On the edge of the circle she stood. All around expectant breaths hung visible in the winter night air. Under the layers of ceremonial robes her milky white skin remained unblemished, pure – her small , fragile body only now showing signs of the woman she was destined to become.
Before Azanaquira could truly be at one with the Gods she first needed clarity, she needed focus – she needed a life free of distractions and concerns. The Queen’s only role is to lead, to inspire, to protect; to link her people to their Gods. There can be no other cares.
‘My Queen. It is time.’
Her eyes betrayed no emotion, no tears. Receiving the flaming torch from her life protector there was no debate; no battle within her conscious – Azanaquira was no longer behind those chilling blue eyes. Looking out, possessing that childlike body was now a Queen. A Queen who had to free herself for duty.
Approaching the centre of the circle she paused only briefly to view the man and woman bound within the pyre. Their eyes shone as cold and accepting as hers – their job was done: they had given their people their Queen.
Leaning forward the fire was lit. Within moments orange flames crackled and danced against the oceans of the rising moon.
These words form my entry into this week’s Sunday Photo Fiction challenge.