While initially born as the result of a long-term plan by the cult of Zon-Kuthon, to be a prophet of that dark god, the girl who would later become Stolen Jewel actually had a fairly happy childhood.  All was not, however, as it seemed.  She was being raised to be a good soul who would willingly embrace the god of pain, fulfilling a rather dark prophecy by doing so.  Pain was no more a part of her early childhood than any other, no, the traits they sought were arranged through blood and magic, in her unknowing parents and grandparents, to emerge with her growing awareness of her own body at the correct time.

As a teen her explorations took the desired direction quite readily, sparked by a simple caning for a misdeed.  The inciting event wasn't even terribly harsh, it didn't need to be.  The smallest spark from a flint and steel can light a roaring blaze if the kindling is well prepared.  She acted out more and more in search of more severe punishment, only to be 'discovered' enjoying herself afterwards.  Nothing any girl her age wouldn't do, just not after a caning.  Punishments shifted, but all the implements she might need to take care of herself could still be found around the home.  As she matured her desires grew, as they do for many, simply in a different direction.

Stolen moments in the dark aside, her life remained much the same.  She prayed regularly at temples to the goodly gods, worked hard at her lessons in comportment, dance, and discourse.  She giggled at boys, practiced kissing with other girls, pressed flowers of every sort, attended the theatre with her parents, and many other things a young woman of means might expect to do and experience.  The spark was lit, the flames rising, everything on-course for the sudden turn her life was intended to take.

When she was of-age it was time, she was taken to a hidden temple and whipped into a frenzy by priests of Zon-Kuthon, experts in their art.  Her pain and desire was to serve as a catalyst to bring an avatar into this world, a good soul willingly accepting life as his concubine.  But that was not to be.  Shelyn, a few steps ahead of her brother, tipped off an adventuring party about the upcoming ritual.  As tends to happen under such circumstances they crashed the ritual with great violence, slew the priests, and rescued the initially unwilling young woman.  At least until Civio, the party cleric of Shelyn, grew frustrated with her struggles and put her over his knee.  He hardly expected her to respond as she did, but by the end of it a cleric of Shelyn had had her first, instead of some possessed high-priest of Zon-Kuthon.

Her rescue left a plan literally three generations in the making in shambles.  The prophecy was broken, the fateful power focused on her dissipated.  Shelyn came to her in a dream that night, as she slept in one of her temples, and gave her a new name.  "You are my Stolen Jewel.  My brother cannot have you now, no matter his plans."  She recognized the goddess, how could she not, and knew of her brother.  The idea that he was the one she was meant for repulsed her as it should, further ensuring that she'd never go to him willingly.

Instead she is dedicated to Shelyn, seeking and preserving beauty.  If she finds beauty in some or many forms of pain?  Her brothers and sisters of the cloth might not understand, but they don't have to.

And every time she gets whipped, or caned, or takes someone else's hurts for herself, Zon-Kuthon can smell the prayer he "should" have gotten, but it goes to Shelyn instead.  His sister is taunting him with what she stole, but just like his glaive, or three churches, or dozens of other priests, there's nothing he can do about it.  It's just another insult on the pile.  Why does he let her get away with this again?  Oh, that's right, he swore an oath on his divinity to protect her, he swore it in the first moments of his existence, and so it's part of him forever.