WHAP.
WHAP.
WHAP.
The tiny flames of candles on their stands around the Altar of Astra flickered with the motion of each strike, each lashing Jane brought upon her own bare back. Her cuirass she had removed, her plackart, her pauldrons, her rerebraces and vambraces, her couters and her gauntlets, and they rested on the floor of the chapel beside her heater shield and her sheathed sword. Her arming dress she had unlaced from the back and pulled her arms out of the sleeves and let the top half of it fold forward and rest in her lap. She sat on her heels in a stately manner; a manner which was all but foreign to her save in these moments, these throes of faith in Celestialism and Astra overcoming her normally sinful tendencies. Bare from the waist up and facing the Idol of Astra housed in the center of the Altar, her back was to the door of the chapel.
A back covered in the red raking lines of her cat o' nine tails whips. Little dribbles of blood hanging from each.
"Forgive me," Jane said.
WHAP. Another harsh flogging delivered over her shoulder and the crisp snap of it against her flesh.
"Forgive me."
WHAP.
It was enough to bring tears to her eyes, yet this was mere reflex--they were no signs of joy nor sorrow. Had someone else been whipping her, delivering blows of full force against her back, her knees would have buckled. The pain stung with a harsh bitterness, and it clawed its way from the inferno of her back and tingled her arms and her legs with all the warm cordiality of an agitated hive of hornets.
"I know nothing but sin."
WHAP.
"But I wish to know your light instead, O Astra."
WHAP.
Jane dropped the whip on the floor and bent forward and placed her hands on her armored knees and supported herself with trembling arms as she panted. Gasped. Sparing herself a moment from her self-flagellation, from her penance for her latest transgression.
Night had fallen on Alliria. Jane had been passing through the city, on her way elsewhere, when she had spotted this small chapel devoted to Celestialism. She waited until the congregation had gone for the day, for the priest as well. Entered the chapel and lit some of the candles by the altar and set about correcting herself as she was now.
The doors of the chapel had no lock. But it was quiet and private enough.
Then the doors slowly swung open.
WHAP.
WHAP.
The tiny flames of candles on their stands around the Altar of Astra flickered with the motion of each strike, each lashing Jane brought upon her own bare back. Her cuirass she had removed, her plackart, her pauldrons, her rerebraces and vambraces, her couters and her gauntlets, and they rested on the floor of the chapel beside her heater shield and her sheathed sword. Her arming dress she had unlaced from the back and pulled her arms out of the sleeves and let the top half of it fold forward and rest in her lap. She sat on her heels in a stately manner; a manner which was all but foreign to her save in these moments, these throes of faith in Celestialism and Astra overcoming her normally sinful tendencies. Bare from the waist up and facing the Idol of Astra housed in the center of the Altar, her back was to the door of the chapel.
A back covered in the red raking lines of her cat o' nine tails whips. Little dribbles of blood hanging from each.
"Forgive me," Jane said.
WHAP. Another harsh flogging delivered over her shoulder and the crisp snap of it against her flesh.
"Forgive me."
WHAP.
It was enough to bring tears to her eyes, yet this was mere reflex--they were no signs of joy nor sorrow. Had someone else been whipping her, delivering blows of full force against her back, her knees would have buckled. The pain stung with a harsh bitterness, and it clawed its way from the inferno of her back and tingled her arms and her legs with all the warm cordiality of an agitated hive of hornets.
"I know nothing but sin."
WHAP.
"But I wish to know your light instead, O Astra."
WHAP.
Jane dropped the whip on the floor and bent forward and placed her hands on her armored knees and supported herself with trembling arms as she panted. Gasped. Sparing herself a moment from her self-flagellation, from her penance for her latest transgression.
Night had fallen on Alliria. Jane had been passing through the city, on her way elsewhere, when she had spotted this small chapel devoted to Celestialism. She waited until the congregation had gone for the day, for the priest as well. Entered the chapel and lit some of the candles by the altar and set about correcting herself as she was now.
The doors of the chapel had no lock. But it was quiet and private enough.
Then the doors slowly swung open.