Lisbeth was only half-listening to the conversation between her superiors; there was nothing of interest for her in their musings. Anything she needed to know, she would be told, and anything else was above her station. It was her holy mission to follow orders, not to eavesdrop on the conversations of others - even if those orders did take her to strange places. When the procession finally made their way into the staggering main hall, Lisbeth could not suppress a hushed "By the Throne!" Even after all the churches, chapels and holy places she had stood in, the scale and opulence of this place were amazing. She could scarcely see the ceiling, and all around her symbols of wealth assaulted her senses. Like a small child, she was swept away, pulled toward the glass case within which her arms and armour were sealed, stood upright by some unseen mechanism, [i]Persephone[/i] and [i]Permanence[/i] polished to a blinding sheen, the black plates of her ancient suit of armour cleaned and re-sealed, the sacraments inscribed on the plates given a new coat of ice-white paint, sharp and clear even through the thick glass. 

Suspended behind the armour, the heavy strings of rosary beads coiled around two poles like the folds of some enormous serpent. A more sober woman would have seen them and thought of all the sins and failures they represented, and be still, but Lisbeth was not a sober woman. Totally ignorant of the nobles circling the room, Lisbeth fluttered from spot to spot, her mouth open and her eyes wide, like a child on a the morning of a feast-day. It was only when she realised that the rest of her sisters were being spoken to that she brought herself back to reality, and sheepishly made a quick retreat back to the Sister-Celestian's side. Given how quickly she had lost her head, Lisbeth thought it best she not compound her error by saying anything, and instead mumbled a half-hearted "Your grace," bowing slightly.