She often wondered about the foolish notion; who had begun the thought that torment and torture could pull the darkness from a soul? How could it cleanse not only the flesh but the mind and soul?

She knew, now, from where this thought had come. The lash found her again, a line of fire across her back that sent a wave of peace through her. She would learn to ride the pain as it turned to pleasure, setting fire to the night, and turning darkness to light. She soared ever higher, each strike cleansing that which was undesirable and tainted, that which was vile and foolish. Thoughts fell away as though being carved from her being, unnecessary things as only one thought found its place within her.

To bend, to be shaped as molten glass was shaped, changed from its born form into delicate beauty with fire and tools of iron. Banishing the failures in the consuming force of punishment, breaking the ill-fitting pieces, anew, before creating a thing of real beauty, to scour sin and find blessed peace.

These lashes brought joy and flame. Freedom and purpose. They would make what was weak strong and turn the strength into something greater. And so she cried out as it found her again, ecstasy and agony as one, and called fate to her side.