Page 43 of Star Crossed Delta


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The Sauvage family and the Lisades grew up in this revival, and rituals such as inking were part of it.

The artist’s voice was husky and reverent as she chanted an ancient verse.

Around and above Saba, birds winged across the sky, chirping in sweet song.

The sun shone while a gentle breeze blew the lake’s scents over her. In the gardens, fruit trees swayed, their branches weighed down by succulent fruits.

In that instant, Saba recalled her childhood; lazy summer days when she spent time at their enclave’s lakeside playing in the wetland wonderlands among the pools where the lotus flowers bloomed.

She let her mind fly back to when she wandered along its lake shores for endless hours, plucking blossoms and arranging them into makeshift bouquets.

She’d hidden amid the tall reeds, listening to the frogs’ soothing croaks and the birds chirping. She dipped her bare feet into the cool water and welcomed the gentle caress of its ripples against her skin.

As dragonflies darted around her, she imagined them as tiny knights in shining armor, shielding their territory.

She’d used fallen branches as rapiers, battling imaginary foes and defending her invisible realm. In their infinite grace, the lotus petals served as her audience, swaying in the breeze as if applauding her every move. Those warm days by the lake had been filled with simple joys and boundless freedom.

As the years went by, through the loss of her parents, the strife, and the emotional abuse at the hands of her uncle, aunt, and cousins, she often returned, in her mind, to that same place.

Seeking solace and nostalgia.

Like she was now, losing herself in the rhythmic pain, ignoring the pair of women sitting nearby on the terrace, fanning themselves, observing her getting covered in intricate artwork.

Per tradition, Sylvana and Zsófia, Saba’s closest female relatives, were present to accompany her through the ancient customs.

It did her no good, as the only contribution they gave was their condemnation and accusatory glances.

She ignored them, blocking out their judgment as her heart pounded in rhythm with the needle and the chanting, taking her into a trance-like state.

With every deliberate press and puncture, the elaborate lines and symbols of the Sauvage’s marital crest began to form.

Delicate swirls, sharp angles, and sacred runes interwoven to tell the story of her new bond.

The tattooist’s hands moved with precision.

As the ink spread across her skin, it became more than just a mark; it transformed into a testament to her vows, commitment, and place in the Order.

With each passing minute, the design grew, the glowing dye shimmering in the sun.

The ultimate stroke of the needle pressed in, sealing her transformation.

Thesaniiwhispered the ultimate blessing, tracing the fresh pigment with a feather-light touch as if to transfer the spirits’ approval. She wiped away the last traces of excess colorant with a soft cloth.

Saba opened her eyes and gazed at her limbs, her delight evident in a gasp at the intricate latticework, a canvas of art covered in Sauvage sigils that identified her as Mak’s wife.

She took the speculum the artist handed her and turned it to see the result on her upper arms and back.

‘It’s perfect,’ she murmured.

Thesaniibowed with a smile.

‘Your pleasure is welcome,Šarim,’ she whispered as she put away her tools.

Handing back the mirror, Saba stretched to release the ache in her muscles.

Thesaniicleaned her dermis, salved, and placed temporary bandages on her.

‘We are done,Šarim,’ she said. ‘You should be safe to expose your skin in twenty-four hours.’