Tifalla can admit, with frankness in her heart and clarity of mind, that she was quite the fool.

  Not a fool in the way that a babe was, but in the way one adjusting to adulthood was. She did not struggle to walk, articulate, or recognize shapes, nor did she lack the knowledge to count or recognize the self. She was, however, prone to decisions that, more or less, made little sense.

  She, like many her age, harbored the romanticism and daring of youth. It manifested as a deep seeded desire to test the world around her. She wanted to find the upper ceiling of capability and press her hands firmly against the glass. Then and only then could she know her limits, falter, and take a more practical role for a matured woman of her time.

  Amidst this troublesome age, she had newfound responsibilities placed upon her. Greater ones, important ones, the kinds that filled her younger self with dread and dismay. The twenty-fourth year was a significant age and with it came significant changes. Yet, Tifalla couldn't say she felt too different between it and her prior years.

  Were her senses dulled? Perhaps spending her days locked within the temple resulted in a less than celebratory response.

  Ah, but that couldn't be! Tifalla was positively brimming with joy! For a priestess, nearly four full years of service was a blessing worthy of pride. She was once a young lass, at the dawn of her twentieth year, and freshly plucked from the golden fields of her village. Now, she was firmly an adult in her twenty-fourth year; quite a fool, but far from her days as a little one. She endured the work assigned to her and fulfilled her duties as a holy woman. Of course she couldn't be happier. Her time at the Cantabile Temple was coming to an end, and the days rapidly counted down until she could walk free. Liberation nipped at her skin like the frost hailing down upon her, a tease of what's to come for her. How addictive it was. Never did the cold feel so delightful.

  As such, her senses were not dull, she thought; they were quite the opposite. They raged with fervor, and a pulsing excitement filled every muscle of her body until her bedroom could contain her no more. She was eager for the dawning future— maybe overly so. Not even the outside cold could pull the warmth from her dark umber cheeks, for her mind was not outside at all. She was home where she belonged, huddled by the fire and shielded by blankets and shaggy pelts. It was an image that wrung laughter from her dry throat, a noise of pure and unrestrained bliss.

  Tifalla could most certainly agree with any who laid their eyes upon her; her actions made no sense. Standing outside under heavy snowfall with eyes so bright they could guide the lost home was not a safe nor productive use of her time. She knew this well, and her decision did not lack awareness. She merely sought respite from the heated tremors plaguing her body. The cold did not trouble Tifalla like an onlooker would believe. Nothing troubled her when she dreamt of her happiest place. Of course, it helped that she should call the snowy lands her “home” for the past four years.

  Within the realm of The Midnight Silence, snowfall was a constant companion. It was not mild like The Afternoon Cadence, nor sunny like The Morning Resonance. Yet, it was not utterly desolate like The Evening Dissonance either. It snowed, it was mountainous, and it was where worship over the Lords was the most devoted. Priestesses, her sisters and kin, were packed into the mountain bound temple for the sake of those above. There, they conducted any number of tasks that required the touch of one who swore fealty to Fantasia's creators.

  Tifalla has, thus far, officiated marriages, listened to confessions, prayed day in and day out, stood as a symbol for all, and consoled the mourning. The list was exhaustive and, though she held great fondness for her memories, her work was mandatory. She was not a priestess of her own free will.

  Young women between the tender years of twenty and twenty-two were selected to become priestesses based on factors of luck and necessity to the temple. Should she be taken, a woman must spend four years at work lest she be punished by the highest order. Much as soldiers are taken from the eligible to fight, priestesses are taken from the eligible to worship.

  Tifalla cherished what she learned. She held pride in what she had become. But, when stripped of all options, Tifalla had to. She did not complain, and she did not cry, or— perhaps she did at one point. Her memory of those days was fuzzy and vague. She pondered, then, if it even mattered how she felt long ago. Those feelings were buried deep within and she was no longer the girl she once was. Her ensuing days, though oft full of tiresome work, were far more memorable in her mind. And that, inevitably, mattered more.

  “You never cease to find places to hide, do you?”

  Tifalla's fingers, kissed blue by the cold, gently lifted the lantern stick they wrapped around. Through its soft light, she could see another approach through the snow. She need not see to recognize the voice and the accompanying sound of a cane clicking against pebble flooring. She already knew who had come to retrieve her. Her upper lip, cut in unequal halves by a short, thick scar, stretched until the ends curled in a smile.

  “The wings of time greet you, Laetitia,” Tifalla said.

  “The rising flames greet you, Tifalla,” her arriving companion said in return.

  Stood side by side, the women enshroud in their robes watched from within the falling flurry. Silence fell between them for a spell before Tifalla placed her full attention unto Laetitia.

  “I'm not hiding. I’m just trying to relax is all,” she admitted.

  “You say that, but choose a place few pass by,” Laetitia said.

  “Well, you came here, did you not?”

  “I am used to your antics.”

  “Hehe, do I sense nostalgia from you?”

  “I don't have time for such sentiments.”

  “Come now! It's good to reminisce sometimes.”

  “Perhaps.”

  In spite of her curt words, Laetitia wore a soft smile of her own. Her pallid eyelids, laced with faint blue veins, shut in both contentment and amusement. Her hair, a deep plum red fading out into a lifeless gray, billowed in the wind. She had yet to pin it properly as is customary for priestesses, leaving its length cascading down her back. Although, should she try to recall, Tifalla supposed she never once saw her make an attempt in all of their four years together.

  Laetitia, sharing the same age and sentence as Tifalla, was preparing for her departure as well. Perhaps that was why she humored her behavior as opposed to immediately scolding her. She truly was feeling nostalgic.

  “The bell will ring soon. Won't you spend the time warming up inside? It's difficult to pray when you can't feel your limbs.”

  “Why, goodness, you're worried about me?” Tifalla asked, her downturned eyes softening.

  Laetitia quirked a brow and leaned more of her weight against her cane.

  “I pray that's a joke.”

  “Of course it is. If it weren't for you, I would have frozen to death ages ago.”

  “You need to stop staying outdoors so often. Find a spot indoors to be alone in. If you are claimed by frost, there is little I can do to help you,” Laetitia grunted.

  After she took another look, she clicked her tongue, clearly irritated by the sight. “Look at your nose. There's practically icicles falling from it.”

  She grabbed Tifalla's nose, squeezing it to try and circulate some warmth into it. She only succeeded in making it colder with her own painfully frigid digits.

  “B-Be more gentle, Laeti!” Tifalla yelped.

  Laetitia let go, mumbling a small “sorry” beneath her breath.

  Now freed from the witch's grasp, Tifalla's smile returned.

  “Leave it to a priestess of flame to try and warm another up,” she said.

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  Laetitia's eyes, a steely gray to match the tips of her hair, flicked away.

  “It is disrespectful to Lord Raunas to let another go cold.”

  “Oh, isn't Laeti such a good priestess?” Tifalla said, patting the shorter woman's hair. Not a twinge of mockery filled her tone. She spoke honestly and sincerely, providing a new shade of warmth to Laetitia's once colorless cheeks.

  “And Lord Eiwar would find it disrespectful for a follower to not take care of her body.”

  “Hmm, maybe so. But he's a merciful Lord. I'm sure he wouldn't mind too terribly.”

  “You cannot rely on mercy alone,” Laetitia said, her tone flat.

  Despite the increasing agitation she was undergoing, Laetitia did little more than tap her cane against the ground. Tifalla knew then that she was testing her companion's patience. She pulled her hand from the top of her head and instead held it out in front of her.

  “Yes, yes, I understand,” she said. “Let's go. You shouldn't get cold for my sake.”

  Laetitia took her hand with little fanfare or pushback. Their fingers locked together in what was practiced and natural for the two. Cold as they were individually, there was warmth to be found deep beneath the skin together.

  They took their first steps back towards the warmer core of the temple, with Tifalla lagging behind in her paces to match Laetitia's slower speed. Once they neared the closest entrance, Tifalla's lantern was returned to its station.

  “To think you still have the energy to scold me after standing in the cold.” Laetitia mused. “It's difficult to believe you come from Cadence.”

  “Is Resonance not warmer? You handle the cold quite well yourself,” Tifalla said in turn.

  “While we never see snow, and it is warm, it isn't that way all the time. Though, it would be nice to feel the sun again.”

  “Wouldn't it? You know, this means my visits will be full of pleasant weather. Wow~”

  “I wouldn't advise it. Resonance is a noisy place.”

  “The temple isn't much better.”

  “True. This place is closer to a mad house than a holy land.”

  “You know you'll miss it when you're gone.”

  “Hmph.”

  The pair retreated from the cold outdoors towards the temperate inner temple. Unlike the outer temple, full of winding steps and pathways touched by the cold's grace, the inner temple was heated and insulated. It was composed of tunnels and halls that dug through the core of the mountain, creating a large and intricate web of caverns for the priestesses to call home. Let not the constrained location trick the eyes, however, the halls of Cantabile were large and grandiose. Carvings of Fantasia's history lined every wall, and statues representing the Lords overlooked nearly every corner no matter how big or small.

  The lanterns hung upon the walls were dim given the fading fuel within, but Tifalla could still see those symbols as she walked by with Laetitia. What curious charms they were. She was so used to their presence that they were no different to her arm or leg.

  The all seeing eye of Ophirius, The Divine Lord and provider of light.

  The blooming flower of Yua, The Fairy Lord and provider of ether.

  The spirited hand of Phi, The Hero Lord and provider of souls.

  The resolute crystals of Verbana, The Brute Lord and provider of the earth.

  The lone droplet of Ishamar, The Nymph Lord and provider of water.

  The floating feather of Cyphan, The Avian Lord and provider of air.

  The fearsome flame of Raunas, The Tyrant Lord and provider of fire.

  The delicate butterfly of Eiwar, The Chaos Lord and provider of time.

  The eclipsed sun of Wyrmot, The Fiend Lord and provider of darkness.

  Every priestess, upon her initiation, chooses a Lord to give herself to. Though respect and reverence is given to all Lords in a manner most expected for those of true faith, she will only choose one to represent and dedicate herself to.

  Labels, assignments, worship, what does it mean to a priestess destined for departure? The outside world certainly respected the Lords, but their combined worship was but a drop in a bucket compared to that of a single priestess. Their days weren't consumed by prayer and they were not paragons of faith. Four long years passed her by, and all Tifalla had to show for it was her veneration to the Lords. That didn't help till fields or feed cattle, did it?

  How would she return to her old life? Joyful as she felt in her heart, hidden beneath the jitters and excitement was a strange nervousness. An apprehension of some form. It was an itch she couldn't reach nor scratch, a pest she couldn't swat. Try as she might to fight against the tide, to revel in her happiness, her mind always drifted back to those statues.

  They watched her every movement, haunting like a wraith. In times of the past, there were moments, in the isolation of her room, that she pondered if they were truly watching one as insignificant as her.

  If they ever were, their gazes were particularly piercing today. It saddled her heart with difficult feelings.

  Her eyes were especially fixated on the butterfly statue. Even as they passed it by, her gaze followed it until her head could turn no longer.

  Lord Eiwar was a kind Lord. Though he harbored an eccentric history, Tifalla truly, deep down, felt that he was of a gentle disposition. Would he miss her when she left? Would her absence amount to any change in the sea of faith? Her worship, though built upon a foundation of force and subjugation, was not false. A part of her felt lonely in a manner describable only by the sensation of a ring slipping from her finger.

  “Warmer?” Laetitia asked.

  Tifalla's attention snapped back to her, lightless black eyes meeting gray.

  “Yes,” she nearly stammered. “Much. Thank you for taking me inside.”

  “Gratitude is not necessary.”

  Tifalla's shoulders slumped, a somewhat dour expression coloring her face.

  “...I mean, you're welcome,” Laetitia pivoted.

  As quickly as it faded, Tifalla's smile returned. “You're getting better at this,” she said.

  “I keep telling you that my manner of conduct is just fine-”

  Before her words could conclude, Laetitia's voice was drowned out by the harsh chime of a bell. Its sound carried throughout the hallowed halls of the inner temple, resolute and melodic. The pair stopped in the face of its audible might, listening in silence. When the final chime ended, its lingering echo traveled far.

  It was time for the priestesses to awaken.

  Standing at the entrance to the residential halls, Tifalla and Laetitia watched as the rows and columns of shut doors began to open. They creak faintly as their worn wooden bodies groan beneath the forces acting against them. One face emerges from a pocket of darkness, followed by another. More follow after as floods of women exit the dams set before them. Different expressions attach to different faces as the morning rush begins.

  Some are visibly groggy and saddled by lingering sleep. Others look more lively and energized. Some carry expressions of dread while others look as pleased as one could be. It's all quiet looks and shared peace at first, but chaos seeps in like a toxin. Small and muttered greetings give way to fully formed chatter and conversation. It takes no time at all for Tifalla and Laetitia to get swept up in the sea of bodies and conversation.

  “I might fall asleep during morning prayer,” a priestess yawned.

  “Better not lag behind or you'll be dragged out by Tawhale,” her friend warned.

  “He's so annoying~ He's not even supposed to be there anyway!”

  To avoid Laetitia falling or bumping into another, Tifalla held her hand tighter as they carefully weaved through the troves of priestesses. She only let go upon entry into a more spacious hall. Within, small groups began to form among the priestesses.

  The largest group were hounds of women crowding around one tall figure in the opposite corner.

  “Harriet~ do my robes look okay?”

  “Harriet, look! I got a new hairpin!”

  “Harriet!”

  “Ladies, ladies! Calm down a bit. You all look lovely this morning, but you might trample me if you aren't careful.”

  A much smaller group stood in the center of the room. These priestesses were well ahead of the others, already praying with their hands clasped together and their eyes shut. Leading the pack was a woman in a bronze mask.

  Glued to the wall were some chatty priestesses. Most of which were careful about their appearances. Fussing over the others in the group was a woman with pronounced red make-up.

  “My pin isn't sitting properly.”

  “You need to treat your hair like a sewing stitch. Here.”

  All lie in waiting for the doors to the temple to open. Once the morning bell rings, priestesses have a limited amount of time to get dressed to begin daily prayer. As a result of this restriction, the residential halls tend to grow chaotic and crowded within a few mere minutes.

  Tifalla stood patiently, already dressed in her priestess robes. They were, contrary to what one might expect, quite lightweight. The high knitted collar and long sleeves kept the body warm while the dress body was made of soft, flowing material. Further protection against the cold came in the form of added layers and furred coats. Tifalla wore neither at that instant, but during particularly heavy snowfall, even the inner temple could experience the seeping cold.

  On this day, at least, Tifalla thought that the air inside felt perfect.

  She watched, idle, as the hall slowly filled up with more and more priestesses, all dressed the same in the dark gray garments with dark red accents. Uniformity was important for priestesses. It made them recognizable to the average eye and instilled a sense of trust. To Tifalla, however, it felt uncanny; odd, even. She wondered, then, if her mind was already growing detached from the ways of the temple. Melding with her earlier woes, her expression looked terribly disconcerted. It was an expression not unnoticed by Laetitia.

  “What's wrong?”

  “Nothing… just feeling confused, I think.”

  “You certainly sound that way.”

  “Then I suppose I must be,” Tifalla said her words sheepishly and mellow.

  “Just a few more days.”

  “Huh?”

  “Just a few more days and we'll return home. It's normal to have certain emotions.”

  Tifalla tried to look Laetitia in the eye, but her steely gaze was already directed elsewhere away from her. She said nothing more and a tentative silence fell over them. It was a comfortable stint, but Tifalla couldn't help but wonder if Laetitia was trying to reassure her in some way.

  She smiled, knowing Laetitia's gentleness was both biting and warm. Perhaps it was so that her intent was to reassure.

  “Laetiiiii! Tifaaaaa!”

  As the hall neared its maximum capacity, a single priestess broke through the barrier of souls to reach the pair by their lonesome in a corner. Her tawny beige hair, pinned intricately in what must have taken several notches of the clock, bobbed and swayed with every exaggerated action she took. Several strands stuck to her smooth olive skin that Tifalla stepped up to brush aside. With cold and delicate fingers brushing against her cheeks in a featherlight touch, the young woman giggled. What a delight it was to hear so early in the day.

  “Thank you, Tifa!” she exclaimed.

  “The wings of time greet you, Rhea,” she said.

  “The ponds of ether greet you, Tifalla, Laetitia.”

  “The rising flames greet you, Rhea.”

  At the end of their morning greetings, the three shared smiles of varying width and intensity. Grins, shy smiles, and smirks alike converge in their small slice of the hall. They stand reunited once again.