It was an early Sunday morning. The Temple was noisier than usual. The girls rushed through the gray halls, arms filled with baskets and boxes full of products, busy with countless chores to do. Ophelia was the same. She had to carry all the perfume oils to the backyard, where the monthly market would be held.

There were around fifty women and young girls living in the Temple of the Nieu. Their tasks varied. It was a mix of taking care of the sick and elderly that were in the infirmaries, helping with the religious rites and producing handmade cosmetics and hygiene products to be sold at the market.

These efforts supported the living expenses and medical costs of the Temple’s residents. Whatever remained became a donation, added to the offerings of visiting pilgrims, all entrusted, of course, to the Priests and Priestesses as a sign of good faith.

Ophelia had worked hard all August to craft Lavender oils and by-products. She was busy setting up the stand and organising the small jars, yet her mind lingered elsewhere. It had been two weeks since her coincidental meeting with Khiel at the port. Since then she hadn't been able to think of anything else, though she hadn't told anything to Katalya.

Since the day she collapsed, Katalya had been in the infirmary going in and out of conscience. She couldn't possibly tell her anything yet, not until she convinced Khiel of coming to see her. He hadn't responded to her invitation to come today, yet she was still hopeful. Katalya’s son couldn't possibly be so heartless...