Gyrfalcon's Keep stained glass

each step.

a little holy quiver in her bones. a beacon in her soul that was aligned with another.

it was by pure chance that she stumbled her way to the holy halls in her stupor. maybe the divine held her hands and carried her there on weak legs. she did not know, but she was not inclined to question it.

especially not as the high priestess' voice reached her ears.

i did, for a time. then i...awoke. not inclined to speak on her feverish nightmares. not inclined to speak of the dark corridors of her mind. perhaps she did not need to for it to show in the sunken features of her face and carefully leveled tone of voice.

what of you?

perhaps she was a priestess of the night. bound to the stars in full divinity.