“you were wearing a bedsheet. You took the poetic way out and used a black vestal’s last-choice gambit: you opened a vein, and trembling neither from pain nor loss daubed upon your skin the sacramental skull”
the fervor in which harrow needs to cover her face in the middle of her utterly losing her marbles is one of my favorite bits from the second book and I had to draw it, its very muslim core (self harm aside)
