Sayana's hesitation before telling her that she didn't know how long the illusion would last told Nephti a lot. Sayana didn't know but wanted to. She didn't want it to be forever. She shook her head ticks later, Nephti moving over. The girl took the zith hands in hers, tender, gentle movements. She stared straight at the woman's eyes, seeing in them an emotion Nephti knew well. Hope.
"Don't worry, Sayana. Hold onto hope and Priskil will help you." Of course, since this was a punishment, perhaps the goddess had no desire to help a criminal. Perhaps Sayana had done something that angered even the kind goddess. Nephti couldn't ask her any more. Wrongful punishment or not, she didn't want Sayana to suffer more as she tried to explain.
The woman wanted to explain, though, showing an embroidered cross across her heart then miming being tied to a chair. Every bandage was accounted for, the reason for it revealed. Each action repeated and clear so Nephti understood. She did understand, at least about some things.
A torrent of feelings overcame Nephti, piercing through her mind. A word, Seamstress, then fear, revenge, power, pain. A mess that she couldn't distinguish from the others. Seamstress. Who or what was she? What relevance did she have? To the Eypharian, the name was unknown, the meaning barely there. She had to discover it. But not now.
Sayana had collapsed to the floor, spitting up blood. Nephti moved to help her, holding her steady as the woman traced words in blood.
The scarlet letters stood out clearly. Sayana had to lead the zith.
She had to give hope. Nephti nodded even before the final two words. Hope was what she lived for. Priskil had given her a gift. Now it was time that she gave others the very thing the goddess stood for.
"I will," she whispered, to Sayana, to Priskil and to herself, "I will give them all hope."
"Don't worry, Sayana. Hold onto hope and Priskil will help you." Of course, since this was a punishment, perhaps the goddess had no desire to help a criminal. Perhaps Sayana had done something that angered even the kind goddess. Nephti couldn't ask her any more. Wrongful punishment or not, she didn't want Sayana to suffer more as she tried to explain.
The woman wanted to explain, though, showing an embroidered cross across her heart then miming being tied to a chair. Every bandage was accounted for, the reason for it revealed. Each action repeated and clear so Nephti understood. She did understand, at least about some things.
A torrent of feelings overcame Nephti, piercing through her mind. A word, Seamstress, then fear, revenge, power, pain. A mess that she couldn't distinguish from the others. Seamstress. Who or what was she? What relevance did she have? To the Eypharian, the name was unknown, the meaning barely there. She had to discover it. But not now.
Sayana had collapsed to the floor, spitting up blood. Nephti moved to help her, holding her steady as the woman traced words in blood.
The scarlet letters stood out clearly. Sayana had to lead the zith.
She had to give hope. Nephti nodded even before the final two words. Hope was what she lived for. Priskil had given her a gift. Now it was time that she gave others the very thing the goddess stood for.
"I will," she whispered, to Sayana, to Priskil and to herself, "I will give them all hope."
