Agony.
Putting repressors upon your body is agony. I did not scream, my body to numb from past pains to respond to this one. Yet it was still agony. The ink burned into my skin, as the artist did her work. Everywhere.
Arms, legs, feet, hands, neck, back. All covered.
I looked at my new body. In a way it was beautiful. The black symbols crawled around me, sticking out from my light brown skin. The designs were of my own choosing. I at least, had the luxury and option to choose what would reside upon my body for the rest of my life.
I chose sacred symbols- the moon, sun, air, water, ground, fire and light. Anyone who looked at them would know that I was gifted. I was a holy leader held with the highest prestige. I was an Arishia.
"Is this enough?" the elder asked.
The artist looked down at my body. She had done a magnificent job. But then again the Elders had insisted upon the best for me. Someone who knew what they were doing before I was tossed in the fire.
"Let's see," she said.
She took out a thin piece of paper and placed it upon my skin. The paper immediately turned red.
The woman sucked in a quick gasp of breath.
"I have never seen such a high level BloodTest in my life," she looked at the elder, thinking about what next to do, "you did tell me she had a very high level, but this is just insane. I bet if she walked off the grounds that are protecting her, they would go mad with her scent and be able to smell her within 100 miles."
The Elder's eyes widened. We exchanged glances. This had to be done. I at least had to make it to where they were taking me to alive without my scent distracting others.
"Give us the steel then," the Elder said, moving closer to me as if to provide some unknown support.
"She'll attract attention just with the amount of repressors she has on now," the artist said frowning at us.
"Give us the steel." The Elder left no room for argument.
The artist gave me what could only be described as a look of pity before she walked to her bag and pulled out a small chest.
Inside were cuffs, bracelets and other assorted jewelry.
"We'll start with the basics and then see if we should add on from there," the artist said.
She started small- a ring, earrings, and bracelet.
The thin strip of paper still turned blood red.
The artist gave a frustrated sound from the back of her throat.
I watched all this with no emotion. I knew already that it would be a lot. This was my fate. It was best if I accepted rather than argue and fight against the currents. What comes will come.
5 earrings on each ear. Each earring as they went down showed the phases of the moon, ending with the full mother on my earlobe.
I had to have them pierced. The pain wasn't bad.
The artist sprayed some stuff on them, "so they won't get infected," she said.
These repressors were different from regular jewelry. Once they were in there was no taking them out. No one could take them off the wearer. Even if they ripped them off the body, they would still cling on.
It was so the dark ones didn't take them off- so they couldn't smell what all the repressors were repressing.
In total 10 earrings.
I had two rings on my left hand and three upon my right. Simple steel bands.
I also had one toe ring upon each of my feet, with a removable chain that attached them to a bracelet around my foot for looks.
My stomach was pierced.
I had a cufflink around my left bicep.
4 small silver bracelets around my right and three around my left.
But no necklace.
"We can't have it too close to your heart," the artist said.
As I stood up, I felt a new wave of emotion come over me.
I twisted around to look at myself.
I felt a small pang of something then. Something that I wasn't supposed to feel. Guilty.
I liked it.
I liked the drawings upon my skin. I liked how they looked upon the curves of my hips and my fingers- shaping up around my arms and down my back and legs.
And I liked the jewelry.
I liked my new look. And I didn't understand why.
Technically I was blemished now. I was a priestess. One of the highest ones. To cover myself up in repressors meant to those who saw that I had something to repress.
That I was changing my body to suit the needs of others.
I was changing it though to suit the need of myself.
The greatest need called survival.
The artist placed the thin paper upon my skin.
I shuddered when I saw it turned a faint pink.
"I don't know what to tell you," the artist said, looking at the paper and me with a deep sadness in her eyes, "If I add anymore I don't know the risk that will happen to your body. I've never heard of anyone being able to support so many repressors."
I nodded and thanked her. It would be good enough. I felt pain. Deep pain from the ink and jewelry, but it was slowly fading as I started to accept that they were now a part of my body.
The artist surprised me then by kneeling. She dipped her head down and said, "It has been an honor to help you Arishia. May the moon bless you."
"Blessings," I said, placing my hand upon the artist's head, "What Is your name?"
The artist looked stunned that I wanted to know but answered saying, "Karis."
"Your work is beautiful Karis. I will be reminded of you and your faith when I look upon it."
Karis started to cry. I chose that moment to walk away. The Elder followed me in awe. I did nothing though. Those had been the only words I had said through the whole ordeal. She had just made me become something bigger within her mind. Perhaps because I wore an amount of repressors that would kill a normal person. She knew, as if instinct, that I was something more.
Everyone stared as I walked down the hall towards dinner.
"Arishia," they mumbled softly. Some reached out to touch my dress, others said nothing as tears collected within their eyes.
They knew what these objects meant. They knew what I had chosen to do.
Did I really choose this? I asked myself
In a way...no...
I looked down at my hand. My hand that I saw as beautiful while others saw as stained.
I found comfort in the fact that I would be gone from this place soon.
Away from the looks of Awe, and soft whispers. Away from the touches of my robes and the fleeting grasp of my hair or feet.
I was not who they thought I was. And I wanted to be gone from it.
Selfish, Selfish.
I chanted to myself as I watched increasingly more reactions to my new body.
Do not cry, because I am selfish.
Yet tears continued to fall.
And I continued my path to the dining room. Content in the fact that I would leave with their high opinions- letting them have comfort in the lie they had constructed and chosen to believe.