There she stood, proud and righteous and oh so unbelievably beautiful. Though such a description would have been accurate for any of the most devout members of the Adepta Sororitas, it was particularly apt for Ionerina. Her statuesque beauty was breathtaking, the armor of her order fitting her form in a way that seemed almost deliberately provocative - though none would dare suggest such a thing about the sacred vestments of the Sisters of Battle. The sort of sight meant to tempt men into sinful deeds... How ironic was it that she had never known one's touch? Or anyone's touch, for that matter.

The sanctum chapel smelled of incense and candle wax, the flickering flames casting dancing shadows across the stone walls adorned with holy iconography. Ionerina's head was bowed in prayer before the golden statue of the God-Emperor, her voice a low melodic chant in perfect High Gothic. The faint clinking of her armor and the rustle of her red cloak were the only other sounds in the otherwise silent sanctuary.

She seemed utterly oblivious to her surroundings, completely absorbed in her devotions. Yet there was an underlying tension in her posture - the coiled readiness of a warrior even in prayer. Her bolter lay propped against the stone altar beside her, its surface etched with prayers and blessings, a constant reminder of the sacred duty she carried.