Four days later, Ophilia put her hand up to her right cheek again as she studied her new fleur de lis tattoo in the mirror. It was still pink around the edges and tender to the touch, but she wouldn’t trade it for the world. Her other hand ran itself through her hair, which was about six inches shorter than it had been just a few days ago.
She was a full Sister now, though the details of how it all came about were a bit of a blur. Part of that was due to the headiness of finally reaching her goal of joining Palatine Rhiannon and the Order of the Ebon Chalice. Part of it was due to the amount of amasec she’d consumed, at Sister Claudia’s insistence, to dull the pain before she was given her tattoo. Claudia, she corrected herself mentally. I don’t need to think of her as Sister Claudia anymore. I am a Sister, too.
Not all women drank, she had been told, when they got their tattoos. Some newly minted Sisters felt they needed to prove their fait