Our connections with one another. Love and affection, in all its varied forms. The subtle, inherent sharing of certain energies between all living creatures, which is what we commonly view as consciousness. Finally, our connection to and dependence upon the gods and goddesses—some of us more than others, depending on the person.
All of this merges and mutates into something greater. Somethingsacred. It becomes life-force in all of us—literally, a person’s very essence.
“Life-force is rooted to our souls,” says the First High Priestess. “It’s what makes us who we are. It can be depleted and even drained entirely. In the same way we need our hearts to pump blood or our lungs to capture oxygen, we cannot survive without life-force.”
I write as quickly as I can, straining to wrap my sleep-deprived mind around the information.
“That accumulated life-force extends outside of the body, physically manifesting as a person’s aura.” Maida sets her chalk down and turns to her counterpart.
Elodie pushes off of the wall. “Nine times out of ten, auras will be visually detectable, appearing as outlines around the head. Sometimes the whole body. Every so often, you’ll comeacross someone whose aura is undetectable for whatever reason. It’s not anybody’s defect.”
My eyes follow her as she begins her circuit around the room. Sweat prickles my scalp, an insistent need searing between my thighs. I squirm, tugging at the collar of my shirt.
“Auras manifest with emotional states and may appear shimmering, glowing, or hazy, but the visual ones are always colorful,” she continues. “Their appearance often intensifies during moments of great emotional impact.”
The Second High Priestess goes on about auras and their qualities. It seems we can even strengthen our own to defend ourselves on a super-physiological level.
After our break, she delves into reading them.
“There’s a subtlety to it. They’re usually only apparent to the average acolyte after she acquires a few pieces of jewelry. Naturally, exceptions occur.”
I can’t help glancing at Cordelia, diligently taking notes.
Elodie starts in on the different colors that may manifest, and my fingers cramp trying to keep up: green indicates joy, yellow is excitement, and anger is red.
Oh, gods…An uncomfortable realization hits for the first time, filling me with dismay.
I’m counting the pieces of jewelry the Second High Priestess has on—and it is alot—and marinating in the notion that, in addition to my degenerate, wanton pheromones, myaurahas likely been broadcasting my emotional state this whole time.
As mortifying asthatis, I do my best to refocus, scribbling away with all my might and ignoring the insistent need pulsing between my legs.
Purple signals shame, brown disgust, and black is fear, alarm, or hatred. A luminous iridescent white indicates a state of ecstatic euphoria or even love.
Like black and white, blue is another tricky one, indicating self-satisfaction, contentedness, or sorrow.
“Simple clues such as body language and tone of voice will help with deciphering,” murmurs Elodie from closer behind me than I anticipated. Whereas she’s avoided me in her pacing thus far, she now walks right past me. “The degree to which auras will be visible, and their intensity, varies from person to person.”
Delectable shivers dance down my spine at her low tone. The beast inside of me rumbles, and I want to crawl out of my skin.
How screwed am I?Gods, the mere sound of her voice is turning me on.
She moves toward the blackboard with a subtle sway of her hips that snags the air in my lungs.
The lecture moves on, another hour passes, and the muscles in my hand protest. I focus on the pain, shoving my simmering arousal down as far as it will go.
Before dismissing us for the day, Elodie cautions, “Going forward, we’ll continue delving into more esoteric topics. You’ll find the prioress and sisters won’t acknowledge certain concepts introduced in the coming weeks. Likewise, the general public isn’t receptive to many of the things we’ll discuss.
“It will be prudent to keep discussion of these topics limited to the occupants of this room.”
The next day, Maida is smiling widely as we file into the annex. She picks up her chalk and turns to write on the blackboard. When she steps aside, one question glares back at us:
What is magic?
Sadrie and I glance at each other.
“So, whatismagic?” asks Maida.
“Eisha’s gift,” answers Cordelia.
