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Everyone's a Catgirl! Ch. 268: This is Me Trying
🕑 Added 2024-06-19 19:40:02 +0000 UTCAfter Cecilia’s lesson ended, Cannoli made her way to her first hour of prayer. She had just a few precious minutes to find her way from the library to the temple of worship. Thankfully, a handful of other white-robed catgirls with varying degrees of embroidery and sapphires filed out of the rooms in front of her and silently led her to the correct doorway.
Cannoli tucked her hands inside of her robes and straightened her shoulders. She could still hear her steps above all the other initiates, and their posture seemed so perfect in comparison. How could she glide across the floor as they did? She hoped she could learn sooner rather than later.
A soft hand touched Cannoli’s shoulder, and a softer voice whispered, “They’re safe.”
Cannoli nodded, catching Rozalyn’s profile in the corner of her gaze. She glanced from side to side, nervous that Muzhira may be hiding in every shadow. Her reply was hidden inside an exhale, “Inside?”
“Yes,” Rozalyn murmured.
The tension in Cannoli’s shoulders eased. They could speak more of Freckles and Buttons later when she could confirm that they were alone. She moved to another topic. “Rozalyn, what are the hours of prayer like?”
“A lot like going to temple worship outside of Falselle. Except now you go three times a day.” Rozalyn shrugged.
Cannoli chewed her lower lip, letting her eyes wander the golden filigree on the arcade banisters. “I’ve never been to worship.”
“Oh.” Rozalyn raised her eyebrows, and her lips formed a small ‘o’ of surprise. “Well, then. In the mornings, with breakfast, Sister Frejya gives us a hymn to focus on for the day. Each prayer session outside of that expands on the same hymn. By the end of the day, you’ll have it memorized.”
“That is a certainty?” Cannoli couldn’t recall ever learning Saoirse’s hymns. If her mother had taught them to her, they weren’t disclosed as such.
Rozalyn grinned. “It is very much a certainty. You’ll see.”
The white robes poured inside two enormous golden doors carved with an outreaching Saoirse, her twin tails swirling behind her. Inlaid sapphires sparkled from her eyes and hair. Cannoli couldn’t help but feel very small standing beneath her.
Do I truly belong here?
Past the doors was an expansive room with crystalline glass columns that sparkled in the afternoon sun. Fourteen windows reached from the floor to the ceiling on either side; half of them included framed stained glass depictions of Saoirse’s seven glories: virtue, love, ascension, order, lineage, faith, and knowledge. From the doorway to a dais were ten rows of blue velvet cushions nestled against small, ivory altars—one for each adherent, it appeared. On the altar’s left sat a golden, sapphire-studded goblet, and on the right, a hand sculpted from glass held a fresh stick of incense between the pointer finger and thumb.
“This way,” Rozalyn whispered, touching Cannoli’s wrist.
Cannoli followed in silence, careful not to step on any of the cushions, drinking in the peaceful atmosphere of the glittering temple. A masked prophet sat on the dais at the far end of the room, stroking a soothing melody from a golden harp. With how lightly everyone carried themselves, there wasn’t a sound in the room outside the prophet’s song. Cannoli tip-toed to her place, terrified her untrained footsteps would disturb the serenity like a boulder in a pond.
Rozalyn knelt at an altar at the end of one row, and Cannoli did the same at the altar beside her. She did her best to position herself in a similar manner, though her kneeling was not as graceful. An embarrassed blush consumed her face as she straightened her robes and smoothed them over her knees. She snapped her eyes to the surface, studying what awaited her to hide her disgrace.
The goblet was filled with a curious golden liquid that Cannoli had never seen before. It remained perfectly still, as if she could glide her fingers across its surface without causing a ripple. The incense holder to her right looked simple enough at first glance, but upon closer inspection, narrow claws emerged from each fingertip, much like Saoirse’s own hands.
“Saoirse’s blessings be upon you, faithful,” a gentle voice captured Cannoli’s attention from the dais. A second masked prophet stood at the edge of the stairs, holding her hands out at her sides. “We are gathered here this afternoon once more in love and thanks to our benevolent goddess. Let us take a moment to welcome her.”
Every adherent clasped their hands on their altar and bowed their head. Cannoli quickly did the same, hoping she would receive a prompt on what to do next.
Saoirse, is this like when I’ve prayed to you so many times before? Are you here with me now?
A comfortable warmth spread through Cannoli’s shoulders and trickled down her back like the warm rains of Ni Island, and her breathing steadied. It was a sensation she enjoyed each time she prayed—one that helped her clasp to an inner peace she often worried she’d lost.
“Lady Saoirse, we join to spread your will upon your likeness throughout Nyarlea,” the prophet said after a time. “Let us speak your words and share your benevolence as you have with us. We beseech you.”
“Guide us in your light,” the congregation responded, then moved to light the incense at their altars.
Cannoli’s ears twitched forward, and she made a note of their words. Remember this tonight! She quickly took the match at the edge of her burner, struck it on the altar’s surface as the others had done, and lit the incense. A sweet, floral aroma filled the air and tickled her nose.
“‘Saoirse is the lover of all. The one true aspect from which we must seek our identity; our light. Only through her may we learn to serve one another,’” the prophet recited, her words moving to an enchanting cadence. “Our hymn that we study on this blessed day speaks to Saoirse’s love, one of her seven glories.
“However, it is not romantic love that we discuss, for as we all know, Saoirse and our great Queen of Nyarlea feel an unconditional bond with us and with one another. Through this shared bond, we learn to protect each other, our Parties, and, may we be so blessed, the men Saoirse births in our lands.” She strolled the length of the dais with silent footsteps, moving with the same incredible appearance of levitation as the older initiates. “Though, many of us wonder, how do we find our identity within her love?”
Cannoli listened with rapt attention while the prophet dissected the hymn in incredible detail. She was a compassionate speaker, and her words sank straight into Cannoli’s heart. For a long while, she’d feared the loss of her path, the loss of her faith. And yet, she still had an opportunity to rediscover herself in Saoirse’s love. Her identity. Warmth tingled in her fingers and toes, and Cannoli couldn’t help but smile.
This was exactly where she belonged.
“Our passion and education in the ways of Saoirse’s guidance will continue every day, long after we have walked her path in the presence of peers,” the prophet continued. She moved to the larger altar on the dais, lifting a goblet that matched those on the adherent’s tables. “Let us accept her words on our lips.” She dipped her thumb into the cup, allowing the excess to trickle from her long nail, before she swept the tip along her bottom lip, leaving a golden streak in its wake.
The other adherents did the same, and Cannoli lifted her cup. She took a deep breath, pushing away the fear that she’d spill it all over her robe, and dabbed her thumb into the elixir. It was warm to the touch and coated her nail like paint. As she touched it to her lower lip, she noticed that the golden trail on Rozalyn’s mouth was gradually disappearing.
Cannoli blinked as a pleasant sensation caressed her lower lip. A renewed blush rose to her cheeks as a memory surfaced that reminded her of the tender warmth she felt now.
Kissing Matt…
She replaced the cup and clasped her hands, swallowing the vision as she fixed her eyes on the prophet. The prophet lifted her hands; the gold on her lip had vanished. With a gentle smile, she said, “Let us sing Saoirse’s hymn together.”
“‘Saoirse is the lover of all. The one true aspect from which we must seek our identity; our light. Only through her may we learn to serve one another,’” Cannoli murmured alongside the adherents. Their voices were beautiful, and she memorized the inflections and melody they used. If what Rozalyn said was true, she would sing with them again after her evening lesson.
The prophet dismissed them, and Cannoli lingered behind to let Rozalyn catch up to her side.
“That wasn’t so bad, huh?” Rozalyn whispered with a grin.
Cannoli shook her head. “No. It was beautiful.”
Rozalyn chuckled and bumped Cannoli with her shoulder. “We’ll see how you feel about it next week.”
“I think I’ll still feel the same way.” Cannoli marveled at the doors as they left, then the paintings on the arcade’s ceiling. “I feel like I’m finally where I should be.”
“Hold onto that feeling for the next few hours, then,” Rozalyn said with a sigh.
“Why?” Cannoli canted her head to the side.
Rozalyn tucked her hands deeper into her robes. “Because now it’s time to make dinner for everyone in the temple.”
“Oh! I love cooking! That’s—”
“With Cora and Muzhira.”
