Kayla stares straight ahead into the mirror as the maids busy themselves applying makeup to her shoulder. Her arm has healed considerably during the past day, the bones and muscles mending at a speed that should not have been possible, but the skin is still bruised a deep red and purple. It also still hurts when she moves it, but that is a worry for herself only. The fact that she isn’t flawless to present to the Royals is a far greater problem for the dolls.

They have made sure she’s presentable in every other way. Her hair has been braided and pinned back with delicate roses. They’ve put her in her ceremonial clothes, a pale imitation of her relics made with natural materials that don’t come close to the splendor of the mysterious, supernatural ones. Her face’s base has been done and set, her eyes darkened with kohl smoked out at the edges, cheeks highlighted with a dusty pink and lips painted a dark red. But the skin on her shoulder insists on remaining dark and strangely hued, no matter how much the maids try to correct the color and cover it.

Kayla’s hands are firmly clasped on her lap as they work, her  body so unnaturally still, one might think she wasn't in it, at all. She prefers it when they stay away, offer no help, allow her to go about her daily routine by herself with as little interference as possible. But today is a special day and even the dolls' strict rules have been changed.

Kayla doesn’t know what’s particularly different to her about that visit. Maybe she’s become too tired of seeing other groups leaving on the Pilgrimage and having to stay behind in the abbey herself. 

Her group was the first to eat the Fruit of Hell. She was the one who, with her limited power as the first daughter of the King and Queen of Roses (their heir, yet still only a woman), engendered the plan that made sure of it. She placed them all in the expedition that set out in search for the gate to the Otherworld, plotted their climb down to Hell before the heroes that had been chosen by the Royals and the Clerics and the few commoners that had any say in these things could do it themselves. But the information fed to her had been faulty, or the ones who had decided on the original plan had been wrong, as well. Only six Archons lay underneath the city, only six could contract to the humans sent to them and grant them powers and a new life. The seventh member of their group, perhaps the most worthy of the title of hero, if Kayla’s faulty memory is anything to go by, had stayed dead. A sacrifice so the others could live. A sin hanging over their hearts ever since.

The following groups were more carefully tailored, still are, their imperfections sanded down based on what was the ruin of that first one: hers.

And she has had to endure watching them being chosen for the quest over and over, gaining their freedom and the title of heroes in one fell swoop, while she remains a glorified city guard. 

The injustice of it all, that less experienced Scions, ones who haven’t had to suffer or lose anything to attain their titles, keep being selected instead of her, has slowly gnawed on her throughout the years.

But maybe it’s also the gut-wrenching feeling she always gets when she’s about to be allowed in the same room as the other Scions. They’re familiar in a strange way, old friends that she hasn’t been allowed to speak to in the longest time, whom she hasn’t been allowed to make amends with, whom she’s not sure she still knows. People she lead and let down, that she doesn’t know whether they still love her as they used to or if they now blame her for what happened, as she does. The strangest kind of relationship, if one can even call it that. 

Or, more likely, it’s the pieces of paper hidden in her corset, ready to be passed to those same familiar strangers at the first opportunity. They detail the demon’s peculiar behavior; not only the sapience it seemed to possess, but also the fact that it appeared to be trying to flee underground, where the ensuing bellow came from. The rest is conjecture on her part. The fact that all the Scions that leave for the Pilgrimage have to come to their abbey, the reason why they have been disregarded so many times, what she has found out from the books she stole about what may lie beneath the city. 

If she’s right, their chances of escaping may be bigger than they thought. They won’t even need to deal with the abbey’s walls.

But, whatever it is, Kayla feels the acute urge to rip off the pins holding her hair, yell at the maids that she isn’t some doll to be made pretty for them to display. Yet her body remains motionless, her lips softly closed, as if she was exactly that.

“You’re ready, Lady Bride,” one of the maids announces.

Kayla nods and gets up, not bothering to check the vanity table’s mirror or the full length one next to the closet. If the dolls are offended that she’s disregarding their hard work, they don’t show it.

“It’s time to escort you to the banquet hall.”

Whether it’s the same maid that speaks again or another that takes up the task, she doesn’t know. A shudder passes through Kayla’s body as she once again wonders at whether they have separate consciousnesses, or if they all share the same core one, much like the angels. If the latter happens to be true, she’s not sure she’s ready to follow that line of thought to answer the question of how they were built, what kind of knowledge the Nephilim had and dabbled in. Maybe that was why they went mad and locked themselves up in the Otherworld.

The maids hold no regard for Kayla’s musings and instead walk towards the door. One knocks on it once so it opens and she might step out. Outside, two soldiers await her and Kayla obediently joins them on their procession down the spiral staircase. She stops on the landing at the ground floor, patiently waits for them to open the door that leads further into the heart of the abbey. She has always been compliant but, tonight, despite the fire roaring in her chest, she’ll be even more obedient. All for the sake of fooling them.

 Kayla walks down narrow, suffocating corridors and stairways that gradually grow more spacious as they approach the common areas, meant for guests. She’s both glad for and terrified of the change, the open areas allowing her to breathe more freely, yet making her feel as if anything or anyone could jump at her at any moment. But the halls are empty and silent, only the sound of her heels, so much more inelegant than her real relics, echoing through them.

A sigh of relief escapes through her lips when she sees the door to the banquet hall and Joshua already waiting near it. The other Scions will enter through different ones, at different times, a whole choreographed performance for their visitors. Kayla clenches her fists by her sides, a pang of pain blooming in her right shoulder as the muscles there tense. Performers for the upper echelons of the nobility and the clergy, that’s all they are. As powerless as they always were in this world, despite all the power they hold in the one between. How much more could they grasp if they fully moved to the next one over?

Something in Joshua’s stance changes as if in response to Kayla’s thoughts. He stiffens, stands up straighter, then turns his head slowly to look at her. His tongue darts out to lick at his lips and there’s a mist over his blue eyes that makes them seem even darker than usual. He watches her approach in silence, but his gaze never leaves her.

A pleasant shiver runs down Kayla’s body as she stands next to him, close enough that she could reach out her hand and take his. They can’t touch, can’t even speak to each other, but she holds the fierce hope in her heart that his goals and ambitions are still the same as hers, still the same they set out to achieve, so long ago, when they were much younger and much more foolish. Escape the abbey, traverse the gate to the Otherworld and undertake the Pilgrimage, succeeding where all others have failed. If it’s them, together, she knows they can.

The doors to the banquet hall open onto a frenzy of glittering golden light, the tinkling of glasses and the booming of voices. It’s almost enough to make Kayla turn on her heel and run, climb back to the top of her tower where she can lock herself away. She hates being alone, but she hates crowds even more. Especially this one.

She’s so focused on trying to even her breathing, to keep her jittery legs from giving out that she barely registers the herald announcing their names, marking their cue to enter the hall. But she sees Joshua shift, raise his leg to take a step and, as if they were one entity, she grabs her skirts and walks forward with him.

A hush falls over the hall and, despite hating the noise, Kayla wishes there was music, something to serve as a backdrop to their entrance. The silence is a weight on her shoulders as she moves forward and she fears her legs won’t be able to carry it, that they’ll give way and she’ll fall to her knees. But they somehow work, in a distant, mechanical way that she’s not fully in charge of. She’s not entirely present, her mind fluttering between frenzied panic at every small sound or movement around her and vague disconnection from her surroundings.

“Steady.”

The single murmured word cuts through her daze and Kayla feels strength blooming in her chest once more. Joshua didn’t turn to look at her, his gaze is still trained straight ahead, but his jaw has tensed and his fingers are flicking nervously by his side.

Kayla inhales deeply, lets the air back out without a sound. It’s not yet time to panic. She still has much to do.

The lights reflecting off the golden gilding on the walls are too bright on her eyes, but she straightens her back and neck, looks around almost defiantly. Until she sees them, sitting at a circular table in the middle of the room, the six of them together, whispering to each other, hands casually draped over shoulders or poised on forearms. 

The Scions who are about to take up what was supposed to be her quest.