12

Once dry, Phoebe was dressed in her white gown by her new sisters, whom she reluctantly left behind as she slipped on her sandals.

Upon her exit, the mistress and ten sisters were waiting for her, just as serene as the twelfth. They embraced each other long times before entering the forest along a path that wound through the hills without ever stopping.

The serenity gave way to a more oppressive atmosphere, but the mistress of ceremonies radiated confidence and certainty until they arrived at a wall of holly.

The mistress spoke magical words that opened the wall of plants. We entered a room of plants.

• Now we are in the hands of the master. Let's undress, novices. Phoebe, Tissa, Luna, and Amalie, put this silk blindfold over your eyes. Sybelle, you will guide Phoebe to the coven site.

Sybelle's hands brushed Phoebe's shoulders, guiding her uncertain steps across the mossy ground. A shiver ran through the novice as the damp air caressed her bare skin. Around her, the other women's quiet breaths mingled with the rustling of leaves, each step bringing them closer to the mysterious heart of the glade.

Sybelle's fingers tightened on Phoebe's shoulders as they crossed an invisible threshold, the air suddenly warmer, heavy with incense and damp earth. A murmur rose around them—whispers in an ancient tongue, the rustling of leaves sliding over moss. Phoebe felt the brush of branches against her bare hips, a plantlike caress that made her shudder. Somewhere ahead, water dripped into a stone bowl with a crystalline sound.

• Offer your pleasure to our master, form couples, the novices with their guide.

Sybelle slid her hands up Phoebe's arms until their fingers intertwined, her warm skin contrasting with the night's coolness. A trembling sigh escaped the novice's lips as her guide pulled her against her, their naked bodies brushing against each other in the fragrant darkness. A few steps further, the mossy ground gave way to crumpled petals that clung to their ankles.

A low laugh echoed in the shadows, the Master watching.

Sybelle's fingers slowly moved up Phoebe's arms, tracing feverish circles on her pale skin lit by the torchlight. A shiver ran through the novice as her guide embraced her, their bare stomachs brushing against each other in time with their ragged breathing. Somewhere in the darkness, the Master's deep laughter echoed again, closer this time, as the leaves rustled as if to welcome her. Still blindfolded, Phoebe let herself go, clumsily attempting to return Sybelle's caresses as best she could, exploring her sensual form.

Phoebe's fingers trembled as they traced Sybelle's curves, brushing against her amber hips where the torchlight danced in golden reflections. A sigh escaped her guide's lips as the novice's nails traced a tentative line along her spine. The air thickened with a musky scent, and they sat down on a cloth as moans of delight began to rise around them.