Seraphine walked a little ahead now, her hands clasped behind her back. The torchlight danced along her polished armor as she moved, her voice quiet when it came again.
"Tell me, High Priestess…" she began, not looking at Isode directly, "is it… righteous, in the eyes of the Goddess… for a priestess of the Holy Church to sully herself? To be taken... in the flesh?"
Isode paused.
Just one step.
She recovered quickly, her steps resuming with grace, though her hands folded more tightly now, hidden in the sleeves of her robes.
"…That is quite the question, Imperial Marshal," she said carefully.
Seraphine's tone remained level, even casual—though there was something beneath it. Smoke under silk.
"Aye," she said, still not facing Isode. "I ask because my soul burns to know. It scorches me with the wondering."
At last, she turned—just enough for her gaze to meet Isode's.
