“This cuts deep, like a laceration to my heart. To leave my life here is to die, and I would rather die, Goddess.” The beautiful Princess lifted a finely carved ebony letter opener in prayer, its blade gleaming sharply, and admired her profile in the dresser mirror. 

Young Princess Vah, once adored, never imagined her parents would give her away, twice. At age eleven, she was dedicated to the sacred mysteries. Now dwelling away from home, among priestesses in the holy temple, burrowed mountainside of majestic glass and heavy stone.  

However, after just three years, they were sending her off again — in the midst of a rising pillar of horrid black smoke stretching to the sky’s ceiling, dividing like gods of chaos above the noble citizens. This second parting carried a heavier sorrow, one that felt colder and more final.

After a moment of stillness, she crudely slit the shoulder of her gardening jacket, where a small tear had begun to form. Setting down the tool, she ripped the sleeve open further with a tug of her hands and fingers.

Concern festered alongside town cries, with no clear indication of whether delicate Princess Vah would ever return. Deep in her heart, feelings she couldn't name began to storm like wild horses.

Voices of servants, townspeople, and volunteers rose that early morning, as they climbed the hillside path marching passed the corner of her quarters. The wise ones paused at the courtyard altar on her grassy knoll, for a short breath or prayer, grooming their thin silver hair and long, thick beards. Some donated gold to the temple from deep pockets in their midnight purple robes. Each heavy coin clanked as it dropped into the rose-quartz depository at the outdoor podium.

Their faithful hearts continued beyond the priestess temple as they trekked the winding and dusty coarse granite road. Its copper hue collected on each sandal and clung to their toes and ankles as they extended upward, and onward. It wasn’t a hard journey, but a long one, up the hillside with effort.

At the top of the mount stood the royal Palace of Alcyone — all robust and commanding, it carried a powerful balance of feminine curves and masculine corners. Standing tall in endless fog, its godly soaring arches vanished into the clouds, a teasing illusion to the senses that seemed to prove its divinity.

Princess Vah soon caught more echoes of distant shouts and murmurs.  A growing assembly of worried people lined the slope to seek the King’s courtyard and next decree. 

“We must escape, Goddess. You must help me,” she whispered to a pillar figurine resting on the dresser against the temple’s ancient stone wall. Clasping it tightly and to her lips, she continued, “Escape here, so we can stay here! It makes perfect sense. I need to find a scribe in the city, lover.”