6
Ren closed her eyes as a tattoo artist inked her eye wells with black ink.
The ink smelled strong of chemicals, and the needle pricked her.
She winced.
“It's only once that you receive your tattoos,” the tattoo artist said. She was a woman in a black cloak with magnifying glasses over her eyes.
“Just making sure the masterfulness of the art gets soaked into your skin.”
Ren kept her eyes closed.
She was still groggy.
She'd only woken up an hour ago, in a sumptuous dressing room, among a swirl of faces.
She was pulled in every direction. Every word spoken to her was a blur, and she couldn't make sense of it all.
Should she have wished for her hive parents?
No.
That would have brought shame upon them. They would not have come to her aid.
They would not have helped her.
The nee
