Chapter Text
There was an odd fellow in the Cathedral of Sister Gaius-Helena. Unlike the mass of strangers moving around him, he had no votive candle and was just standing there with a smirk on his round face.
The crowd was diverse: men and women of all sorts, with some in fine garb and others in worn hand-me-downs. Fine, soft hands held candles. Hard, calloused hands held the same candles. There was every complexion in those dim, smoky halls and chambers, and likewise every sort of ear, tail, fur, and scale to be found throughout the known civilized world.
It was a microcosm of the city outside, the grand port city of Eshmagebal, which itself demographically encompassed the vast reach of Imperial influence; in this way, the Cathedral was a miniature in miniature.
They walked randomly among the square pillars that supported domed ceilings, their eyes meeting the infinite gazes of the portraits depicted in the mosaics and frescoes around them: mostly women and some men with halos around their gentle yet sacrosanct visages. Exalted sisters and consorts, heroines, thinkers, leaders… They looked among them all, holding candles to light their way, thinking on their lives and the wisdom bestowed upon them by the Great Mother, reflecting, meditating, praying, together yet completely alone in a sacred miasma.
But not him – the odd fellow, a merchant named Ghisten, who was dressed in a fine black tunic with a light cap and was clearly waiting for someone, passing the time unabashedly people-watching.
He waited below a stone carving, which was as out-of-place as he was. It seemingly hung upon the wall as though stuck there like a decoration, and was almost gaudy in its size and intricate detail.
The carving was framed with a thin, round floral wreath. At the top of the wreath was a small face of a handsome woman with soft features: the Great Mother. At each of the four corners around the leaf lounged a single buxom elemental: one of air, water, fire, and earth. Within the wreath stood four sisters in togas with braided sashes around their waists and crowns of wheat upon their heads, their arms locked together in an embrace, each representing one of the realms of the Empire: Aeterna in the center, Ostra on the right, Vesitha on the left, and Occita below. Three other women, each with wings and braided hair, softly touched Occita and Vesitha, hovering in the air like nymphs. At the very bottom, smaller than all the rest, stood five women with various crowns.
Ghisten liked the carving because it made for a good landmark. He didn’t know much else about it, merely reasoning from common sense that it depicted a personification of the whole Empire. Had he an interest in history, he would have found the stonework’s subject matter amusingly outdated.
The nymphs personified three different city-states and kingdoms that had elected to join the Empire as Amis . Not long after the piece was commissioned, they were all fully incorporated and dissolved into the Empire: two into Occita and one into Vesitha. And the five women on the bottom – the Empress and the Queens of each realm, were all long-dead. And the sculptors of that time would have been absolutely shocked to know that in the future, on more than one occasion, at least one man would serve beside the Empress as King of a realm.
But Ghisten didn’t really care about the history. He found the intricate patterns of the wreath lovely. The stone women were pretty, with the long togas, the braids of hair, the lips, and the bare breasts. They provided refuge from the spooky faces hanging all around the hazy cathedral.
After a while, a familiar face came into view: the easy smile of Sister Yevine. She greeted Ghisten with a bow. The merchant took off his hat and returned it with a joyful grin.
“It is good to see you,” she said, offering her arm to him.
“Likewise,” he answered, latching onto her, letting her lead the way through the cathedral.
Yevine was somehow special among the sisters. Unlike her cohorts who wore simple robes, dresses, and jumpers that espoused simplicity and comfort, she wore a teal dress and a violet sash, with long, square sleeves and a skirt that ended just above her ankles. Walking next to Ghisten, Yevine resembled a merchant more than a Sister.
Ghisten had a vague idea that the Sisterhood’s hierarchy was not monolithic; that certain members of the Sisterhood had more particular roles than others.Yevine’s place in the sorority likely dealt directly with matters of commerce. Ghisten guessed she must have a number of clerks working under her: other women who, though as financially savvy as Yevine, eschewed her warm sociability for a more pragmatic, analytical personality.
Then again, Ghisten didn’t really care about any of that. All that mattered to the jolly businessman was the fact that the Sisterhood was a customer of exceptional credit with an enterprise that spanned the entire Empire and beyond.
This Cathedral alone kept him busy. The two had exited the candle-lit halls of the church and were standing in cool, crisp sunshine. A mixed group of Ghisten’s laborers and church Sisters were hauling the last of a large delivery into the cathedral. There was tallow and beeswax for candles, wine (dry and bitter for rituals, sweet and light for refreshment, and a few varieties for cooking), nails (mostly small trim nails, but tinned, fastener-grade varieties were among the order as well), grain, flour, balms, herbs…
A Sister – an analytic variety, judging by her bored look and tone – came up to Yevine, bowing politely to Ghisten. “All accounted for” was all she said before she vanished into the church. One of Ghisten’s associates, a strong and tan young woman, handed him a piece of parchment, upon which was written the entire order. Yevine scrawled a signature and stamped the page.
“Marvelous,” she said with a smile, “well-connected merchants like you are truly a blessing, Ghisten.”
“Now, give credit where it’s due,” he playfully chided, gesturing to his gaffress, “we all do our best for the Sisterhood and her faithful.”
The woman half-heartedly answered with a dry smile and walked away, twirling her fingers to telegraph to him and her crew: “we’re wrapping up and going home.”
“Well that’s that,” Yevine chirped, “have you much more to do today?” She turned and pointed out a hand, inviting him for a walk around the grounds. He obliged without a thought.
“No, this does it for the day,” he answered, following along with her slow march.
They spoke of the latest news of the realm, of prices and inventories, and plans for the coming seasons.
Eventually they stopped at a secluded place between some peach trees. Their conversation continued in the shade. As they spoke, Yevine’s fingers slowly traced up and down along the collar of her dress. It drew Ghisten’s gaze away from her eyes, down to the curls of her hair and to the bare skin of her neck.
“I've always wondered,” she said as they walked, “how do you get along with the other merchants in the city?”
“Oh, well enough, miss,” he answered.
She noticed his faltering eye contact and began running her fingers through her hair, combing it down over her shoulder. The waves of her natural highlights distracted the merchant further.
“Yet you all compete with one another, do you not? It must be difficult to remain amicable when money is on the line,” she went on.
“True, true,” he muttered. “But fortune rewards the fair and friendly. And in any case, there is often enough to go around, as it were. And also…”
It wasn’t long before he discovered the faint show of cleavage just above the neckline of her dress.
“And, uh, also…”
And when he found the hint of that warm valley, he found it curiously difficult to keep his eyes away.
“We, er,” he slowly said, trying to gather his thoughts, “That is, we depend upon one another. And…”
Ghisten was polite, not lecherous; he showed women respect, as any man (moreso a businessman) should. But his incessant glances down at Yevine’s chest were obvious. Surely she could tell. Would he really allow this sudden, inexplicable attraction to her breasts tarnish his business relationship with the church?
“Are you alright, Ghisten? You seem troubled all of a sudden,” she remarked.
His eyes, wide and alarmed, snapped back to hers. “Yes, I’m fine,” he answered, a bit too quickly, “why do you ask?”
“You look suddenly troubled, as I said. Is it because you are distracted by my breasts?”
“What? No, I wasn’t–”
“You needn’t lie, Ghisten. It’s alright.”
“No, Yevine, you– you misunderstand. I’m sorry if you are offended.”
“I’m not offended, Ghisten,” she smiled, “and as I said, you needn’t lie.”
Her hand continued combing down her hair and running along her neck, tempting him to look back down. It was difficult for him to resist the impulse to glance down.
“You needn’t lie,” she repeated, “you want to look. So go ahead, look.”
She tugged down at her collar, exposing a further inch of her cleavage. This blatant tease broke Ghisten’s resolve, and he looked back down, quietly admiring her bosom.
“You know that I don’t mind that you look, do you?”
As though punctuating her words, she brought her other arm below her breasts, hefting up her bosom and pronouncing her cleavage further.
“You needn’t be ashamed of looking at me like this. In fact, I want you to look, Ghisten. Don’t you remember that I want you to look at my breasts?”
His mouth opened but no reply came out. A confused look remained upon his face.
“You can be at ease. There’s no one here but you and I. Go ahead and look.”
Her words were having an effect upon him: his breathing slowed and deepened. His entire posture slackened.
“That’s right, there’s nothing wrong with it,” she resumed in a quiet voice, almost a whisper, “because you want to look at my breasts, and I want you to look at my breasts, so just look at my breasts. Let’s take a quiet moment to just enjoy this – to enjoy the way it makes you and I feel: so calm, relaxed, and nice.”
And Ghisten did just that: stare. It felt as though it was all he could do, and he couldn’t deny how natural it felt. He could see the slight curve of her smile from the edge of his vision. Her chest rose and fell slowly, nearly synchronous with his own breathing. The wind washed through the leaves of the trees around them, enveloping them in white noise.
“You’ve stared at my breasts before,” she told him, as though offering up a hint.
She was right. Everything about this situation felt familiar to Ghisten, though there was no memory to grab hold of.
“You remember what to do, don’t you?”
But he didn’t. However, that didn’t bother him, since–
“Nothing. You do nothing,” she answered, her warm smile heavy in her voice, “except listen and stare.”
And he knew how to do that. He was very good at it – he sensed he had a lot of practice looking at Yevine’s chest.
“And you’re doing so well,” she went on, “you’re just listening to my voice and staring at my breasts. And it’s so nice, isn’t it? It’s so nice because you listen and stare so well. Listening to my voice. Staring at my cleavage. Deeply listening. Deeply staring. So nice and deep .”
Her hand resumed trailing up and down her neckline. The motion of her fingers along her skin was smooth, timed to her breathing like a slow metronome.
“And now you remember why it doesn’t bother me, right? Because it doesn’t bother you. It doesn’t bother you to stare at my breasts because it doesn’t bother me when you stare at my breasts. I quite like when you stare at my breasts, because it makes you listen so well, doesn’t it? And so, we both enjoy it ever-so much when you listen and stare , isn’t that right?”
Ghisten was silent. At this point, his whole figure was so deflated he was nearly leaning forward, gazing into her hint of cleavage as though it were a mystical wonder.
Satisfied that the merchant was fully under her sway, the Sister’s tone became prodding, though still soothing and quiet.
“Ghisten,” she began, still keeping his attention at her chest with the dancing of her fingertips, “I hear you are visiting a new customer tomorrow. An apothecary near the edge of the city?"
He made a short "uh-huh" in reply.
"Good. I need you to be very mindful of what you see there, understand?"
Another "uh-huh" grunted out of his open mouth.
"Try to get a glimpse of their raw ingredients. Keep an eye, nose, and ear out for anything that suggests ties to witchcraft, demonolatry, or ties to pagans."
"Uh-huh."
Yevine’s skin shivered at the sight of Ghisten. His thoughtless stare was that of an idiot. It was an uncanny change from the jovial, industrious businessman she had come to know. Drool was starting to collect at the side of his mouth. The Sister closed her eyes, took a breath, and willed herself to continue.
"And whatever you notice, you'll remember to capture it all in your mind. You'll store it where it'll be deep, warm, and safe, right?"
"Uh-huh."
"Very good, Ghisten. You may masturbate tonight."
At this, he let out a low, excited groan.
"But you may not come."
Another groan, desperate but quickly fading in acquiescence.
"Remember, Ghisten: the Great Mother brings fortune to her devoted ones."
And at this, he answered with a yearning, lively "uh-huh!"
Yevine knew he was erect, but nonetheless looked down to glance at his horny, denied cock. It poked hard against his tunic. She regretted looking every time.
“Alright,” she sighed, getting to her favorite part of the hypnosis session: ending it. “Now it’s time to forget. Do you remember how to forget, Ghisten?”
His eyes squinted, telegraphing the effort exerted by his pacified mind. “Nuh-uh.”
"You just need to forget. Just remember how to forget," she explained, taking her arm away from under her breasts and bringing her dress back up.
"Just remember to forget, but also remember what we talked about."
His eyes were gradually losing their empty glaze. He gulped, swallowing his drool and closing his mouth.
"I know you remember," she assured him, her voice more and more animated, "you remember how to forget, but also remember. What we spoke of was very special, so you must remember our special conversation, but you may also forget for now."
His eyes began looking to and fro, confused and disoriented, as though he was being roused from a late-morning nap.
"You should forget it for now, because you remember we were talking. What were we talking of? Do you remember?"
"I…" Ghisten trailed off, slowly straightening up as his thoughts set into motion like an old engine.
"You remember we were talking of something, don't you? You remember it's rude to daydream during conversation. You remember it's rude to stare at my breasts. You remember it's rude to be so erect."
"Oh? Oh!" Ghisten blinked and stared wide-eyed at Yevine. His cock went flaccid with mortification at his behavior. How long was he looking at her chest!? "Goodness, Sister! I– I–."
"Whatever is the matter, Ghisten?" Her face wore the rehearsed mask of cluelessness.
"I, umm, I think I lost track of what we were talking of," he meekly said. Had she not noticed?
“Oh, we were just gossiping is all,” she gently said.
Yevine offered him a tender look. “Perhaps you are tired. I'm sorry for keeping you.”
“Oh, not at all,” the merchant said with a jolly tone, “I can always spare time to catch up with you, kind Sister. I like to believe the business of goods and money is just a happy byproduct of our friendship.
Yevine grinned, feeling herself laugh. He was a charming fellow. It was a shame she had to…
“Well, shall we talk again soon?” she asked, offering her hand.
He shook it eagerly, nodding. “If Fortune would have it.”
“Bless you,” the sister bowed. “And may our Mother protect you.”
Walking to his local apartment (comfortable, but lacking the homeliness of his estate), he felt a pang of guilt.
Ghisten cherished his friendship with Yevine. She was a Sister, but also much the same as himself: fair, practical, a sense of humor…
She was also honest, and he often thought of her as a person of integrity. The merchant knew that he, himself, was neither of these things.
For all his dealings with and praise for the Sisterhood, a significant portion of his profits came from unscrupulous sources, pagans and smugglers among them. It kept his costs down by avoiding tariffs. As well as providing sources of commerce more “honest” merchants would never consider.
This, of course, allowed him to undercut those “honest” merchants, and put more than one competitor out of business.
Oddly enough, he thought, walking down the bustling avenue down from the cathedral, this sense of guilt never surfaced during his meetings with Yevine. He always left her with a feeling of elation, as though his sins were absolved in some form.
With any luck, his conscience would remain subdued tomorrow, when he met with those two witch cousins.