Ceres lurched to the side of the bed, dry heaving so violently the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. Sweat dripped from her temples and she didn’t bother to wipe it away as she rolled from the balls of her feet to her knees, clenching at her stomach.

The dreams were always the same, some variation of her sins and the souls that refuse to pass from the realm of trinity, clinging onto her mind. Sometimes it was her father or sisters, sometimes it was all of them, but mostly her little brother hiding behind her mother, as if he knew even in death, that her hand was tainted. They were not meant to stay in this plane and yet there they were, stuck in the imbalance of between. She wasn’t sure where they would go, perhaps nowhere, perhaps everywhere, who was she to make an assumption? There was the end and the beginning, the new and the old. The Mother never spoke of a life after, although the poets wrote of a realm of souls.

Her rib snapped as she dry heaved once more, mucus dripping from her nose, but she didn’t cry. The pain was her penance.

“My gods, Ceres.”

She heard the door squeal open, footsteps as they approached her, before cool hands pulled the hair from her face.

“How long?” she groaned to Vesta, pushing herself off the floorboards to sit on the cot, hiding her face behind her hands.

“Rest, we will talk...,” Ceres stopped her by grabbing her hand, pleading with her eyes for an answer, Vesta’s honey-colored eyes softened. “About five days, the priestesses brought you to the healers. You had been convulsing so bad you bit your own tongue and choked on your own blood, your god lashed out.”

“And the prioress?” she whispered, scared of the answer, not wanting of anymore guilt to haunt her sleep.

“Nothing a few nights rest couldn’t handle, although you leveled the western hall of the temple with your flames, but everyone made it out unscathed,” she rubbed small circles over Ceres’ back, but it had only increased her sickness. She swallowed it down. Most of the Sanct thought her ill anyway, this changed nothing.

Ceres turned to her friend with light brown curls that framed a freckled face with high cheekbones, a softness to her beauty, the kind you can stare at without tire. The corner of her mouth tipped down in a sympathetic frown. Consoling had never been her greatest strength.

“If only the gods were on our side, then maybe perhaps Insteia could have tasted a lick of the shadow,” she gave a small smile to help bring out the tension in Vesta’s shoulders.

“Oh, you know the gods don’t bargain on our lives, but if they did, I know they would you,” she gave a wink, “and, anyway, Insteia and her acolytes have the duty of cleaning your mess, it is close enough misery.”

Ceres hummed her response, still trying to calm her racing heart. She leaned her head against the soft silk of Vesta’s shoulders and closed her eyes, soaking in the silence to let her mind drift. Vesta had been born in Illyria, raised as a noble’s daughter until the war tossed them into chaos and streets of the poor, money could not hold against the wraith of the people. Her father sold her and her sister into the silk trade after her first blood for coin, her sister died not long after due to plague. Vesta survived only by chance, escaping when she heard of the rise of the priory.

When Ceres had arrived, most shied from her, already hearing of the cursed girl setting death to all she passed. Vesta had been the only one to approach her without a hint of fear, lying with her the first few nights to keep her sane. They understood each other’s pain, and Ceres was grateful for it.

“The prioress wants word Ceres, she told me once you awoke you must go,” Vesta sighed.

Ceres pushed herself up, wincing at the pain and weakness that caused black dots to form in her eyes.

“I will see to it in the morning, grant me the mercy of tonight,” she pleaded to her friend

Vesta only nodded, gazing out the window to the crescent moon which cast a white glow over her skin, illuminating the small scar over her eyebrow. Ceres had always been between loving her and envying her beauty, she did not know where the lines crossed, if it mattered that they even did.

“I brought something,” she dug into her pockets, unfurling her fingers to reveal small blue flowers. Water lilies.

Ceres threw her head back in laughter, “Do not tell me you desire to spy on the priory tonight.”

Vesta smirked; eyes bright with mischief.

Only a few moments later they were sliding out the window of the healer’s quarters, giggles falling from their lips like they were once again young girls. They had done it so many times it became a routine on the warmer nights, stealing the elderberry wine from the cellars before smoking the lilies or morning glory on the edge of two great cliffs which held in the center a small sapling. The prioresses would go at night to sing their prayers to the beat of soft music, a gentle lullaby that always made Ceres stare in awe. A way to commune with the gods, the prioress had once told her, but never further explained its effects.

The crisp night air soaked into her warm skin, filling her lungs that gave her another second of life. Her hair must have been braided when she was asleep by Vesta, small pieces flying out as they ran barefoot along the long grass which had already felt the beginnings of dew. She swallowed her pain, ignored the roll of her stomach, for one more night, just one, she begged to the Mother, let her be free of all her shackles.

Instead of finding their way down to the cellars, Ceres had taken the strawberry wine Cannenta hid away inside the cupboards for any night that dragged on for too long. She took a swing from it, letting the sweet burn turn her body numb. It was never her favorite, she preferred the bitterness of grape wine, but Vesta preferred sweet, so she gave up her desires for her.

They stopped just before the edge of the sudvista fjord, lying on their stomachs to not be seen, just below, the roaring of the untamed waves mixed with their heavy breathing, the only sound to hear. The sapling had just begun to sprout leaves, a small willow whose roots gave structure and life to every living creature on Trajan. Ceres gazed as it began to brighten in accordance with the music of the priory who sat circled around, dressed in only light tunics. Her prioress, the prioress of the Sanct, sat at the head of her sisters, perched on a rock a foot above them, dark skin blending with the night, her mouth moving with her song.  It took a few beats for it to reach their ears, but as it did, she closed her eyes, a sound so angelic it would be a sin greater than death to disrupt.

She rolled onto her back, turning her head to Vesta who blew out a small cloud of smoke from the blue lilies, her eyes already starting to droop, before passing the pipe to the fumbling fingers of Ceres. It wasn’t as strong as poppies or morning glory, but it was enough to quiet her mind, to relax her muscles and sleep without fear of guilt. She blew out small circles in the air, Vesta broke them by dipping her fingers through with a laugh so pure the stars seemed to shine brighter.

They watched each other, talking without words, a conversation too dim to speak aloud.

I will burn, leave my side before you catch aflame, she begged.

Let me catch, if we turn to fire then let ours be the brightest flames, a small smile pulled at the edge of her lips, let our ashes fall together.

Vesta pushed herself up, walking down just far enough to not be seen, before becoming one with the wind. Her body moved and flowed with each passing breeze, so precise and yet carefree it took the breath from Ceres’ lungs. She danced with beauty, with a grace that she had never let be stripped from her. Her silver bracelets chimed as she moved her way back to Ceres, giving a hand with a question in her gaze.

Drunk and high, the world finally felt at peace, and even though Ceres knew that fact never to be true, it did not persuade her from taking Vesta’s outstretched hand and dancing with her under the stars. They spun with hands on their backs, then their hips, breaths so close she only needed to lean forward to taste her, but they held back, caught in the bliss of uncertainty.

Title: War of Faith

Genre: Fiction/Fantasy

Age Range: young adult- adult

Word count: Currently 50k, ongoing

Author: Elizabeth Urbanowicz

Synopsis: Two kingdoms and an empire have been at war for thousands of years based on the difference of religion and faith, the book written based on the account of historians and poets, much of the truth up for interpretation. A young woman with the name Ceres, born in the East in a time of rebellion, harbors the touch of the god called the Mother. Forced into a destiny she does not crave, and tied by guilt to the past, she must choose if love is worth war that can burn an entire realm.

Atana-ili, raised in the South occupied by the North for centuries, holds the faith of her ancestors and the mind of scholars. Through deception she must choose between peace or bringing her people to a violent war that gives them a chance to freedom.

Decimus stands bedside the mad king of the North, a vessel to the god that opposes the Mother, desires only to be a faithful servant in aiding his kingdom to victory. He did not, however, take into account falling in love with a woman of death.

The hook: The beginning of Ceres' life in the midst of war and chaos, choosing to do the bidding of a god with the payment of death on her fingertips and losing the brother she had raised.

Likes/hobbies: reading, writing, and oil painting

Education: graduating college 2024 in biology

Personality/writing style: I base most of my writing on paintings I do or ink work i have done

The sound of the train took me from slumber,

I roll to find a naked body pressed to mine,

Fingers trailing a spine encased in soft skin,

Smelling of sweat and vodka,

of dancing until our legs gave out and finding relief in each other's arms,

The night blurred in images of ecstasy and regret,

Slipping from the bed with eyes smeared with dark paint,

Trying to find my undergarments of lace,

Love bites dotting my skin,

The sound of the train took me from the sun's disapproving gaze,

Back home where my husband lay.