Two weeks had passed since Elara's last encounter with the village girls. The bruises on her body had mostly faded, but the memory of the cruelty remained fresh in her mind.
She had thrown herself into her daily routines, working harder and praying longer, seeking solace in the one place she felt truly safe—the Luminaries Temple.
The temple stood at the heart of the village, its white stone walls gleaming in the sunlight. It was a place of peace, or at least it was supposed to be.
The Divine Order preached harmony and devotion, and to the villagers, the temple was a sanctuary from the hardships of the outside world.
Elara entered the temple that morning, her footsteps echoing softly against the marble floor. The familiar scent of incense filled the air, and the soft chanting of the priests and priestesses could be heard from deeper within.
She made her way to her usual spot, a small alcove near the back of the temple where she could pray in peace, away from prying eyes.
As she knelt before the statue of the Divine Lord, her mind drifted back to the countless times she had sought refuge here, her heart heavy with pain and uncertainty. She whispered her prayers, her words barely audible.
Elara was devoted, as always, but lately, her faith had begun to feel... hollow. No matter how much she prayed, no matter how much she tried to find comfort in the Order's teachings, the nagging feeling that something was wrong gnawed at her.
She took a deep breath and tried to focus, but her moment of peace was soon interrupted.
"Oh, look who it is."
The voice was soft, sweet even, but Elara could hear the venom hidden beneath the words. She didn't need to look up to know who it was.
Amara, one of the lower-level priestesses, stood behind her with a group of her fellow initiates. Amara had the appearance of a saint—delicate features, flowing blond hair, and eyes that sparkled with false innocence. But Elara had seen the way Amara looked at her, the way her smile never quite reached her eyes.
Amara and her little group often made a point of being around whenever Elara came to the temple. It was clear to Elara that Amara didn't like her, though she didn't fully understand why.
The priestess hadn't been openly hostile, but there was something about the way she always lingered just long enough to make Elara uncomfortable.
Today was no different.
Elara remained silent, hoping they would leave her alone. She kept her gaze down, pretending to be deep in prayer.
Amara stepped closer, her soft shoes barely making a sound on the marble floor. "Oh, poor little Elara," she said, her voice dripping with mock concern. "Still praying so diligently? You must have quite a lot of sins to atone for."
Elara gritted her teeth, refusing to rise to the bait. She kept her hands clasped tightly together, her knuckles white with tension.
"Do you really think the Divine Lord hears you?" Amara continued, leaning in just enough for her words to be meant for Elara alone. "You, of all people?"
One of the other low-level priestesses, named Lila, snickered behind her hand. "She's just pretending to be pious. I heard Mira talking about her the other day—says she's always been a bit too full of herself."
Mira. The name sent a fresh wave of resentment through Elara's chest. Of course. It made sense now. Mira, the girl who had tormented her, was related to Amara. The same cruel streak ran through them both, masked behind sweet words and innocent smiles.
"Perhaps," Amara said, her voice so soft that it could almost be mistaken for sympathy, "you should spend less time praying and more time reflecting on why people dislike you."
Elara felt her hands trembling. Not from fear, but from the effort it took to keep her anger in check. She wanted to shout, to stand up and demand why they treated her like this, but she knew that would only give them more power.
The last thing she wanted was to cause a scene in the temple.
She inhaled slowly, trying to calm the rising storm in her chest. "I come here to pray," Elara said quietly, her voice steady. "Not to entertain your gossip."
Amara's eyes narrowed, her sweet facade slipping just for a moment. "Is that so?" she asked, her tone sharpening. "Then perhaps you should pray harder. Maybe the Divine Lord will take pity on a poor girl like you. After all, you've got no one else to rely on."
The words stung more than Elara wanted to admit. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. For a moment, she considered standing up and walking out, but something in her refused to back down.
"I rely on the Divine Lord," Elara said, her voice firm. "And that's more than enough."
The other girls snickered again, but Amara's smile faltered. She took a step back, clearly not expecting Elara to respond with such confidence.
"Well, we'll see how far that gets you," Amara said, her voice regaining its sickly-sweet tone. "But don't say I didn't warn you."
With that, Amara turned on her heel, her group of priestesses following her as they glided away, their soft laughter echoing through the temple halls.
Elara remained where she was, her heart pounding in her chest. She waited until the sound of their footsteps faded before exhaling a shaky breath. Her body trembled, not just from anger but from the overwhelming sense of helplessness that always seemed to follow her in these moments.
She lowered her head, her thoughts a swirl of frustration and confusion. Why was she always the target? What had she done to deserve this constant torment, this cruelty wrapped in polite smiles?
But deep down, Elara already knew the answer. It was because she didn't fit in, not truly. She was different—an outsider, even within the temple.
She closed her eyes, trying to find comfort in her prayers once more. But the words felt empty. The warmth and peace she once found here seemed distant, like a fading dream. She couldn't shake the feeling that the temple wasn't as pure as it claimed to be. That beneath the surface, something far more sinister was at play.
As Elara rose from her spot, her mind was already spinning with doubts and questions. But for now, she had to endure. She had to play the part of the devoted believer, if only to survive another day in a world that seemed intent on breaking her spirit.