. Before her vision could begin to focus, she felt a strong constriction around her arm. Immediately, she rasped, letting out a broken whimper of pain.

  “Rufus?!” a near priestess uttered in a hushed tone. It must have been him by Tifalla's best guess; short raven locks, pale skin, and a broad build could be no other besides him. Through the dim light, his council robes were clear. He was the overseer to the priestesses of flame.

  When he applied more strength to his hold, he used it to force Tifalla to her feet. She screamed, but the noise was drowned out by other priestesses of the hall shouting.

  “Get up!” he yelled, his voice easily overpowering the frightened cries of nearby priestesses, including Tifalla's.

  Dazed, confused, and pained, Tifalla tried to heed his orders to placate the burning red rage on his face. When she got to her feet, however, Rufus refused to let her go.

  “Trying to sneak into another's bed are we?” he mocked, shaking her form for an answer. Tifalla shook her head, holding back a sob.

  “Wha– What's happening? I didn't– I don't, I–” she stammered, her dry mouth straining to form a cohesive sentence.

  “I-I-I– Quiet. All of you need to go to the hidden chamber. Rejoice! You'll finally be real property.”

  His voice was full of glee. Was it because of Tifalla's tears, or did he know something more? She heard no bell. It was not yet morning. Why were they all awake?

  “All priestesses up and out to the inner chamber!” he yelled.

  Rufus then looked back at her. His lips curled into a snarl before something struck him squarely in the back. He grunted, turned, and found Laetitia standing behind.

  She held her cane with trembling hands and a quaking leg. Her pupils were blown wide with adrenaline and her breathing was unsteady. Rufus smiled at the sight.

  “Laeti… good morning to you,” he said.

  Every pronounced word seemed to make her angrier and angrier. She readied her cane to strike once more, but halted when the end was grabbed by another.

  “Do we have a problem here?”

  A man intervened. His visage was a shocking one, but Tifalla immediately felt relief.

  “Tawhale?” Laetitia breathed, her voice sounding closer to that of a hiss.

  The man stared down at them with eyes shrouded in discolored shadows. Big as he was, he did not appear bulky like Rufus. Tawhale was lanky, thin, almost sickly in his aspect. If not for the robes shielding his body, he would have appeared closer to a corpse drained of all color and life. Though, in Tifalla's eyes, he need not go so far to look the part.

  He was the overseer to the priestesses of time.

  Two councilmen interacting in the residential halls was a nigh impossible sight for most. Though they were responsible for the daily activities of every priestess under their jurisdiction, councilmen were meant to be separate from priestesses. Something was terribly wrong for any of this to have happened.

  “Rufus, shall we have a discussion of conduct? I'll make it brief. We are running short on time. As for you two, please follow the others to the inner chamber,” Tawhale said, letting Laetitia's cane go.

  In time with Tawhale's movements, Rufus let Tifalla go. When one hand disappeared, another took its place. Laetitia was the one to pull Tifalla from the encroaching conflict.

  As they moved, Laetitia held her hand tightly. She didn't seem to notice how hard she held it until Tifalla squeezed her hand back. She looked behind her first before softly apologizing to her.

  “Sorry– I mean, my apologies.” she began. “Where did he touch you? Are you okay?” she asked, her eyes never fully leaving the hall now well behind her.

  “Just the arm. I'm alright! Are you…”

  “I don't matter right now! I shouldn't have left you out there– Tifalla, I'm so sorry.”

  “No, no, I'm okay! I promise! Are you? How is your leg?”

  “Fine.”

  Laetitia grit her teeth, visibly irate over the response. She most certainly struggled to believe her, but bit her tongue to stop herself from going any further. She was trying to listen and heed. Tifalla gave her time to calm as they walked with the other priestesses.

  It appeared that the other halls, south, east, and west, were being tasked with the same thing: head to the inner chamber. Given no time to dress or prepare, many went in hastily thrown on robes with disheveled hair. Some complained about this, but their voices were swiftly drowned out in the chaos.

  The inner chamber itself was an even louder cacophony of unease and confusion. As priestesses filed in and took cushions available to them, many speculated, complained, cried, and slept under the looming event taking place.

  Tifalla's head whirled about, looking to latch onto anything out of place in the room. She met the gaze of the ceiling where priestesses of old lie painted and chiseled into the stone.

  Why did their stares feel so pertinent?

  Tifalla shuddered and looked away to the wider room around her.

  Bodies upon bodies sat like livestock in the fields, undisturbed and unaware of what would come to them. In Tifalla's eyes, they were all being herded.

  “I felt no tremors. It's not an earthquake. The snowfall outside was also normal,” Laetitia finally said.

  “Then, what is this? They've never woken us up early before,” Tifalla wondered aloud.

  Before widespread disobedience could break out, a loud slam prompted the turn of Tifalla's head. She, with many others, watched as the door to the inner chamber was shut by a guard with his weapon brandished.

  Turning her attention back to the wider room, she noticed that many guards were stationed inside. She didn't notice them at first given how many people were inside. Their figures lined the perimeter of the room, an even smaller box to contain the few hundred priestesses present.

  Tifalla felt her stomach churn. Her hand still clasped with Laetitia's tightened. She dare not move lest she face the weapons they held. Most of the others had roughly the same idea, but many were clearly confused at the sudden shift in the air.

  A man stood at the front of the room just shy of where the chamber stage lay. Being older in age, his wrinkles creased in what looked to be quiet despondence. He monitored every woman sitting before him, and when he found no overt movements, he cleared his throat and began to speak.

  “The tranquil waters greet you all,” he said.

  No response came. Various expressions were made, but none required words to understand. Narrowed eyes and trembling lips alike told the councilman all he needed to know. He did not mock, nor did he bemoan their lacking response. His eyes merely softened into deep regret.

  “The Aria of The Divine has come to an end. Virtuosa Felicity is no longer with us.”