On the march back to Cherry Shrine, Tara checks her heels for Pearl, to ensure that cat hasn’t camouflaged into the snow banks, or run away. Pearl looks back up at her at the same time, as if checking for Tara. For a moment, she is a pair of floating blue eyes on wintry ground. She meows and exposes a sliver of pink mouth.

The other five shrine maidens are ahead, talking amongst each other, gossiping about the new artisan, Micha. He came around a month ago and the gossip has not died down—a Northern boy, fair-faced and dark-eyed, with the thick accent that syrupped his words when he spoke their tongue.

‘I get to decorate the yard after breakfast.’ Kirsten’s red frock glides against the snow path as she twirls back. ‘Micha might work outside then. I heard he will from one of the guys lodged with him.’

‘Which one?’ Aya asks. ‘And how come you’re speaking with every man in the shrine? Do you have no shame? How do I become more like you?’

The women laugh, shaking their heads. Kirsten primps her blossom-shaped white collar, grinning. ‘It was Thane who told me. Besides, men are simple creatures, Aya. Talk to one and you’ll see.’

‘Simple creatures until they want you to break every heavenly principle with them,’ Darcy says. ‘And I could never speak to the men at this shrine. Imagine a falling out happens and I still have to work with them. It is terrifying.’

‘Again, men are simple creatures. It might not occur to them to be petty.’

‘Animals, I say.’ Hana tosses her head back. ‘Not you, Pearl. You’re better than that.’

Pearl meows and titters follow.

‘Tara, can you be faster? How will you attend your lady lessons if you’re all the way back there?’ Aya calls, bracketing her mouth with her hands.

Tara laughs, bends, and scoops Pearl up. Pearl doesn’t ever protest. She jogs forward, picking the frock in one hand and coming near. ‘Sorry, Pearl is a lazy boy. What is your grand plan to seduce Micha?’

‘Oh, hush.’ Kirsten flips her dark luscious hair back. The tips of her ear burn red from the cold. ‘I don’t seduce. I flirt. Seduction is quite unprincipled.’

Amira is quiet, as always, but her eyes fix on Pearl. Tara hands the cat towards her, though Pearl doesn’t ever look away from Tara. He really is the lamb to her Mary. ‘Thanks,’ Amira says, quietly, before running a thin hand along Pearl’s crown. Pearl meows.

‘Yes, and you’re such a principled flirt,’ says Aya.

‘We exist you know.’ Kirsten rolls her eyes. ‘The seductresses give us a bad reputation. Now, I’ll tell you what happened with Thane, and what I plan on doing with Micha.’

As they near the shrine, the High Priestess Wisteria comes from the front stairs, towards them, her radiant blue gown swimming down the steps. Aya looks at them then her. ‘Kirsten—’

‘Shh. Let me advise you.’

‘That’s lovely, but—’

‘Shh.’

The others look at each other and laugh. Wisteria approaches from behind, quick and sure, like a hunter.

‘First, as Micha’s wood carving, or whatever it is he does, I plan to ask if I could watch. He is not quite familiar with this religion, so I can teach him. It would make conversation. And as an unprincipled man, of weak flesh and desire, he is an even easier target than the ones at the shrine.’

Wisteria has stopped. She can hear. Aya opens her mouth, but Kirsten shoots her a dark look. Amira smiles at how Pearl’s stretched a paw, like she’s trying to point out the High Priestess’ presence to Kirsten, and cradles him closer.

‘Thane, of course, could overcome his guilt, in a while. But a man with no spiritual ties? He has no guilt but for the most basic humanities. It is a man like that who I would barely need to wave a finger at before he’s at my beck and call. And he would be less wary around a shrine maiden. He has no clue of the wiles we can—’

‘Kirsty,’ Aya snaps, and before she can shut her down again, she spins Kirsty around, face to face with the High Priestess.

Kirsten freezes.

‘What about your wiles?’

‘My… my heavenly wiles,’ says Kirsten. ‘Of graciousness and piety that we all strive for.’

Hana and Aya struggle to quiet their laughters. Darcy deals her elbows into both their sides.

‘It is a shrine maiden who should guide,’ Kirsten continues her spiel, ‘and become a paragon of righteousness for those who have not yet interlocked faiths with the principles of Cerasus.’

‘It is also amongst a shrine maiden’s duties to become a lady who can employ those principles to detoxify the unprincipled and guide them from further ruin.’ Her eyes bear down, the redness in her irids signifying someone who eats the Fruit every day. ‘For the next week, read the Prunus, from chapters Avium to Serrulata.’

‘High Priestess, I—’

‘Starting now.’

‘What about my… important duties to complete at the yard?’

‘Your work will be indoors. In the women’s quarters, where you will thrive.’

‘Please, High Priestess Wisteria, a delicate flower will wither in captivity!’

‘Do you liken the Cherry Shrine to a prison, now?’

She calculates her next words. ‘No, High Priestess. I will begin my studies, now.’

The High Priestess flutters a dismissive hand. ‘Go cleanse your mind of this prurience.’

Kirsten ducks into a curtsy and dashes off into the Cherry Shrine. The round doors click shut behind her. As soon as the High Priestess turns to them, they flatten themselves, too.

‘Good morning, High Priestess Wisteria!’ they say together.

‘Tomorrow, we will all meditate two hours longer to compensate for this lascivious conversation.’

‘Yes, High Priestess Wisteria!’

‘Tara, your task was to relight the candles indoors?’

Tara nods.

‘You and Kirsten will switch tasks. I trust you not to infirm your own principles with the unaffiliated.’

‘Of course, High Priestess. The Cerasus is in my heart.’

A lapse of silence rounds them like sheep dogs. It disperses and they release thier breaths.

‘Everyone inside now. Breakfast has been served.’

As soon as the High Priestess strides out of view, Aya bumps Tara. ‘Lucky girl. Do us proud.’

‘Did you learn nothing?’ Darcy hisses.

‘I learnt we need to watch our surroundings when speaking of womanly wiles.’

‘A woman is pure and saintly. Those wiles were entirely Kirstenly.’

‘I’ll tell her you said that,’ Hana says.

‘Not if I tell her first,’ Darcy replies.

Pearl yowls as they reenter the shrine.

——————

Tara emerges into the yard after a hearty breakfast, bows to the Cherry tree, and a ripe cherry plops down. She pops it out of the air and into her mouth. The juice spills over her tongue and burns her throat like ceremonial kirsch.

Pearl licks the bark, her way of curtsying, and prounces into the snowy yard. No snow comes in the radius of the tree—surrounded by a year long vibrant grass that fades back into natural snow.

Before she can let greed best her and ask the tree for another cherry, Pearl screeches with more fury she thought the feline capable of. She turns and finds Micha, sat at the near edge of the yard gate, hammering away at metal work. He stops to stare down at the cat and pulls away his clunky metal mask.

Bare-faced now, Tara can see Kirsten did not exaggerate about Northern men. Her breath catches.

‘What’d you tell your cat about me?’

He sounds so serious Tara doesn’t recognize it as a joke until she processes it five more times. ‘That you weren’t of the Cerasus.’

‘Principled. Make sure he stays close to you, yeah? Working with dangerous things here.’

‘Oh, no. He doesn’t stray.’

‘From his faith or from you?’

‘Both.’ Tara smiles before she can help it. Pearl hisses again.

‘Bye kitty.’ Micha waves, and Pearl shifts back, baring fangs. ‘How about we talk properly later, alright? One-on-one?’

‘Me?’ Tara asks, like a croak. ‘No. Absolutely not. I—’

‘I’m talking to your cat.’

She clenches gloved hands and tries not to die of shame. ‘Well, he’s principled. You’d have to convert before you can get on his good side.’

‘He’s always this rough with outsiders?’

‘Not really. Maybe he thinks you’ve committed more sin.’

Micha stands from his post and drifts towards them. Tara holds her ground, asserting it, but he’s really not coming to her, or flirting with her, or anything like that. He’s focused on Pearl.

‘Where’d you find her? White cats with blue eyes are incredibly rare.’

‘She showed up one day.’ Tara steps in front of Pearl, protecting her from sight. ‘And came with good fortune.’

‘Does that “good fortune” relate to her name?’

Tara stares him down. ‘Maybe.’

‘She went to the High Priestess, and—’ Pearl’s screeching so loudly you’d think she was dying—‘I don’t know. Spat out a pearl?’

Tara looks at his dark eyes, stark against white skin. His bushy brows are relaxed. His mouth tight, shrunk around the next word. ‘She did. I didn’t know you were a religious acolyte.’

‘Something like that, to be an artisan in this era.’

‘Not just an artisan, though?’

‘No. Not just.’ He pushes Tara aside. Or tries. But the Cerasus train their hands. She steals momentum and whips him backwards with her, away from Pearl, whose blue eyes have widened humanly.

She has never seen that expression on a cat and it startles her so much she lets Micha rip away. He runs up to Pearl. She lunges after and grabs his shoulder, as her other hand gropes for the blade beneath her dress. Finds it. Presses it up to his neck.

‘You would dare harm a child of the Cerasus before me?’

A decorative blade glints weak winter sunlight. It swipes to catch against her neck. Micha’s hand is steady. Both of them are hostages. On equal ground. Yet it feels like she’s floating.

‘Do you love the cat or the money it brought with that pearl?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘You named the cat the one thing it did for you.’

‘Yes, because it was miraculous. It deserves acknowledgment.’

He scoffs. ‘All you shrine girls are the same. You preach about renouncing material goods but would welcome a demon into your midst if it gives you a pretty ball.’

‘That pretty ball renovated this place. The walls were rotting before Pearl.’

‘Now it’s only the old artifacts, the old ways, pages in the Prunus. But anything to repaint a wall, right?’

‘What are you saying?’

‘I’m saying you should look at that cat and tell me it loves you or this shrine. Look at that thing and tell me it’s a cat.’

So she looks. And the eyes are human eyes. Blue human eyes embedded on a cat’s triangular face. Like nature forgot it was one, forgot everything. ‘It’s…’

‘Go on. Say it. It’s a cat.’

Her hand is trembling, bad. She whispers, ‘What is it?’

Before he can answer, a crimson smoke bursts out of Pearl’s fur and stains the air, bleaching her nostrils with the stench of ozone. What remains of the cat crumples into an empty sack of white fur that softens into snow. The smoke settles in front of them and screams.

Micha isn’t an artisan. Pearl isn’t a cat. All of these things are true.

‘A snowskin. And if you let me go now, maybe it won’t kill the both of us.’