Myra lifts her pack of belongings and follows obediently.

“Can’t the freak carry this for me, then? I’m sure Mycira can lift more than a tiny box like that.”

Kassi and Lorhn snicker together but eventually realize they do actually have to lug their enormous trunks of clothing and cosmetics and whatever else daughters of wealthy families take on a one-way trip. Myra takes no small pleasure in the sound of them dragging the expensive luggage across the dust and gravel of the path.

On foot, and this close to the walls, the Cathedral is less a structure and more a feature of the landscape, like a mountain built up out of the ground or, perhaps, dropped from the very heavens. How else the landscape could change so dramatically from barren plains to enormous cliffs and a crater of sorts is beyond comprehension.

Still, passing into its shadow only reinforces the enormity of the place. Myra tries distracting herself wondering about the purpose of the various other buildings but doesn’t get very far into those thoughts before Matron Ys’s voice calls out from ahead.

“Hurry along, girls, the Head Matron can see us now.”

The path cuts through some scattered trees, which grow denser as they cluster around a dilapidated building that nonetheless stands an impressive four floors into the air, dwarfing the trees which struggle to reach its second row of windows, let alone the third row of balconies. With glass doors and everything!

Despite her trepidation about the place, Myra hopes she gets a room on that floor.

In front of the building, wearing much the same clothes as their guide, a middle-aged woman with rich brown hair and a frosty smile waits with crossed arms. When Myra gets close enough to read her expression, she has to wonder if it’s a genuine smile and the cool attitude is in regards to her sluggish peers, or if this Head Matron is going to be as “fun” as the woman who rode with them.

Fortunately, Lorhn and Kassi aren’t too far behind, and all three girls are lined up in front of the warden of the Cathedral.

“Good afternoon, Miss Lorhn, Miss Kassi, Miss Mycira. I’m so glad the trip wasn’t too hard on you. My name is Seryl, but you will address me as Matron Seryl or Head Matron. We will leave your luggage inside the door of the dorms for now and start on your tour of the grounds promptly.”

Lorhn opens her mouth to protest, but whatever words she was going to say visibly die on her tongue as the Head Matron’s smile shrinks. Without ground to stand on, all three move to obey.

“Come along, now,” Head Matron Seryl says, waving the girls through the door. Myra steps through first, eager to get away from the sniping and vicious inventions of the other two. For all that they jab and prod, there is no holding heads high in this forsaken Cathedral. Just the ground floor was labyrinthine enough to make them all dizzy, and this is four massive flights above that.

The central hall, so it’s placed, is a massive space three entire floors above ground, surrounded by the massive ancient building it’s housed in. Above, sunlight pours through the gaps in a stone lattice which seems of impossible make, arcing curves and seamless cutouts that bracket like a glittering bird’s cage twisted and warped into shapes of enormous flowers. Ivy pours down from it in strands and clumps, reaching down through the empty air to hang barely an arm’s length above the Head Matron’s head.

Sparse grass and well-trod dirt surround a marble dais in the room’s center, directly under the central opening of the decorative roof. Elevated above that dais by a stone circle that holds the whole of it level is a pale-white reliquary, according to the carvings on its surface. Depictions of crowds making a pilgrimage to the towering walls of the Cathedral line the sides, and the image at its foot shows three standing around the reliquary as light shines from above.

“I see you’ve taken a liking to our most infamous resident, Miss Mycira. In a few months’ time, the annual Prayer of Sleep will be sung here by those lucky few chosen by fate. The rest of you will continue on with your daily lives in peace because of it, until and if you are ever selected for the Prayer, or join our more tenured staff.”

Myra barely pays attention to the Head Matron’s words, tuning the older woman out as soon as her full name gets used in a sentence as she has every time during the tour. She circles around the dais, not daring to step up onto it, and finds the carvings on the other end to display the cross-shaped constellation Corvinis. Those stars once represented the aspects of magic, rather than any of the Named Gods, but now serve more as a point of navigation.

A thought draws Myra’s eyes down, and she notes there are three dark gray circles set into the pale marble, forming a triangle around the centerpiece.

“As I was saying, you’re welcome to approach the coffin and take a closer look. The Demon is quite safe to introduce yourself to. We aren’t even sure it can hear us, as it never responds to words.”

Both of the other girls keep a healthy distance several steps away from the dais’s edge, but Myra can’t resist stepping closer to the prison. The coffin, as the Head Matron put it.

“Why do you call it a coffin?” she asks, barely registering the words leaving her own mouth. She reaches out to brush the stone with her fingertips, its cool surface somehow feeling familiar despite its utter strangeness.

“That’s because the Demon is no dried-out husk or dusted pile of bones. It still lives, in there, sealed away and indisposed to the world.”

As the Head Matron speaks, a pair of blue flames appear on the surface of the stone, causing Myra to gasp and step back. The rest of the group gasps in various tones of excitement and fear. The fires shift slightly, one rising above the other, and despite everything, it feels as if she is being examined. Studied down to the heart threads of her very soul. A shudder runs down her spine when, as the shock fades, she realizes the only sensation she’s experiencing is an implacable nostalgia.

“What the f-” she murmurs, but before the question finishes forming those blue flames explode, enveloping the coffin, the stand, the entire dais in the flickering light. A moment later, the blue flames are gone, and she looks up to see Head Matron Seryl grinning with delight, while the other two girls work up enough nerve to scream in unison.

Myra looks down at her own hand, ignoring them all, wondering if it’s at all reasonable to feel as if the living Demon’s blue fire had just given her a warm and generous hug.