“Answers are no benediction, let them be” he states urgently.
“but I must have them”, she retorts resolutely, ” even if I die, I must know”
“so be it”, he agrees resignedly.
They arrange themselves in age old patterns. As the sun rises over the hills, the rituals come to the end, only to be started the next day. Slowly, the words overwhelm them as they are created , amplified and then absorbed. This was as it was meant to be.
Then the fire was lit.
It was time.
They say, she was never the same again. Answers were a responsibility that had sagged the best of shoulders.
And hers was too delicate.
To be consumed without can be treated but she had consumed fire within. This had no cure.
The torments of hell palled in comparison. Truth had no compassion but it was not ruthless either. Its indifference cowered her.