But now, they wielded their tools, working harder than the male disciples, streaks across their faces from either the grime or their tears.
Though the ground was already spotless, they continued to sweep and scrub ceaselessly.
For fear that the dread being might feel even slightly displeased, turning them into mincemeat for its delight.
Indeed, this seemed to prove that beauty was less important than strength in the grand scheme of things!
At last, a voice echoed from within: "Get out!"
Like hearing the divine, the eight bowed in reverence, then backed away with their tools, as if leaving the presence of royalty.
They only let their tears flood out, their sorrow uncontainable, once they were miles away from the alley.
The terror, deeply ingrained in their souls, had only now found release.
They didn't dare let out a single sob or sigh while cleaning, afraid they would invoke the displeasure of the grim reaper.
