“You look lovely too, sister. Very maiden-like.” I joked because their formal wear looked like something out of the fourteenth century, when the chastity rule was strictly enforced and breaking it could get you fed to the nearest gryphon. It was a loosely draping dress, shimmery white fabric with a blue shoulder sash that still identified them as the infamous warrior maidens of the enclave. If the butterfly sword on her back wouldn’t have done that.
Even in times of revelry, the maidens were always armed and ready to defend.
She smiled at the joke, the very same one I’d made to her the night she’d taken her vows to join the enclave, the first time I’d seen her dressed in the formal robes. Granted, back then, I’d been eight to her fourteen. She wore it differently now. She was no longer a
