"Yes. No-one should have to suffer pain on a daily basis, and having that inflicted upon you by your own family, who are supposed to support you - that's beyond twisted."

"They did support me. Do you think they enjoyed my whining in the days after? No? They suffered for me. That is what it means to support someone."

Lady. It's not even wrong, that's the problem. The justification is all twisted. 

"They and you suffered needlessly -"

"No. The pain has made me stronger. I am the woman I am because I am good at suffering."

"That does not mean you should be - subjected to as much suffering as possible."

"I think that is where we differ."

She still has not taken a seat.

"I..."

She pinches the bridge of her nose. 

"Who gave you the burn marks on your face? Was that your parents again?"

Ember's lips turn up in a sneer. "No. I did it myself, like a lady."

...

What do you even say to that.

Then the penny drops. 

"That must be why they look so good."

Ember's lips curve up slightly. 

"Yes," she says. "Most cannot bear to do it themselves, or have poor precision. I am the best."

It's awful that she felt she had to do this to herself. 

It's beautiful that she made meaning of it anyway. 

It's awful that that was then used against her by the people who made her burn her own face.

"I agree, that is quite the accomplishment. I wish you had not felt the need to do it, though..."

Ember was in an impossible situation, it's fairly clear.

And she chose to make a very visible statement. One that could have gotten her killed. 

And she survived.

She sees why her Lady sent her this woman in particular now. 

"We have a lot to talk about."

"We do, yes." 

Ember stands as straight as her lame leg will allow her to.

"Please, sit then. Make yourself comfortable."

Ember scowls. "Pfah. 'Make yourself comfortable.' I am not so weak as to favor an injury. I will stand."

"You use a cane."

Ember scowls even deeper. "It is regrettably necessary."

"I see." 

She hates what's been done to her, even if she sees it as her own weakness doing it. That's an in.

"I insist you sit. I do not wish to cause you more pain than necessary."

Ember places her cane in front of her and braces both hands on the bare pommel of it. 

"No. Are all the Lady of the Blackberries' priestesses as weak as you?"

No, we just don't believe that suffering builds character.

Kumi bites back her affronted reply.

Instead, she turns her back and shrugs off her robe. 

The whip-scars from a few weeks ago are exposed all along her back, a set of fine silvery lines where her fur has still not regrown.

Ember's voice comes over her shoulder. "Ah. So you do know pain. I was beginning to wonder."

Kumi shrugs her robe back into place, and turns to face Ember once again. "I took those scars to save eight women who were slaves. Prostitutes. I could have avoided the whip had I not stonewalled the authorities as to their location. They are free now." 

She crosses her arms. "Outside Nidal, such things are more rare. It is not an everyday occurrence that one must face the whip or else give up something they care for. Nonetheless, I know what it means to suffer for another's sake."

Ember purses her lips, then nods sharply. 

"I see. Perhaps you have something of value to offer after all."

"You hate your limp."

It's not a question.

Ember's eyes widen for a moment before she schools her face still. 

"It is a part of me. We all have parts of ourselves that frustrate us."