Girl in her blooming years, traded for some divine intervention - or maybe just a favor for the village - by the main city monastery. Queued to be trained as a priestess of love. She's OK with it, maybe even volunteered, since she knows she's terminally ill and is fine cheating the gods out of their favor when her own fate is short and already decided. Divine blessing cures her, though, and she is subjected to the full training, angry that her path has been stolen from her. The culmination of the training is - after receiving a tattoo band from her ear down to her hips - to retreat to the sealed catacombs for three days under a vow of solitude. Only to open the door and find the monastery razed to the ground. Making her the only surviving member of the order - highest representative by default, while not actually being sworn by the order's vows. Only priestess alive, tattooed, not sworn, and yet head of the order. So she is theoretically a powerful person - which no one dares to challenge as long as she doesn't make too many waves - angry about the sacrifice she had to make (that turned out to be much bigger than she intended), possessing all the secrets of the order while not being bound by any vow not to reveal them, and finally lost in a world where part of it sees her as a holy saviour from church clutches, part as a dangerous outlier to be silenced, part as a puppet to be controlled, part as a resource to be mined for all the carnal secrets she has in her head and can share without her mind being blown to smithereens by some ancient blood magic (not that the church would admit to doing such a pagan thing). All while she only wants to be left alone and breathe freely, at least for now... #writing