The high priestess led the congregation on the slow circumnavigation
of the House of the Lord of Eternity that preceded the funeral. Unlike the
mourners, her shroud was dirty, gray, and torn. She had received it upon taking
her vows fifty years ago and countless hours of frenzied supplication
had left it stained with sweat and the dirt of the world. By her side walked a
freshly-ordained priestess, shroud the color of sun-bleached bone. The crone
smiled as the girl stumbled on the corner of her garment; it would take her a
little while to learn to fold it correctly.
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