in tenebris est veritas.
She falls to her knees and hangs her head.
The fire throws light over her like a blanket over a bed, wrapping her in a glaring heat that tries and fails to comfort her. But it cannot pry into the deep shadows behind the eyes of her mask, nor the echo of darkness that dances elusively behind her. It cannot fathom the trials that have been laid on the path to reach them. It can only reach upward into a clear, careless sky as it crackles like laughter at her bowed posture.
She cannot bring herself to acknowledge it. Not yet. Is it an illusion? It could be another trick, a test of the maze that has already exhausted her muscles and strained her wits. She must be worthy of witnessing it, or perhaps only worthy of the cruel joke that it is not real. Her mind is scattered and frail, but so too might it be open to the wisdom this power might bring. The bowl and its flame were the object of her search, after all. And she can almost feel the static sensation of magic here, as if it were the very fuel in which the flames burned.
Finally her head and the heavy mask it carries tilt upward, as one. She inhales in a deep stutter, but manages to keep her strength as she speaks lowly to the blaze. “I have come to this place, the place of the beginning, to seek what might be found.”
A lone arm emerges from her heavy cloak, reaching toward the flame. She repeats herself in a somber mantra, infusing the words with intention and magic. “I have come to this place, the place of the beginning, to seek what might be found.”
A complex bone charm hangs from withered twine tangled between her carved fingers. A small uncut stone surrounded by a halo of phalangeal bones resembles a planet and its rings. “I have come to this place, the place of the beginning, to seek what might–”
With a quick gasp she stops short, fingers curling back toward her and tucking away the little effigy. Perhaps it was a noise that startled her, or a glimpse in her periphery; perhaps it was simply a feeling, her inner senses heightened in this strange and sacred place. Her head turns towards what she thinks to be the source of the interruption, her once passionate mouth now quiet as the grave.
She stands abruptly, searching.
The fire throws light over her like a blanket over a bed, wrapping her in a glaring heat that tries and fails to comfort her. But it cannot pry into the deep shadows behind the eyes of her mask, nor the echo of darkness that dances elusively behind her. It cannot fathom the trials that have been laid on the path to reach them. It can only reach upward into a clear, careless sky as it crackles like laughter at her bowed posture.
She cannot bring herself to acknowledge it. Not yet. Is it an illusion? It could be another trick, a test of the maze that has already exhausted her muscles and strained her wits. She must be worthy of witnessing it, or perhaps only worthy of the cruel joke that it is not real. Her mind is scattered and frail, but so too might it be open to the wisdom this power might bring. The bowl and its flame were the object of her search, after all. And she can almost feel the static sensation of magic here, as if it were the very fuel in which the flames burned.
Finally her head and the heavy mask it carries tilt upward, as one. She inhales in a deep stutter, but manages to keep her strength as she speaks lowly to the blaze. “I have come to this place, the place of the beginning, to seek what might be found.”
A lone arm emerges from her heavy cloak, reaching toward the flame. She repeats herself in a somber mantra, infusing the words with intention and magic. “I have come to this place, the place of the beginning, to seek what might be found.”
A complex bone charm hangs from withered twine tangled between her carved fingers. A small uncut stone surrounded by a halo of phalangeal bones resembles a planet and its rings. “I have come to this place, the place of the beginning, to seek what might–”
With a quick gasp she stops short, fingers curling back toward her and tucking away the little effigy. Perhaps it was a noise that startled her, or a glimpse in her periphery; perhaps it was simply a feeling, her inner senses heightened in this strange and sacred place. Her head turns towards what she thinks to be the source of the interruption, her once passionate mouth now quiet as the grave.
She stands abruptly, searching.
