City of Parga

I was born cursed under the portal of power.

Gifted with powers that, at first, made it hard to focus on me, my parents thought me cursed and unfavored by the portal and left me to grow up at the Church of Lilacs.

At first, the many tattooed priest and priestesses could still see and interact with me.

I joined the church school and studied with the kids picked by the Lady Lilac, some with their tattoos just starting to creep up their arms, seen because of the Church's sleeveless robes.

To help me master my power, Priestess Devari helped me. She was a human in her late thirties, a high-ranking Priestess in the Church, full sleeves of tattoos covering her arms and legs and her pretty face framed by an intricate pattern.

The training was mostly successful.

With great effort, I could almost control and tone down my power, making it possible for some to notice me.

As my power grew, an aura surrounded me, and the effects lingered when I would mess with other students. Ink scribbled on a boy's face would go unnoticed for longer and longer, their only budding connection to the good Lady Lilac not enough to notice or see me.

I almost instantly abused this. I cheated on tests, got extra food and snacks, messed with the other students, and snuck out when the priest would start their religious preaching.

When the other students would go out into our district, here in the eastern part of the desert city of Parga, to help, heal and cure the neglected population, I would roam the streets for items to steal and to observe exciting people.

Sometimes after I turned 18, not even Priestess Devari could see me, trained and pious as she was. My actions are now completely ignored by everyone.

Looking up at Devari, her sitting at a table in one of the Church common rooms, reading some religious text, I can't help but wonder how much the tattoos even cover. A few testing prods as I poke the Devari's shoulder watching for a reaction before breathing a sigh of relief, wondering why I suddenly felt nervous when my power never failed me.

Crawling beneath the table Devari is sitting at, I grab her dress and lift it over my head, not one of the other priests or priestesses even acknowledging my presence or Devaris weirdly moving dress.

I cast a small spell to create a floating mage light next to me, illuminating her plain undergarments and toned and tattooed legs.

I fetch a thin pillow from my stolen magical, ever-expanding bag and place it under my knees to spare myself from the bare hardwood flooring.

With one hand on her ankle, I trace a finger up her calf, following the line of her tattoos, my fingers gliding upwards toward her inner thigh, goosebumps beginning to form as her body reacts to my touch, but her mind is not.

Her private place is close, hidden behind a single layer of cloth, inside my reach and begging to be touched.