Beneath Ceaseless Skies | Bast and Her Young by Tegan Moore
Size / Zoom The ritual had become intolerable: the priests droning outside the solar chapel, the sweltering braziers piled with flame, the incense coating the inside of her mouth as she gasped through the sacred movements—again, again—her limbs heavy, mind thick with exhaustion, thick with the sound of the ritual chants, thick with so much consecrated wine ceremonially swallowed. Again, again. At the end of each repetition she was empty, hollowed out by the long night, the endless choreography, the liturgy she’d intoned so many times that it too was empty; as meaningless as the constant...
Source: beneath-ceaseless-skies.com