Life is pain. Which was one of the reasons they'd chosen it, of course. Pain is truth. Something that would leave no trace in the morning's light. There were candles in hurricane lamps at three points, putting the wok-fire in the center of a triangle.
Truth is life.
Xharina was standing in the ritual space, across from one of her coveners, wearing a black corset that offered up her bare breasts like cupcakes, and a long skirt that looked like it was made of animal tails. Her tattoos gave her arms a mottled motile surface as though they were wreathed in snakes. She was holding a knife in her hand. It flashed like a mirror in the firelight, and leather tails were braided over the hilt, ending in a tassel as long as hilt and blade together. She held the flat of the blade to the flames for a moment.