Comfort

It took them ages to get up, in tears and yet aware of having gloriously survived this first Sabbath day in honor of the master. They went to the ablutions pool. Phoebe was joined by Sybelle, who took her in her arms to comfort her.

• Sybelle, I could never, it's too much.
• If you will stand for the master, the pool will restore our strength, heal us. I will take care of you, and a meal awaits us afterward.

The ablutions pool shimmered in the pale morning light, its dark, still waters like a polished obsidian mirror. Phoebe's legs trembled violently as she submerged herself in the liquid, the sudden sting making her gasp; what should have been a refreshing relief burned like salt in a wound. Sybelle's hands, soaked in an ointment scented with yew and crushed copper, ran over the raised marks on Phoebe's back with uncanny precision.

"Hush, little deer," Sybelle murmured, her breath warm against Phoebe's ear as her fingers sank lower, probing the swollen flesh between her thighs. The water rippled crimson around them. "The master's marks are deeper here."

But the twelve sisters, with their gentle care, regained their joy and carefree attitude; the water, clear again, brought them comfort, healing, and forgetfulness. Phoebe's breath quickened as Sybelle's fingers ran over the raw, tender flesh between her thighs. The ointment burned like fire before transforming into a numb, tingling warmth. The water lapped at her waist, swirling in crimson streams as the last vestiges of the night's brutality oozed from her wounds.

Slowly, Phoebe began to laugh along with the others. Joy returned; she felt it would be short-lived, but in that moment, she felt so good.

Sybelle's fingers lingered at the tops of Phoebe's thighs, where the flesh still throbbed, hot and swollen from the night's ****. The ointment pooled there, thick as honey, its metallic scent mingling with the damp musk rising from the water. Phoebe shuddered—not from pain now, but from the treacherous pulsation between her legs as the ointment seeped into the battered tissue, knitting the torn flesh with a stinging warmth that bordered on pleasure.

Lysara, one of the sisters, approached, her breasts glistening with droplets that clung to her like liquid mercury. She pressed a chalice to Phoebe's lips without a word.

"Drink, my sister, you are one of us. This Sabbath is unique in your life. You will discover that these moments are unique privileges and gifts to the master."

Phoebe took a sip of this beverage, which restored her health, morale, and a heightened desire, ready to take on any challenge.

Sybelle, amused, led her out of the bath and scrubbed her before she felt the urge to relieve her urges. She knew Phoebe would need all her strength for what came next. A hearty picnic was served. Phoebe had never been so hungry. Sybelle restrained her; the rest would certainly require all her energy, but it wouldn't allow for too much digestion.