Okay, look.
Not everything about the Sisterhood was misery dipped in dogma.
There were… moments.
Tiny, gleaming, improbable moments.
Like this one.
The Obstacle Course — or, as the Sisters dramatically called it, The Gauntlet of Fortitude and Rebirth Through Struggle. Because everything here needed seven words and a death metaphor.
They made me go first.
Of course they did.
After the broadsword incident. After the axe shame. After the whole "almost decapitating your sisters" episode.
Sister Clarity smirked as she handed me a headband.
"We shall see if the street rat can run with the wolves."
I smiled. One of those slow, deliberate, you're-gonna-regret-this smiles.
"Wolves?" I said. "Cute. Do I get a collar too, or just the leash?"
Her smirk tightened.
Good. Let her stew in it. Let her crop twitch with anticipation.
Let the zealots whisper about the whore-child getting what's coming.
I was about to make them all choke on their sisterly expectations.
I took the headband. Tightened it. Stretched. Cracked my neck.
Oh, you want a show?
Fine.
Watch this.
First wall — climbed it like a jealous ex at a second-floor balcony.
Rope net — swung across it like I'd been born tangled.
Low crawl — dropped and slithered through the mud like a greased alley cat.
Pit of fire? Pfft. I've leapt over worse running from butchers in Saabulba's East Market.
Rolling logs? Please. The docks in Marikal had greased planks, missing boards, and pissed-off dockmasters with crossbows.
The Sisters watched.
Gawked.
One gasped.
One clapped.
I scaled the final barricade — a jagged wooden mess meant to resemble the walls of a besieged city — vaulted over the top.
For one beautiful moment in the air — toes tucked, eyes open, wind kissing the inside of my skirt — I forgot everything.
No blisters. No slogans. No whip scars.
Just flight.
I dropped down with a perfect landing in a squat, hands splayed, one knee to the ground.
Dust puffed.
I stood up.
Looked around.
All eyes were on me. Mouths open. Even the zealot twins looked rattled. Mercy-of-Gold stood with both hands over her heart like I'd just recited poetry. Even Clarity's crop drooped slightly.
I wiped a streak of mud from my cheek and raised an eyebrow.
"What?" I said. "You've never seen competence before?"
And then I walked it off like it was nothing.
Like I hadn't just crushed their sacred trial with the grace of a feral goddess in heat.
Like my heart wasn't pounding and I didn't kinda want to throw up from adrenaline and smugness.
Let them have their chants.
This was my war cry.
Mud-slicked, sunlit, and smug as hell.