It was time.
The sacred chamber felt like a trap the moment Freya stepped into it.
Blue fire flickered from tall candles that circled the altar, strange glows on the stone carvings beneath her feet. There were other seven witches surrounding them, their faces covered with black garments, candles in their hands.
Freya stood still, dressed in only a soft strip of cloth wrapped around her chest and another around her hips. Her succulent tanned skin was bare, oiled and warm, slick with the herbs rubbed into her by Elira’s hands before this very moment. Every part of her had been touched, coated, and prepared to receive a bond she never asked for.
Elira's fingers moved down her back now, smoothing the oil along her spine. Her touch was calm, like she was brushing over an object instead of
