Even new scars about her neck and temple could not pierce the shield of quiet joy that she held before her, nor the slight kink on the bridge of her nose dampen her spirits. She stared back from the mirror with a simple, stupid smile that knew nothing but war and dauntless faith. A pale pink dress fitted poorly to her form, too loose about the chest and far too tight about the arms, stretched almost to breaking point over her thick limbs, hanging barely half an inch above the grating on the floor. Her skin was half-visible through the barely-there fabric, and the crown of white flowers in her loose, fire-red hair made her look more like a child than a dedicated servant of the Emperor.

The hushed giggle and whistles of passing crew did not bother Sister Dominicia; she barely even registered them. The concerns of laypeople and their strange attitudes toward the body were matters for wise scholars, not the sisters of the Orders Militant. Lisbeth's duty was to hear and to obey, not to become embroiled in the physical desires of those she was sworn to protect. A pair of ridiculous shoes in matching pink with a sharp heel forced her to take each step slowly, at times moving out her arms to maintain balance. 

These were strange orders, but they came from one of His appointed servants, and so they were to be followed to the letter. [i]I protect, and I ask only that you obey.[/i] Obeyance had never once been in question – Lisbeth was ready to die for her beloved master at a moment's notice – but her doubts lay elsewhere, much like the noble Confessor. Both had expressed concerns – the former about his role in the events of the last few days, and Lisbeth in her own abilities, and what the consequences for her sisters might be. For the first time in years, Lisbeth could hear her own footsteps without the clink-clink-clink of rosary beads, and their absence was a heavy burden to bear. Outside of her armour, with so much skin open to the elements as she made her way down toward the docking bay, Lisbeth felt naked, and ashamed. Even under orders, she was abandoning her duty to carry the mark of her sins and failures with her, and it was not a change that sat easy with her. 

Naked, but not unprotected. “You are my shield and my sword, my protection and my light,” sang the young sister, the familiar hymn causing a smile to spread across her face, twisting the fleur-des-lis tattoed around her left eye. Even unarmed, the Emperor would not allow harm to come to Lisbeth or her compatriots. If nothing occurred, it was certain proof that His protection and guiding hand were infallible. If something did happen, it was because He allowed it to occur, so that his most faithful servants could confront the wicked and root them out. If someone died, it was either because their faith was lacking, or He was rewarding them for their faithful service with the greatest of rewards – a place in eternity by His side. 

Old lessons beat out the lingering doubts, and the memory of Catherine's dead eyes staring up at the roof of the coridoor made way for the simple joy of a servant fulfilling their role in His great plan. “Good morning, Sister-Celestian,” hummed Lisbeth. “You look wonderful. I hope milord Governor will be pleased with us!”