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If Nafretiri knew anything, it was that she was lonely today. She really couldn't put a finger on why, but her mother had died this month in 675, and as strained as their relationship had always been, the reminder of her mother's death and her own capture shortly thereafter always made her more than a little emotional. In fact, there were so many feelings she had today that she wasn't sure all of them could be expressed properly. There was, on top of the sadness and loneliness she usually experienced, a certain feeling of urgency, an inability to sit still, and a desperate longing for this day to be over above all.
Too bad she could tell by the sun's shadow that it wasn't even afternoon yet.
She stared forlornly at the statue of the goddess as she performed her ceremonial ablutions, knowing that if she were to lean her head and cheek against it she would likely feel only cold marble. Other priestesses had told her just enough to reassure her about their own encounters with Hathor, but it hadn't happened to her. that she was aware of.
Yet.
For that matter, she was never sure, back home, if she'd ever really seen Yahweh at work, either. But she had a healthy daughter, which meant she was a tiny bit less alone, and that meant someone cared, right? At the very least, it had to mean something.
And perhaps it was her desperation to find meaning in something today of all days that was the reason for what would happen next. She adjusted a swath of gossamer before disposing of the sacred water as she had been taught.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
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If Nafretiri knew anything, it was that she was lonely today. She really couldn't put a finger on why, but her mother had died this month in 675, and as strained as their relationship had always been, the reminder of her mother's death and her own capture shortly thereafter always made her more than a little emotional. In fact, there were so many feelings she had today that she wasn't sure all of them could be expressed properly. There was, on top of the sadness and loneliness she usually experienced, a certain feeling of urgency, an inability to sit still, and a desperate longing for this day to be over above all.
Too bad she could tell by the sun's shadow that it wasn't even afternoon yet.
She stared forlornly at the statue of the goddess as she performed her ceremonial ablutions, knowing that if she were to lean her head and cheek against it she would likely feel only cold marble. Other priestesses had told her just enough to reassure her about their own encounters with Hathor, but it hadn't happened to her. that she was aware of.
Yet.
For that matter, she was never sure, back home, if she'd ever really seen Yahweh at work, either. But she had a healthy daughter, which meant she was a tiny bit less alone, and that meant someone cared, right? At the very least, it had to mean something.
And perhaps it was her desperation to find meaning in something today of all days that was the reason for what would happen next. She adjusted a swath of gossamer before disposing of the sacred water as she had been taught.
If Nafretiri knew anything, it was that she was lonely today. She really couldn't put a finger on why, but her mother had died this month in 675, and as strained as their relationship had always been, the reminder of her mother's death and her own capture shortly thereafter always made her more than a little emotional. In fact, there were so many feelings she had today that she wasn't sure all of them could be expressed properly. There was, on top of the sadness and loneliness she usually experienced, a certain feeling of urgency, an inability to sit still, and a desperate longing for this day to be over above all.
Too bad she could tell by the sun's shadow that it wasn't even afternoon yet.
She stared forlornly at the statue of the goddess as she performed her ceremonial ablutions, knowing that if she were to lean her head and cheek against it she would likely feel only cold marble. Other priestesses had told her just enough to reassure her about their own encounters with Hathor, but it hadn't happened to her. that she was aware of.
Yet.
For that matter, she was never sure, back home, if she'd ever really seen Yahweh at work, either. But she had a healthy daughter, which meant she was a tiny bit less alone, and that meant someone cared, right? At the very least, it had to mean something.
And perhaps it was her desperation to find meaning in something today of all days that was the reason for what would happen next. She adjusted a swath of gossamer before disposing of the sacred water as she had been taught.
The Fallen Star was resolved to remain in Egypt despite her particular distaste for the blistering heat and shifting sands. Perhaps it was the fact that she was an unknown, free to expand her legend beyond the reaches of Greece, or that both Taengea and Athenia held sour memories for the woman...
Or, was it the fact that she was growing more and more attached to Lord Akhenaten H'Sheifa? The lord was someone who, after her numerous encounters with him, permeated within her dreams. He was a presence that lingered even in his absence, a beautiful and ostentatious man who despite his regal presence held a particular sentiment for the Fallen Star that she found in their distance that she shared. So, of course she'd stay, if only to try to further enquire with him as to the nature of these feelings and just what it was between them that was so... electrifying.
It didn't do for the bard to think so often of the Lord, and instead of letting her mind drift to him as she walked, she decided to further indulge herself in the blasphemous religion of the Egyptian people. She wouldn't share the belief in their heretic gods, but if she was to truly wear the mask of an Egyptian, then she needed to tell more stories than just the ones of her other self, of the phantom prince of thieves who stole to her heart's content. No, she needed to epitomize the soul of the Egyptian people, to learn of their Gods and whisper their heresy as if they were her own beliefs.
Then, and only then, would the facade of the bard Anastasia work entirely in her favour, to act as the cloak of disguise she needed it to be. For, if Anastasia was a bard and an entertainer, who could think her to be an unrepentant criminal? Who could think the woman who ran off from that jewelry auction with no prizes of her own as the same sort of thief that'd ransacked it? Anastasia of the Fallen Star kept her identities isolated, from the Fallen Star turned bard, to the phantom criminal, to her truest self -- the frightened and isolated Greek woman known as Calliope. Each was an aspect of herself, and two of these identities needed to be buried in facade in order for the third to gain the prominence it rightfully deserved.
Anastasia had her hair tied back in a long braid that curled over her shoulder, her body draped in the beaded dress that wound tigtly about her form. Grown accustomed to the showing of so much skin, pale skin was turning more and more bronze under the beating sun of the African continent. Her shoulders were covered by an intricate shawl, stolen from a merchant and woven from fine linen, thin enough for her sun-kissed skin to be just visible underneath. Feet were covered in thin sandals, just so to protect her soles from the sand, but light enough as to not get caught in it and inhibit her movements. No, every motion that Anastasia set with was graceful as she made the climb into the Temple of Hathor.
It was so strange to Ana, to hear of the heretic Gods and see them associated with beasts and creatures rather than the primordial elements and nebulous in shape. The Greeks believed themselves born of the Gods, shaped in their image and it brought to them a sense of arrogance. What did the Egyptians feel about their Gods? In order to answer that question, she dove headlong into the asking of them, but instead of opening her mouth to ask, she was caught in the reverie of admiration.
The temple's priestesses were in the midst of some sort of ceremony, looking to an idol of their goddess, who shared shape with that of a cow. It was absurd to Anastasia, but rather than express any of that doubt, she found one of the priestesses. The bard wasn't in the slightest bit shy, and wasn't afraid to break the reverie the priestess held privately in order to coax her to acknowledging the woman. She allowed her to dispose of the water, then she drew closer.
"Priestess. Would you indulge me in a bit of enlightenment? It is blasphemy for this star fallen from the skies above to be so woefully ignorant of the Goddess Hathor. Would you show me what it is that our Goddess has to teach us?"
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Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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The Fallen Star was resolved to remain in Egypt despite her particular distaste for the blistering heat and shifting sands. Perhaps it was the fact that she was an unknown, free to expand her legend beyond the reaches of Greece, or that both Taengea and Athenia held sour memories for the woman...
Or, was it the fact that she was growing more and more attached to Lord Akhenaten H'Sheifa? The lord was someone who, after her numerous encounters with him, permeated within her dreams. He was a presence that lingered even in his absence, a beautiful and ostentatious man who despite his regal presence held a particular sentiment for the Fallen Star that she found in their distance that she shared. So, of course she'd stay, if only to try to further enquire with him as to the nature of these feelings and just what it was between them that was so... electrifying.
It didn't do for the bard to think so often of the Lord, and instead of letting her mind drift to him as she walked, she decided to further indulge herself in the blasphemous religion of the Egyptian people. She wouldn't share the belief in their heretic gods, but if she was to truly wear the mask of an Egyptian, then she needed to tell more stories than just the ones of her other self, of the phantom prince of thieves who stole to her heart's content. No, she needed to epitomize the soul of the Egyptian people, to learn of their Gods and whisper their heresy as if they were her own beliefs.
Then, and only then, would the facade of the bard Anastasia work entirely in her favour, to act as the cloak of disguise she needed it to be. For, if Anastasia was a bard and an entertainer, who could think her to be an unrepentant criminal? Who could think the woman who ran off from that jewelry auction with no prizes of her own as the same sort of thief that'd ransacked it? Anastasia of the Fallen Star kept her identities isolated, from the Fallen Star turned bard, to the phantom criminal, to her truest self -- the frightened and isolated Greek woman known as Calliope. Each was an aspect of herself, and two of these identities needed to be buried in facade in order for the third to gain the prominence it rightfully deserved.
Anastasia had her hair tied back in a long braid that curled over her shoulder, her body draped in the beaded dress that wound tigtly about her form. Grown accustomed to the showing of so much skin, pale skin was turning more and more bronze under the beating sun of the African continent. Her shoulders were covered by an intricate shawl, stolen from a merchant and woven from fine linen, thin enough for her sun-kissed skin to be just visible underneath. Feet were covered in thin sandals, just so to protect her soles from the sand, but light enough as to not get caught in it and inhibit her movements. No, every motion that Anastasia set with was graceful as she made the climb into the Temple of Hathor.
It was so strange to Ana, to hear of the heretic Gods and see them associated with beasts and creatures rather than the primordial elements and nebulous in shape. The Greeks believed themselves born of the Gods, shaped in their image and it brought to them a sense of arrogance. What did the Egyptians feel about their Gods? In order to answer that question, she dove headlong into the asking of them, but instead of opening her mouth to ask, she was caught in the reverie of admiration.
The temple's priestesses were in the midst of some sort of ceremony, looking to an idol of their goddess, who shared shape with that of a cow. It was absurd to Anastasia, but rather than express any of that doubt, she found one of the priestesses. The bard wasn't in the slightest bit shy, and wasn't afraid to break the reverie the priestess held privately in order to coax her to acknowledging the woman. She allowed her to dispose of the water, then she drew closer.
"Priestess. Would you indulge me in a bit of enlightenment? It is blasphemy for this star fallen from the skies above to be so woefully ignorant of the Goddess Hathor. Would you show me what it is that our Goddess has to teach us?"
The Fallen Star was resolved to remain in Egypt despite her particular distaste for the blistering heat and shifting sands. Perhaps it was the fact that she was an unknown, free to expand her legend beyond the reaches of Greece, or that both Taengea and Athenia held sour memories for the woman...
Or, was it the fact that she was growing more and more attached to Lord Akhenaten H'Sheifa? The lord was someone who, after her numerous encounters with him, permeated within her dreams. He was a presence that lingered even in his absence, a beautiful and ostentatious man who despite his regal presence held a particular sentiment for the Fallen Star that she found in their distance that she shared. So, of course she'd stay, if only to try to further enquire with him as to the nature of these feelings and just what it was between them that was so... electrifying.
It didn't do for the bard to think so often of the Lord, and instead of letting her mind drift to him as she walked, she decided to further indulge herself in the blasphemous religion of the Egyptian people. She wouldn't share the belief in their heretic gods, but if she was to truly wear the mask of an Egyptian, then she needed to tell more stories than just the ones of her other self, of the phantom prince of thieves who stole to her heart's content. No, she needed to epitomize the soul of the Egyptian people, to learn of their Gods and whisper their heresy as if they were her own beliefs.
Then, and only then, would the facade of the bard Anastasia work entirely in her favour, to act as the cloak of disguise she needed it to be. For, if Anastasia was a bard and an entertainer, who could think her to be an unrepentant criminal? Who could think the woman who ran off from that jewelry auction with no prizes of her own as the same sort of thief that'd ransacked it? Anastasia of the Fallen Star kept her identities isolated, from the Fallen Star turned bard, to the phantom criminal, to her truest self -- the frightened and isolated Greek woman known as Calliope. Each was an aspect of herself, and two of these identities needed to be buried in facade in order for the third to gain the prominence it rightfully deserved.
Anastasia had her hair tied back in a long braid that curled over her shoulder, her body draped in the beaded dress that wound tigtly about her form. Grown accustomed to the showing of so much skin, pale skin was turning more and more bronze under the beating sun of the African continent. Her shoulders were covered by an intricate shawl, stolen from a merchant and woven from fine linen, thin enough for her sun-kissed skin to be just visible underneath. Feet were covered in thin sandals, just so to protect her soles from the sand, but light enough as to not get caught in it and inhibit her movements. No, every motion that Anastasia set with was graceful as she made the climb into the Temple of Hathor.
It was so strange to Ana, to hear of the heretic Gods and see them associated with beasts and creatures rather than the primordial elements and nebulous in shape. The Greeks believed themselves born of the Gods, shaped in their image and it brought to them a sense of arrogance. What did the Egyptians feel about their Gods? In order to answer that question, she dove headlong into the asking of them, but instead of opening her mouth to ask, she was caught in the reverie of admiration.
The temple's priestesses were in the midst of some sort of ceremony, looking to an idol of their goddess, who shared shape with that of a cow. It was absurd to Anastasia, but rather than express any of that doubt, she found one of the priestesses. The bard wasn't in the slightest bit shy, and wasn't afraid to break the reverie the priestess held privately in order to coax her to acknowledging the woman. She allowed her to dispose of the water, then she drew closer.
"Priestess. Would you indulge me in a bit of enlightenment? It is blasphemy for this star fallen from the skies above to be so woefully ignorant of the Goddess Hathor. Would you show me what it is that our Goddess has to teach us?"
Nafretiri startled despite herself. She should be used to the worshipers in the temple by now, but few of them ever approached her directly; it was more likely that a worshiper would approach someone older and wiser as a matter of course. Not to mention that if this woman really wanted to know about the mysteries of Hathor, Nafretiri was probably the absolute worst person in Egypt for the woman to choose as her teacher.
"Oh! I'm not really the best- um- that is- hello there." She nearly dropped the sacred water pitcher, her unease was so great. Then again, it wasn't like most people who happened to frighten her unintentionally knew they were going to do it. Nafretiri set the pitcher in its proper place again before turning back towards the lady a little more gracefully this time.
" My name is Nafretiri. I...um... don't get asked often. Those with questions usually want someone older. That is someone more...hmmm. Experienced. If they know that Hathor is the goddess of love and pleasure, that is." Or if she were asked, she usually directed the person to one of the other priestesses. Nafretiri had no experience with either love or sexual pleasure, and while such experiences might help her to better emulate the part she must play, she a;so wasn't overly eager for them precisely because there had been no pleasure in the experiences she had had. Moreover, she was usually the last one asked because she was also one of the most foreign-looking priestesses.
Somehow, though, in front of this young girl, it wasn't half so embarrassing as it was in front of anyone else.
" I'm sorry, I'm not usually so... startled." This was true, because anyone who really cared about the girl knew that Nafretiri had been to hell and back. But she composed herself quickly enough by clearing her throat. "Um...what would you like to know? I will help if I am able." Or if the goddess would reveal it, she thought.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Nafretiri startled despite herself. She should be used to the worshipers in the temple by now, but few of them ever approached her directly; it was more likely that a worshiper would approach someone older and wiser as a matter of course. Not to mention that if this woman really wanted to know about the mysteries of Hathor, Nafretiri was probably the absolute worst person in Egypt for the woman to choose as her teacher.
"Oh! I'm not really the best- um- that is- hello there." She nearly dropped the sacred water pitcher, her unease was so great. Then again, it wasn't like most people who happened to frighten her unintentionally knew they were going to do it. Nafretiri set the pitcher in its proper place again before turning back towards the lady a little more gracefully this time.
" My name is Nafretiri. I...um... don't get asked often. Those with questions usually want someone older. That is someone more...hmmm. Experienced. If they know that Hathor is the goddess of love and pleasure, that is." Or if she were asked, she usually directed the person to one of the other priestesses. Nafretiri had no experience with either love or sexual pleasure, and while such experiences might help her to better emulate the part she must play, she a;so wasn't overly eager for them precisely because there had been no pleasure in the experiences she had had. Moreover, she was usually the last one asked because she was also one of the most foreign-looking priestesses.
Somehow, though, in front of this young girl, it wasn't half so embarrassing as it was in front of anyone else.
" I'm sorry, I'm not usually so... startled." This was true, because anyone who really cared about the girl knew that Nafretiri had been to hell and back. But she composed herself quickly enough by clearing her throat. "Um...what would you like to know? I will help if I am able." Or if the goddess would reveal it, she thought.
Nafretiri startled despite herself. She should be used to the worshipers in the temple by now, but few of them ever approached her directly; it was more likely that a worshiper would approach someone older and wiser as a matter of course. Not to mention that if this woman really wanted to know about the mysteries of Hathor, Nafretiri was probably the absolute worst person in Egypt for the woman to choose as her teacher.
"Oh! I'm not really the best- um- that is- hello there." She nearly dropped the sacred water pitcher, her unease was so great. Then again, it wasn't like most people who happened to frighten her unintentionally knew they were going to do it. Nafretiri set the pitcher in its proper place again before turning back towards the lady a little more gracefully this time.
" My name is Nafretiri. I...um... don't get asked often. Those with questions usually want someone older. That is someone more...hmmm. Experienced. If they know that Hathor is the goddess of love and pleasure, that is." Or if she were asked, she usually directed the person to one of the other priestesses. Nafretiri had no experience with either love or sexual pleasure, and while such experiences might help her to better emulate the part she must play, she a;so wasn't overly eager for them precisely because there had been no pleasure in the experiences she had had. Moreover, she was usually the last one asked because she was also one of the most foreign-looking priestesses.
Somehow, though, in front of this young girl, it wasn't half so embarrassing as it was in front of anyone else.
" I'm sorry, I'm not usually so... startled." This was true, because anyone who really cared about the girl knew that Nafretiri had been to hell and back. But she composed herself quickly enough by clearing her throat. "Um...what would you like to know? I will help if I am able." Or if the goddess would reveal it, she thought.
Though most might go to the most experienced within a faith in order to answer their questions, Anastasia did not subscribe to the understanding that age begat wisdom automatically. A woman born from her own experiences rather than the implemented teachings of others, she knew firsthand the transformative power of one's own understanding of the world. She wanted to see if the younger worshipers of Hathor felt any sort of passion for their position in life, for it was from the fires of passion that the legends of a bard drew the greatest strength.
To simply be recounted events did not draw the eye of any man or woman, nor did it coax the wonder out from children. In order for Anastasia of the Fallen Star to bring joy and adoration to the hearts of dozens of people at a time, her stories needed to be derived from the clinical study or age-born understanding of something that has become habit. She hoped that the priestess Nafretri would be able to answer her questions, but instead she went on and about the nature of experience. She did, however, answer Anastasia's question. The heretic Aphrodite, it seemed... That's what Hathor was.
The fact of that made Anastasia wonder if perhaps many of the Gods were the same but merely gave different stories and legends to each culture. What if the Gods had their particular machinations and all of the people in the world were meant to spread them differently? The idea that crossed Anastasia's mind was utter heresy, and she struggled with the ramifications of it as she continued to listen to the endearing priestess explain the nature of her... was it fear? Nerves, perhaps? She certainly seemed startled, but it didn't seem because of anything that Ana had said.
Perhaps Priestess Nafretri simply wasn't accustomed to the spotlight, which seemed rather silly given the beauty Ana could see on her expression. She tilted her head, studying the priestess with careful eyes. She was vigilant not to keep her stare too intense, or to wander so much from her features. It was a vile thing, one's libido, for it encouraged a person to do things that weren't in anyone's best interests, including her own. However, she couldn't help the nagging sense of attraction that permeated within the bard. Always the purveyor of broken women, where Anastasia preferred her men talking as little as possible and giving her as much as they could... she preferred to know women.
She loved to hear their voices, their daintier touch. It was the bubble of vile thoughts that materialized within Ana, or at least vile by the standards of the country she was in. When Nafretri at last asked Ana of something, it was the open-endedness of her question that afforded Anastasia so many avenues from which to jump around.
"Oh, will you? Thank you so much, priestess. I'm positive that I'm wasting your time," she began, her flawlessly spoken Coptic shared in an easy tone. She relished in the speaking, hoping to bleed out the same passion she wanted the woman to speak in. Perhaps it was something unique to Ana, to be so eager in the mundane, or it was the attractiveness of the girl she spoke to... but nonetheless, Anastasia was the picture of excitement.
"Before I go on, however, I'll give you my name as you've given yours. I am the bard, Anastasia of the Fallen Star, priestess. I've come from skies far from here, but my fall from grace has seemed to have robbed me of my memory. Now, I stand before you quite unaware of the teachings of Hathor. What sort of love does she preach? How is pleasure seen by her, my priestess? And do our Goddess Hathor's teachings always translate to written laws?
Or are the laws of man different from the decrees given by the Gods?"
Perhaps Nafretri might catch what she was getting at, but to give her a small idea, Anastasia drew a step closer. The temple's population dwindled, but Ana's voice grew softer and softer with every question she asked. She needed validation of her inquiry to see just which world it was that punished Ana's desires as wicked and ungodly: was it the mundane or the divine?
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Though most might go to the most experienced within a faith in order to answer their questions, Anastasia did not subscribe to the understanding that age begat wisdom automatically. A woman born from her own experiences rather than the implemented teachings of others, she knew firsthand the transformative power of one's own understanding of the world. She wanted to see if the younger worshipers of Hathor felt any sort of passion for their position in life, for it was from the fires of passion that the legends of a bard drew the greatest strength.
To simply be recounted events did not draw the eye of any man or woman, nor did it coax the wonder out from children. In order for Anastasia of the Fallen Star to bring joy and adoration to the hearts of dozens of people at a time, her stories needed to be derived from the clinical study or age-born understanding of something that has become habit. She hoped that the priestess Nafretri would be able to answer her questions, but instead she went on and about the nature of experience. She did, however, answer Anastasia's question. The heretic Aphrodite, it seemed... That's what Hathor was.
The fact of that made Anastasia wonder if perhaps many of the Gods were the same but merely gave different stories and legends to each culture. What if the Gods had their particular machinations and all of the people in the world were meant to spread them differently? The idea that crossed Anastasia's mind was utter heresy, and she struggled with the ramifications of it as she continued to listen to the endearing priestess explain the nature of her... was it fear? Nerves, perhaps? She certainly seemed startled, but it didn't seem because of anything that Ana had said.
Perhaps Priestess Nafretri simply wasn't accustomed to the spotlight, which seemed rather silly given the beauty Ana could see on her expression. She tilted her head, studying the priestess with careful eyes. She was vigilant not to keep her stare too intense, or to wander so much from her features. It was a vile thing, one's libido, for it encouraged a person to do things that weren't in anyone's best interests, including her own. However, she couldn't help the nagging sense of attraction that permeated within the bard. Always the purveyor of broken women, where Anastasia preferred her men talking as little as possible and giving her as much as they could... she preferred to know women.
She loved to hear their voices, their daintier touch. It was the bubble of vile thoughts that materialized within Ana, or at least vile by the standards of the country she was in. When Nafretri at last asked Ana of something, it was the open-endedness of her question that afforded Anastasia so many avenues from which to jump around.
"Oh, will you? Thank you so much, priestess. I'm positive that I'm wasting your time," she began, her flawlessly spoken Coptic shared in an easy tone. She relished in the speaking, hoping to bleed out the same passion she wanted the woman to speak in. Perhaps it was something unique to Ana, to be so eager in the mundane, or it was the attractiveness of the girl she spoke to... but nonetheless, Anastasia was the picture of excitement.
"Before I go on, however, I'll give you my name as you've given yours. I am the bard, Anastasia of the Fallen Star, priestess. I've come from skies far from here, but my fall from grace has seemed to have robbed me of my memory. Now, I stand before you quite unaware of the teachings of Hathor. What sort of love does she preach? How is pleasure seen by her, my priestess? And do our Goddess Hathor's teachings always translate to written laws?
Or are the laws of man different from the decrees given by the Gods?"
Perhaps Nafretri might catch what she was getting at, but to give her a small idea, Anastasia drew a step closer. The temple's population dwindled, but Ana's voice grew softer and softer with every question she asked. She needed validation of her inquiry to see just which world it was that punished Ana's desires as wicked and ungodly: was it the mundane or the divine?
Though most might go to the most experienced within a faith in order to answer their questions, Anastasia did not subscribe to the understanding that age begat wisdom automatically. A woman born from her own experiences rather than the implemented teachings of others, she knew firsthand the transformative power of one's own understanding of the world. She wanted to see if the younger worshipers of Hathor felt any sort of passion for their position in life, for it was from the fires of passion that the legends of a bard drew the greatest strength.
To simply be recounted events did not draw the eye of any man or woman, nor did it coax the wonder out from children. In order for Anastasia of the Fallen Star to bring joy and adoration to the hearts of dozens of people at a time, her stories needed to be derived from the clinical study or age-born understanding of something that has become habit. She hoped that the priestess Nafretri would be able to answer her questions, but instead she went on and about the nature of experience. She did, however, answer Anastasia's question. The heretic Aphrodite, it seemed... That's what Hathor was.
The fact of that made Anastasia wonder if perhaps many of the Gods were the same but merely gave different stories and legends to each culture. What if the Gods had their particular machinations and all of the people in the world were meant to spread them differently? The idea that crossed Anastasia's mind was utter heresy, and she struggled with the ramifications of it as she continued to listen to the endearing priestess explain the nature of her... was it fear? Nerves, perhaps? She certainly seemed startled, but it didn't seem because of anything that Ana had said.
Perhaps Priestess Nafretri simply wasn't accustomed to the spotlight, which seemed rather silly given the beauty Ana could see on her expression. She tilted her head, studying the priestess with careful eyes. She was vigilant not to keep her stare too intense, or to wander so much from her features. It was a vile thing, one's libido, for it encouraged a person to do things that weren't in anyone's best interests, including her own. However, she couldn't help the nagging sense of attraction that permeated within the bard. Always the purveyor of broken women, where Anastasia preferred her men talking as little as possible and giving her as much as they could... she preferred to know women.
She loved to hear their voices, their daintier touch. It was the bubble of vile thoughts that materialized within Ana, or at least vile by the standards of the country she was in. When Nafretri at last asked Ana of something, it was the open-endedness of her question that afforded Anastasia so many avenues from which to jump around.
"Oh, will you? Thank you so much, priestess. I'm positive that I'm wasting your time," she began, her flawlessly spoken Coptic shared in an easy tone. She relished in the speaking, hoping to bleed out the same passion she wanted the woman to speak in. Perhaps it was something unique to Ana, to be so eager in the mundane, or it was the attractiveness of the girl she spoke to... but nonetheless, Anastasia was the picture of excitement.
"Before I go on, however, I'll give you my name as you've given yours. I am the bard, Anastasia of the Fallen Star, priestess. I've come from skies far from here, but my fall from grace has seemed to have robbed me of my memory. Now, I stand before you quite unaware of the teachings of Hathor. What sort of love does she preach? How is pleasure seen by her, my priestess? And do our Goddess Hathor's teachings always translate to written laws?
Or are the laws of man different from the decrees given by the Gods?"
Perhaps Nafretri might catch what she was getting at, but to give her a small idea, Anastasia drew a step closer. The temple's population dwindled, but Ana's voice grew softer and softer with every question she asked. She needed validation of her inquiry to see just which world it was that punished Ana's desires as wicked and ungodly: was it the mundane or the divine?
"A Greek name, then," Nafretiri observed, smiling a little. "I speak some, from my childhood, if you prefer. I know it better than Coptic, really." As the woman's words continued, Nafretiri found herself feeling more and more out of her element, but there was something that made her want to tell Anastasia more. Her voice was so soft, so gentle and yet so full of...something Nafretiri could not quite name. The embarrassment was still enough to bring tears to her eyes, and she dashed at them before anyone else could potentially see.
"Let's go into the House of Life," she offered. "It is our name for the temple library. I'll be able to tell you more there." It would be a building away from the actual naos of worshipers, but still important enough that other priestesses would know she was performing part of her duties there. It wasn't that she was averse to telling this woman what she knew, but she didn't want other people knowing what she didn't know that a Hathor priestess might be assumed to have to.
The House of Life contained more than the religious texts the woman was presumably seeking to know more of; it also contained books on history and current science, among other things.
Nafretiri did not speak on the walk to the other building, still trying to compose herself. It wasn't that she wouldn't have liked to, but she couldn't think of anything to distract herself from her thoughts that might not also be asking the woman more than she wanted to reveal. She wondered what the Fallen Star part of Anastasia's name really symbolized, and if the woman had any secrets of her own she was trying to hide. Though how was she making cracks in Nafretiri's walls so easily if she had her own secrets she'd rather would stay hidden? That wasn't fair!
A fellow priestess and an acolyte who carried Nafretiri's little girl in her arms met them halfway.
"Aneksi just wanted to say hello. I think she's coming down with something, poor love. You know how tetchy she's been lately."
Nafretiri smiled and tickled her two-year-old daughter under the chin, hating the sight of the tears drying on the little girl's cheeks. "Amma will be done soon, habibi. Then I'll tell you stories just you and me, okay?"
The little girl nodded, but stared curiously at Ana. She probably hadn't seen anyone with hair the color of hers before. Nafretiri laughed at the girl's wide eyes.
"I always forget, somehow, that she hasn't seen a lot of people with hair like yours. Many of the Egyptians wear wigs, which are often made to suit the colors of their hair, not necessarily ours," Nafretiri explained. She gave Aneksi kisses on both cheeks before continuing on into the library.
"Well there, you may now see why I asked you to go to the House of Life. I have a sense, I believe, of what you were asking in there. And surely you would be within your rights to think that a Hathor priestess- whom you now know has a child as well- would know something of pleasure. On the contrary; if what happened to me was pleasure, I shudder perhaps even more than usual to think of torture. But I can't have the entire populace knowing that."
Nafretiri's face heated, and the very fact that the embarrassment and shame did not let up caused more tears to fall on her cheeks. She was now unsure whether she wished the floor would open up and swallow her or if she was grateful for the tears, as they cooled her burning face.
"I'm sorry. It's been this way the whole month. Normally no one can break my walls, let alone in mere seconds. But it means I've been here three years now- kidnapped after surviving a siege and losing my mother." She tried to hold eye contact as best she could, though she couldn't see for the tears.
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"A Greek name, then," Nafretiri observed, smiling a little. "I speak some, from my childhood, if you prefer. I know it better than Coptic, really." As the woman's words continued, Nafretiri found herself feeling more and more out of her element, but there was something that made her want to tell Anastasia more. Her voice was so soft, so gentle and yet so full of...something Nafretiri could not quite name. The embarrassment was still enough to bring tears to her eyes, and she dashed at them before anyone else could potentially see.
"Let's go into the House of Life," she offered. "It is our name for the temple library. I'll be able to tell you more there." It would be a building away from the actual naos of worshipers, but still important enough that other priestesses would know she was performing part of her duties there. It wasn't that she was averse to telling this woman what she knew, but she didn't want other people knowing what she didn't know that a Hathor priestess might be assumed to have to.
The House of Life contained more than the religious texts the woman was presumably seeking to know more of; it also contained books on history and current science, among other things.
Nafretiri did not speak on the walk to the other building, still trying to compose herself. It wasn't that she wouldn't have liked to, but she couldn't think of anything to distract herself from her thoughts that might not also be asking the woman more than she wanted to reveal. She wondered what the Fallen Star part of Anastasia's name really symbolized, and if the woman had any secrets of her own she was trying to hide. Though how was she making cracks in Nafretiri's walls so easily if she had her own secrets she'd rather would stay hidden? That wasn't fair!
A fellow priestess and an acolyte who carried Nafretiri's little girl in her arms met them halfway.
"Aneksi just wanted to say hello. I think she's coming down with something, poor love. You know how tetchy she's been lately."
Nafretiri smiled and tickled her two-year-old daughter under the chin, hating the sight of the tears drying on the little girl's cheeks. "Amma will be done soon, habibi. Then I'll tell you stories just you and me, okay?"
The little girl nodded, but stared curiously at Ana. She probably hadn't seen anyone with hair the color of hers before. Nafretiri laughed at the girl's wide eyes.
"I always forget, somehow, that she hasn't seen a lot of people with hair like yours. Many of the Egyptians wear wigs, which are often made to suit the colors of their hair, not necessarily ours," Nafretiri explained. She gave Aneksi kisses on both cheeks before continuing on into the library.
"Well there, you may now see why I asked you to go to the House of Life. I have a sense, I believe, of what you were asking in there. And surely you would be within your rights to think that a Hathor priestess- whom you now know has a child as well- would know something of pleasure. On the contrary; if what happened to me was pleasure, I shudder perhaps even more than usual to think of torture. But I can't have the entire populace knowing that."
Nafretiri's face heated, and the very fact that the embarrassment and shame did not let up caused more tears to fall on her cheeks. She was now unsure whether she wished the floor would open up and swallow her or if she was grateful for the tears, as they cooled her burning face.
"I'm sorry. It's been this way the whole month. Normally no one can break my walls, let alone in mere seconds. But it means I've been here three years now- kidnapped after surviving a siege and losing my mother." She tried to hold eye contact as best she could, though she couldn't see for the tears.
"A Greek name, then," Nafretiri observed, smiling a little. "I speak some, from my childhood, if you prefer. I know it better than Coptic, really." As the woman's words continued, Nafretiri found herself feeling more and more out of her element, but there was something that made her want to tell Anastasia more. Her voice was so soft, so gentle and yet so full of...something Nafretiri could not quite name. The embarrassment was still enough to bring tears to her eyes, and she dashed at them before anyone else could potentially see.
"Let's go into the House of Life," she offered. "It is our name for the temple library. I'll be able to tell you more there." It would be a building away from the actual naos of worshipers, but still important enough that other priestesses would know she was performing part of her duties there. It wasn't that she was averse to telling this woman what she knew, but she didn't want other people knowing what she didn't know that a Hathor priestess might be assumed to have to.
The House of Life contained more than the religious texts the woman was presumably seeking to know more of; it also contained books on history and current science, among other things.
Nafretiri did not speak on the walk to the other building, still trying to compose herself. It wasn't that she wouldn't have liked to, but she couldn't think of anything to distract herself from her thoughts that might not also be asking the woman more than she wanted to reveal. She wondered what the Fallen Star part of Anastasia's name really symbolized, and if the woman had any secrets of her own she was trying to hide. Though how was she making cracks in Nafretiri's walls so easily if she had her own secrets she'd rather would stay hidden? That wasn't fair!
A fellow priestess and an acolyte who carried Nafretiri's little girl in her arms met them halfway.
"Aneksi just wanted to say hello. I think she's coming down with something, poor love. You know how tetchy she's been lately."
Nafretiri smiled and tickled her two-year-old daughter under the chin, hating the sight of the tears drying on the little girl's cheeks. "Amma will be done soon, habibi. Then I'll tell you stories just you and me, okay?"
The little girl nodded, but stared curiously at Ana. She probably hadn't seen anyone with hair the color of hers before. Nafretiri laughed at the girl's wide eyes.
"I always forget, somehow, that she hasn't seen a lot of people with hair like yours. Many of the Egyptians wear wigs, which are often made to suit the colors of their hair, not necessarily ours," Nafretiri explained. She gave Aneksi kisses on both cheeks before continuing on into the library.
"Well there, you may now see why I asked you to go to the House of Life. I have a sense, I believe, of what you were asking in there. And surely you would be within your rights to think that a Hathor priestess- whom you now know has a child as well- would know something of pleasure. On the contrary; if what happened to me was pleasure, I shudder perhaps even more than usual to think of torture. But I can't have the entire populace knowing that."
Nafretiri's face heated, and the very fact that the embarrassment and shame did not let up caused more tears to fall on her cheeks. She was now unsure whether she wished the floor would open up and swallow her or if she was grateful for the tears, as they cooled her burning face.
"I'm sorry. It's been this way the whole month. Normally no one can break my walls, let alone in mere seconds. But it means I've been here three years now- kidnapped after surviving a siege and losing my mother." She tried to hold eye contact as best she could, though she couldn't see for the tears.
It perhaps irked Anastasia when people called her a Greek. The bard bore no loyalty to the kingdoms of her birth, nor to the color of her skin or the mark that her features gave to her. She was knowledgeable in Greek culture due to the exposure she'd had to it, and wished for the same sort of awareness of the Egyptian culture. But, Anastasia had no home, no creed, nor any loyalty. She was the phoenix, arisen from the ashes of such sentiments and encouraged by herself to fly through the sky. The smile that Nafretiri perhaps softened some of the ire that Anastasia was feeling, but nonetheless, she listened. To draw away from a source of knowledge simply for her assessment was incorrect, and Anastasia was both drawn to the woman and curious of what she had to say to enlighten her.
Particularly, when she was invited to the House of Life, which she explained to be a library. Was she going to reference texts in her explanation? Or did she seek privacy? The bard didn't know, but she felt the tremor of anticipation course through her, a bubble of excitement that she couldn't quite escape. It was the Athenian within Anastasia that thirsted for knowledge, and while she was innately aware of this, she would rebuke the evidence of it if anyone asked.
As the two walked, Anastasia couldn't help but notice the tension that gripped her companion. Was Anastasia truly asking such difficult questions? Or was it something else that put the woman off ease? It was strange for the bard to elicit such a reaction from another, and it brought her a sort of disappointment that she made little effort to hide. Anastasia's lips pursed, her shoulders sagging for just a moment until the sentiment was forgotten by the sight of a child in the temple. She raised her eyebrows in surprise, her elegant posture restoring itself almost immediately when the temple acolyte spoke out to Nafretiri.
A baby? She's so young!
But, was she? Anastasia knew of girls younger who had children older than her. She'd been prepared for the reality of childbirth when she was married, a life that she wished forgotten. But the lessons of Calliope of Aetea would never be forgotten and she lamented the fact of it. The bard stepped forward, brushing her fingertips into the young girl's hair in an affectionate gesture before they moved onward and into the House of Life. As Nafretiri spoke, she raised her fingers to her own hair, brushing the off-coloured tresses in a self-conscious show. It was true that her tresses were much brighter than most Egyptians she'd seen, a mixture of dyed by the sun and brightened by her heritage.
I'll never be an Egyptian, she knew. She didn't want to be. Anastasia cared not what people saw her as, but the constant reminder of being Greek...
I am neither. I am nobody. I am Anastasia, she committed to herself as the priestess went on about her status. Anastasia crossed her arms as she arched her eyebrows in surprise, she watched the tears fall from her eyes and at last, Anastasia felt the sympathy course throughout her. The bard couldn't help but have her heart go out for Nafretiri, she couldn't help but step forward and let her light touch brush along the priestess' face. Little by little, the tears picked up onto her fingertips, which she flicked away from the woman's head. She completed the small task, the touch growing softer still. Anastasia pressed herself very gently against Nafretiri. Arms looped around the priestess' shoulders.
Ana brushed her cheek against Nafretiri's cheek as she let the low whisper pour directly into the other woman's ear,
"I know very well the pain you've experienced, Nafretiri. I came here to ask what love is here, not pleasure. I've known pleasure and pain, one before the other. It feels like... you'll never recover. But, I did," he told her.
The mask that was Anastasia began to show its cracks, unintentional, but the woman couldn't help but let it down.
What is this...
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It perhaps irked Anastasia when people called her a Greek. The bard bore no loyalty to the kingdoms of her birth, nor to the color of her skin or the mark that her features gave to her. She was knowledgeable in Greek culture due to the exposure she'd had to it, and wished for the same sort of awareness of the Egyptian culture. But, Anastasia had no home, no creed, nor any loyalty. She was the phoenix, arisen from the ashes of such sentiments and encouraged by herself to fly through the sky. The smile that Nafretiri perhaps softened some of the ire that Anastasia was feeling, but nonetheless, she listened. To draw away from a source of knowledge simply for her assessment was incorrect, and Anastasia was both drawn to the woman and curious of what she had to say to enlighten her.
Particularly, when she was invited to the House of Life, which she explained to be a library. Was she going to reference texts in her explanation? Or did she seek privacy? The bard didn't know, but she felt the tremor of anticipation course through her, a bubble of excitement that she couldn't quite escape. It was the Athenian within Anastasia that thirsted for knowledge, and while she was innately aware of this, she would rebuke the evidence of it if anyone asked.
As the two walked, Anastasia couldn't help but notice the tension that gripped her companion. Was Anastasia truly asking such difficult questions? Or was it something else that put the woman off ease? It was strange for the bard to elicit such a reaction from another, and it brought her a sort of disappointment that she made little effort to hide. Anastasia's lips pursed, her shoulders sagging for just a moment until the sentiment was forgotten by the sight of a child in the temple. She raised her eyebrows in surprise, her elegant posture restoring itself almost immediately when the temple acolyte spoke out to Nafretiri.
A baby? She's so young!
But, was she? Anastasia knew of girls younger who had children older than her. She'd been prepared for the reality of childbirth when she was married, a life that she wished forgotten. But the lessons of Calliope of Aetea would never be forgotten and she lamented the fact of it. The bard stepped forward, brushing her fingertips into the young girl's hair in an affectionate gesture before they moved onward and into the House of Life. As Nafretiri spoke, she raised her fingers to her own hair, brushing the off-coloured tresses in a self-conscious show. It was true that her tresses were much brighter than most Egyptians she'd seen, a mixture of dyed by the sun and brightened by her heritage.
I'll never be an Egyptian, she knew. She didn't want to be. Anastasia cared not what people saw her as, but the constant reminder of being Greek...
I am neither. I am nobody. I am Anastasia, she committed to herself as the priestess went on about her status. Anastasia crossed her arms as she arched her eyebrows in surprise, she watched the tears fall from her eyes and at last, Anastasia felt the sympathy course throughout her. The bard couldn't help but have her heart go out for Nafretiri, she couldn't help but step forward and let her light touch brush along the priestess' face. Little by little, the tears picked up onto her fingertips, which she flicked away from the woman's head. She completed the small task, the touch growing softer still. Anastasia pressed herself very gently against Nafretiri. Arms looped around the priestess' shoulders.
Ana brushed her cheek against Nafretiri's cheek as she let the low whisper pour directly into the other woman's ear,
"I know very well the pain you've experienced, Nafretiri. I came here to ask what love is here, not pleasure. I've known pleasure and pain, one before the other. It feels like... you'll never recover. But, I did," he told her.
The mask that was Anastasia began to show its cracks, unintentional, but the woman couldn't help but let it down.
What is this...
It perhaps irked Anastasia when people called her a Greek. The bard bore no loyalty to the kingdoms of her birth, nor to the color of her skin or the mark that her features gave to her. She was knowledgeable in Greek culture due to the exposure she'd had to it, and wished for the same sort of awareness of the Egyptian culture. But, Anastasia had no home, no creed, nor any loyalty. She was the phoenix, arisen from the ashes of such sentiments and encouraged by herself to fly through the sky. The smile that Nafretiri perhaps softened some of the ire that Anastasia was feeling, but nonetheless, she listened. To draw away from a source of knowledge simply for her assessment was incorrect, and Anastasia was both drawn to the woman and curious of what she had to say to enlighten her.
Particularly, when she was invited to the House of Life, which she explained to be a library. Was she going to reference texts in her explanation? Or did she seek privacy? The bard didn't know, but she felt the tremor of anticipation course through her, a bubble of excitement that she couldn't quite escape. It was the Athenian within Anastasia that thirsted for knowledge, and while she was innately aware of this, she would rebuke the evidence of it if anyone asked.
As the two walked, Anastasia couldn't help but notice the tension that gripped her companion. Was Anastasia truly asking such difficult questions? Or was it something else that put the woman off ease? It was strange for the bard to elicit such a reaction from another, and it brought her a sort of disappointment that she made little effort to hide. Anastasia's lips pursed, her shoulders sagging for just a moment until the sentiment was forgotten by the sight of a child in the temple. She raised her eyebrows in surprise, her elegant posture restoring itself almost immediately when the temple acolyte spoke out to Nafretiri.
A baby? She's so young!
But, was she? Anastasia knew of girls younger who had children older than her. She'd been prepared for the reality of childbirth when she was married, a life that she wished forgotten. But the lessons of Calliope of Aetea would never be forgotten and she lamented the fact of it. The bard stepped forward, brushing her fingertips into the young girl's hair in an affectionate gesture before they moved onward and into the House of Life. As Nafretiri spoke, she raised her fingers to her own hair, brushing the off-coloured tresses in a self-conscious show. It was true that her tresses were much brighter than most Egyptians she'd seen, a mixture of dyed by the sun and brightened by her heritage.
I'll never be an Egyptian, she knew. She didn't want to be. Anastasia cared not what people saw her as, but the constant reminder of being Greek...
I am neither. I am nobody. I am Anastasia, she committed to herself as the priestess went on about her status. Anastasia crossed her arms as she arched her eyebrows in surprise, she watched the tears fall from her eyes and at last, Anastasia felt the sympathy course throughout her. The bard couldn't help but have her heart go out for Nafretiri, she couldn't help but step forward and let her light touch brush along the priestess' face. Little by little, the tears picked up onto her fingertips, which she flicked away from the woman's head. She completed the small task, the touch growing softer still. Anastasia pressed herself very gently against Nafretiri. Arms looped around the priestess' shoulders.
Ana brushed her cheek against Nafretiri's cheek as she let the low whisper pour directly into the other woman's ear,
"I know very well the pain you've experienced, Nafretiri. I came here to ask what love is here, not pleasure. I've known pleasure and pain, one before the other. It feels like... you'll never recover. But, I did," he told her.
The mask that was Anastasia began to show its cracks, unintentional, but the woman couldn't help but let it down.
What is this...
"Love..." Nafretiri was relatively sure she couldn't be any more embarrassed than she already was, but in the next second she might be proven wrong. She hiccuped, still crying, though she was comforted by the arms around her and the whisper in her ear. There was something comforting about the gentle pressing of the other woman against her.
"Well." She took a shaky breath. "My father always loved to debate things, even things in the Law, and I have been told that I am like him- back home. Now, personally, I've never thought of myself as- as-" She wasn't sure what the proper word even was- she could never remember, amid all the epithets people hurled at those they suspected of being different. "But with that being said, I do wonder if a woman would know... better... how to pleasure another woman. Even here, they say that is only legal if a man is participating in the act as well, I think. I am a foreigner here, and thus I would be afraid to...to... but I've thought about it. Gods forgive me if that's wrong. Not that I believe it is wrong," she continued to explain. "I believe that Hathor accepts all forms of pleasure as worship. But there are those who think their opinions matter more than what a god or goddess thinks, and those people are often the ones who write down the laws."
Her voice, too, grew softer and softer, and before she quite knew what she was doing, she was leaning in towards the other woman, her need of comfort so great that she quite unintentionally brushed her chest closer.
"Oh..." she whispered, and turned a thousand shades of red. But then she stopped, pulled away briefly, and looked perhaps more closely than usual at the room.
"We're alone... I was just making sure..."
Was she really going to do this? She hesitated.
But the thought was there, and it wouldn't leave.
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"Love..." Nafretiri was relatively sure she couldn't be any more embarrassed than she already was, but in the next second she might be proven wrong. She hiccuped, still crying, though she was comforted by the arms around her and the whisper in her ear. There was something comforting about the gentle pressing of the other woman against her.
"Well." She took a shaky breath. "My father always loved to debate things, even things in the Law, and I have been told that I am like him- back home. Now, personally, I've never thought of myself as- as-" She wasn't sure what the proper word even was- she could never remember, amid all the epithets people hurled at those they suspected of being different. "But with that being said, I do wonder if a woman would know... better... how to pleasure another woman. Even here, they say that is only legal if a man is participating in the act as well, I think. I am a foreigner here, and thus I would be afraid to...to... but I've thought about it. Gods forgive me if that's wrong. Not that I believe it is wrong," she continued to explain. "I believe that Hathor accepts all forms of pleasure as worship. But there are those who think their opinions matter more than what a god or goddess thinks, and those people are often the ones who write down the laws."
Her voice, too, grew softer and softer, and before she quite knew what she was doing, she was leaning in towards the other woman, her need of comfort so great that she quite unintentionally brushed her chest closer.
"Oh..." she whispered, and turned a thousand shades of red. But then she stopped, pulled away briefly, and looked perhaps more closely than usual at the room.
"We're alone... I was just making sure..."
Was she really going to do this? She hesitated.
But the thought was there, and it wouldn't leave.
"Love..." Nafretiri was relatively sure she couldn't be any more embarrassed than she already was, but in the next second she might be proven wrong. She hiccuped, still crying, though she was comforted by the arms around her and the whisper in her ear. There was something comforting about the gentle pressing of the other woman against her.
"Well." She took a shaky breath. "My father always loved to debate things, even things in the Law, and I have been told that I am like him- back home. Now, personally, I've never thought of myself as- as-" She wasn't sure what the proper word even was- she could never remember, amid all the epithets people hurled at those they suspected of being different. "But with that being said, I do wonder if a woman would know... better... how to pleasure another woman. Even here, they say that is only legal if a man is participating in the act as well, I think. I am a foreigner here, and thus I would be afraid to...to... but I've thought about it. Gods forgive me if that's wrong. Not that I believe it is wrong," she continued to explain. "I believe that Hathor accepts all forms of pleasure as worship. But there are those who think their opinions matter more than what a god or goddess thinks, and those people are often the ones who write down the laws."
Her voice, too, grew softer and softer, and before she quite knew what she was doing, she was leaning in towards the other woman, her need of comfort so great that she quite unintentionally brushed her chest closer.
"Oh..." she whispered, and turned a thousand shades of red. But then she stopped, pulled away briefly, and looked perhaps more closely than usual at the room.
"We're alone... I was just making sure..."
Was she really going to do this? She hesitated.
But the thought was there, and it wouldn't leave.
This day certainly bypassed Anastasia's expectations entirely. She'd expected to be rebuked for her questions, which in it of itself would be an adequate answer to her questions of the beliefs of a heathen goddess. Instead, however, she found herself pressed to the priestess, a position that Ana was neither unused to or unwilling to be in, but... as she considered it the strangeness that was circumstance was certainly there. Anastasia of the Fallen Star listened to Nafretiri, whose words almost seemed choked up in the breadth of emotion.
Was it normal for a priestess to be so dispossessed of propriety? Ana found that she didn't mind it, but the proximity with the young priestess, particularly in a garment as sheer as the one she was wearing... It was a feeling that elicited a sense of want. She needed to restrain her emotions, for sympathy turning to desire simply wasn't acceptable. But, Anastasia was a creature of insatiable desires, of indeterminate wants, and those wants turned towards the particularly vulnerable woman in front of her. There was something to vulnerability and admission of truths about oneself. They were things that Anastasia couldn't manifest of her own will, lest she fall into the void that was the past she'd never allow to take her again.
When the priestess shifted her words away from the talk of her father and onward to the talk of women... amusement curled Anastasia's lips into a smile. She knew well enough the answer to that question. Once, she'd been Calliope, the wife to a cruel merchant, a woman so steeped in the traditional understanding of marriage and devotion divorced from anything similar to love... She wasn't sure she'd ever known anything similar to love, which was her reason for coming to the temple. But when Nafretiri shifted her attention to pleasure... It was only when Anastasia learned that she was a foreigner from the priestess' own lips that she could understand how these thoughts manifested.
"Men make the laws here and everywhere else. Not the Gods. Some believe that the Gods ordain specific men with their power, such as his majesty the pharoah... But that interpretation has always sat ill with me," she admitted softly. She hoped that the Gods wouldn't be so short-sighted. And she hoped that the Gods watched over her. Even if her Gods weren't the ones sovereign in Egypt. Nafretiri's answer satisfied Anastasia, even if she suspected that an elder or native priestess to answer differently. For a believer to say such things, unrestricted from the barrier of propriety, was enough for her.
"I'm glad to hear that, priestess. But... it makes me wonder. You're a priestess of Hathor, but know not of the pleasure she preaches?"
As Anastasia posed her question, she allowed her hands to fall from the woman's features, fingertips brushing lightly along the flesh of her shoulders, then along the curve of her collarbone before they brandished their touch at her ribcage. Anastasia pressed herself to Nafretiri anew.
"Your inquiries... they make me want to answer them, But here is far too dangerous. For now, priestess..."
Anastasia raised one hand to sift into Nafretiri's hair, intent on leaning in and pressing her lips against hers. Slow, sensuous, but gentle, Anastasia pressed herself unabashedly against the young priestess, intent on slowly parting her lips as her free hand played along her spine.
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This day certainly bypassed Anastasia's expectations entirely. She'd expected to be rebuked for her questions, which in it of itself would be an adequate answer to her questions of the beliefs of a heathen goddess. Instead, however, she found herself pressed to the priestess, a position that Ana was neither unused to or unwilling to be in, but... as she considered it the strangeness that was circumstance was certainly there. Anastasia of the Fallen Star listened to Nafretiri, whose words almost seemed choked up in the breadth of emotion.
Was it normal for a priestess to be so dispossessed of propriety? Ana found that she didn't mind it, but the proximity with the young priestess, particularly in a garment as sheer as the one she was wearing... It was a feeling that elicited a sense of want. She needed to restrain her emotions, for sympathy turning to desire simply wasn't acceptable. But, Anastasia was a creature of insatiable desires, of indeterminate wants, and those wants turned towards the particularly vulnerable woman in front of her. There was something to vulnerability and admission of truths about oneself. They were things that Anastasia couldn't manifest of her own will, lest she fall into the void that was the past she'd never allow to take her again.
When the priestess shifted her words away from the talk of her father and onward to the talk of women... amusement curled Anastasia's lips into a smile. She knew well enough the answer to that question. Once, she'd been Calliope, the wife to a cruel merchant, a woman so steeped in the traditional understanding of marriage and devotion divorced from anything similar to love... She wasn't sure she'd ever known anything similar to love, which was her reason for coming to the temple. But when Nafretiri shifted her attention to pleasure... It was only when Anastasia learned that she was a foreigner from the priestess' own lips that she could understand how these thoughts manifested.
"Men make the laws here and everywhere else. Not the Gods. Some believe that the Gods ordain specific men with their power, such as his majesty the pharoah... But that interpretation has always sat ill with me," she admitted softly. She hoped that the Gods wouldn't be so short-sighted. And she hoped that the Gods watched over her. Even if her Gods weren't the ones sovereign in Egypt. Nafretiri's answer satisfied Anastasia, even if she suspected that an elder or native priestess to answer differently. For a believer to say such things, unrestricted from the barrier of propriety, was enough for her.
"I'm glad to hear that, priestess. But... it makes me wonder. You're a priestess of Hathor, but know not of the pleasure she preaches?"
As Anastasia posed her question, she allowed her hands to fall from the woman's features, fingertips brushing lightly along the flesh of her shoulders, then along the curve of her collarbone before they brandished their touch at her ribcage. Anastasia pressed herself to Nafretiri anew.
"Your inquiries... they make me want to answer them, But here is far too dangerous. For now, priestess..."
Anastasia raised one hand to sift into Nafretiri's hair, intent on leaning in and pressing her lips against hers. Slow, sensuous, but gentle, Anastasia pressed herself unabashedly against the young priestess, intent on slowly parting her lips as her free hand played along her spine.
This day certainly bypassed Anastasia's expectations entirely. She'd expected to be rebuked for her questions, which in it of itself would be an adequate answer to her questions of the beliefs of a heathen goddess. Instead, however, she found herself pressed to the priestess, a position that Ana was neither unused to or unwilling to be in, but... as she considered it the strangeness that was circumstance was certainly there. Anastasia of the Fallen Star listened to Nafretiri, whose words almost seemed choked up in the breadth of emotion.
Was it normal for a priestess to be so dispossessed of propriety? Ana found that she didn't mind it, but the proximity with the young priestess, particularly in a garment as sheer as the one she was wearing... It was a feeling that elicited a sense of want. She needed to restrain her emotions, for sympathy turning to desire simply wasn't acceptable. But, Anastasia was a creature of insatiable desires, of indeterminate wants, and those wants turned towards the particularly vulnerable woman in front of her. There was something to vulnerability and admission of truths about oneself. They were things that Anastasia couldn't manifest of her own will, lest she fall into the void that was the past she'd never allow to take her again.
When the priestess shifted her words away from the talk of her father and onward to the talk of women... amusement curled Anastasia's lips into a smile. She knew well enough the answer to that question. Once, she'd been Calliope, the wife to a cruel merchant, a woman so steeped in the traditional understanding of marriage and devotion divorced from anything similar to love... She wasn't sure she'd ever known anything similar to love, which was her reason for coming to the temple. But when Nafretiri shifted her attention to pleasure... It was only when Anastasia learned that she was a foreigner from the priestess' own lips that she could understand how these thoughts manifested.
"Men make the laws here and everywhere else. Not the Gods. Some believe that the Gods ordain specific men with their power, such as his majesty the pharoah... But that interpretation has always sat ill with me," she admitted softly. She hoped that the Gods wouldn't be so short-sighted. And she hoped that the Gods watched over her. Even if her Gods weren't the ones sovereign in Egypt. Nafretiri's answer satisfied Anastasia, even if she suspected that an elder or native priestess to answer differently. For a believer to say such things, unrestricted from the barrier of propriety, was enough for her.
"I'm glad to hear that, priestess. But... it makes me wonder. You're a priestess of Hathor, but know not of the pleasure she preaches?"
As Anastasia posed her question, she allowed her hands to fall from the woman's features, fingertips brushing lightly along the flesh of her shoulders, then along the curve of her collarbone before they brandished their touch at her ribcage. Anastasia pressed herself to Nafretiri anew.
"Your inquiries... they make me want to answer them, But here is far too dangerous. For now, priestess..."
Anastasia raised one hand to sift into Nafretiri's hair, intent on leaning in and pressing her lips against hers. Slow, sensuous, but gentle, Anastasia pressed herself unabashedly against the young priestess, intent on slowly parting her lips as her free hand played along her spine.
Nafretiri was uncertain, herself, if the pharaoh had as much power- of the god-given sort- as people seemed to think that he did.
"I am unsure myself. If such power from the gods is there at all, it might be...stunted if you will, because he is also human. Also, there is this. In my homeland, they used to say that El Shaddai could remove His favor, particularly, it seemed, if a person's actions displeased Him. If that is so of the one I grew up with, is it not so of all gods?" Nafretiri shrugged, but the thought did indeed seem logical to her.
Despite how frightened she was, Nafretiri was also at least a little eager- if only from her curiosity- to know where this thing called 'pleasure' was, and what lengths one would have to go to to find it. She leaned into the kiss tentatively, but despite herself, her lips parted with the help of the soft, warm, firm feel of the other woman's lips against her own. Nafretiri was unsure quite what was happening to her, but she did feel warm all over when the kiss finally ended.
"Ana..." she whispered, almost gratefully. "I don't know what this is, but I feel- something. I've never felt anything like it before. It's all...warm. Everywhere. In my emotions, but also in my body, a little."
Nafretiri's brow furrowed as she thought. "Where could we go, do you think? We could try my quarters, but Aneksi might be there with the acolyte watching her, and...I don't know." She shook her head. "I've never wished I were somewhere else more- another country where perhaps it wouldn't be quite so..."
Strange. Forbidden. Maybe both of those words fit there.
"But I felt something," she said again. "What is that called, and what does it mean when you feel it?"
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Nafretiri was uncertain, herself, if the pharaoh had as much power- of the god-given sort- as people seemed to think that he did.
"I am unsure myself. If such power from the gods is there at all, it might be...stunted if you will, because he is also human. Also, there is this. In my homeland, they used to say that El Shaddai could remove His favor, particularly, it seemed, if a person's actions displeased Him. If that is so of the one I grew up with, is it not so of all gods?" Nafretiri shrugged, but the thought did indeed seem logical to her.
Despite how frightened she was, Nafretiri was also at least a little eager- if only from her curiosity- to know where this thing called 'pleasure' was, and what lengths one would have to go to to find it. She leaned into the kiss tentatively, but despite herself, her lips parted with the help of the soft, warm, firm feel of the other woman's lips against her own. Nafretiri was unsure quite what was happening to her, but she did feel warm all over when the kiss finally ended.
"Ana..." she whispered, almost gratefully. "I don't know what this is, but I feel- something. I've never felt anything like it before. It's all...warm. Everywhere. In my emotions, but also in my body, a little."
Nafretiri's brow furrowed as she thought. "Where could we go, do you think? We could try my quarters, but Aneksi might be there with the acolyte watching her, and...I don't know." She shook her head. "I've never wished I were somewhere else more- another country where perhaps it wouldn't be quite so..."
Strange. Forbidden. Maybe both of those words fit there.
"But I felt something," she said again. "What is that called, and what does it mean when you feel it?"
Nafretiri was uncertain, herself, if the pharaoh had as much power- of the god-given sort- as people seemed to think that he did.
"I am unsure myself. If such power from the gods is there at all, it might be...stunted if you will, because he is also human. Also, there is this. In my homeland, they used to say that El Shaddai could remove His favor, particularly, it seemed, if a person's actions displeased Him. If that is so of the one I grew up with, is it not so of all gods?" Nafretiri shrugged, but the thought did indeed seem logical to her.
Despite how frightened she was, Nafretiri was also at least a little eager- if only from her curiosity- to know where this thing called 'pleasure' was, and what lengths one would have to go to to find it. She leaned into the kiss tentatively, but despite herself, her lips parted with the help of the soft, warm, firm feel of the other woman's lips against her own. Nafretiri was unsure quite what was happening to her, but she did feel warm all over when the kiss finally ended.
"Ana..." she whispered, almost gratefully. "I don't know what this is, but I feel- something. I've never felt anything like it before. It's all...warm. Everywhere. In my emotions, but also in my body, a little."
Nafretiri's brow furrowed as she thought. "Where could we go, do you think? We could try my quarters, but Aneksi might be there with the acolyte watching her, and...I don't know." She shook her head. "I've never wished I were somewhere else more- another country where perhaps it wouldn't be quite so..."
Strange. Forbidden. Maybe both of those words fit there.
"But I felt something," she said again. "What is that called, and what does it mean when you feel it?"
Uncertainty and faith almost always coincided.
What Anastasia learned in the midst of her worship of the pantheon of the Greek Gods was that these luminous beings did not intercede in the world directly. Instead, they were sovereign over the elements. Zeus lived in his kingdom in the sky, giving the storms that both wreaked havoc and gave life through sustaining rainfall. Poseidon created the tides that crashed on the shores and presided over all manner of creature, from man-eating and ship devouring monsters to the smallest of fish that nurtured the human stomach. All of the gods served their purpose, but unseen and obscured. To question their benevolence was normal. To question their attentiveness to the world was not strange. And Anastasia could only assume the Egyptian gods to rule in a similar manner.
However little she believed in the Gods of Egypt, it was her prerogative to see how their people interpreted their existence. For the culture of Egypt was quickly becoming her own. She didn't know if she could or would return to Egypt, not with the war that loomed in the horizon. Not did she know which side of that war she wished to see victorious. She decided to ignore that inkling sensation within her, and instead dedicate every bit of her attention to Nafretiri. Her words were quiet assurances, then after that delightful kiss... They turned to something altogether different.
A soft smile caught upon her lips as that kiss deepened with Ana's encouragement, and she nearly was tempted to venture forth with her tongue and taste the other woman in earnest. But, seeing how overwhelmed the young priestess was with just this... she decided she'd take it far more slowly. The whisper that poured from her lips, only for Anastasia to hear was a delicious sound. She pulled back as her fingertips trailed along the priestess' jawline, letting a ginger touch keep along her flesh as her breasts pressed into the woman's own. It was playful, so easy for her to get more and more into this. And yet... they shouldn't. Not in the temple where Nafretiri (and Ana herself) could get in immense trouble.
"Warmth that tingles throughout the body, from the point where lips and bodies touch... I'm quite familiar with it," she teased. Slowly, Anastasia circled around Nafretiri, letting herself press into the woman's back. Hands slowly trailed along the priestess' abdomen. It was a temptation that she was entirely too pleased to let herself fall into. "That is pleasure, priestess," she informed her, just as her hand rose from her abdomen to trail her touch between the curve of her breasts. Lips pressed gingerly to Nafretiri's throat as she listened to the priestess' doubts.
Then, Ana took control of herself once more, just as she found her hand at the thin fabric of the priestess' shoulders. Unconsciously, she'd shifted to undress the woman, and... she wanted nothing more than to continue. But, she wouldn't.
Not yet.
"I live in an inn in the Southern Wastan. If you can leave your daughter in that acolyte's responsible hands... Come join me," she told her. Anastasia sought to turn the woman's head, intent upon claiming a second kiss from the priestess, as if to entice her to abandon her responsibilities and turn her attention fully towards the fallen star.
If only for a little while.
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Uncertainty and faith almost always coincided.
What Anastasia learned in the midst of her worship of the pantheon of the Greek Gods was that these luminous beings did not intercede in the world directly. Instead, they were sovereign over the elements. Zeus lived in his kingdom in the sky, giving the storms that both wreaked havoc and gave life through sustaining rainfall. Poseidon created the tides that crashed on the shores and presided over all manner of creature, from man-eating and ship devouring monsters to the smallest of fish that nurtured the human stomach. All of the gods served their purpose, but unseen and obscured. To question their benevolence was normal. To question their attentiveness to the world was not strange. And Anastasia could only assume the Egyptian gods to rule in a similar manner.
However little she believed in the Gods of Egypt, it was her prerogative to see how their people interpreted their existence. For the culture of Egypt was quickly becoming her own. She didn't know if she could or would return to Egypt, not with the war that loomed in the horizon. Not did she know which side of that war she wished to see victorious. She decided to ignore that inkling sensation within her, and instead dedicate every bit of her attention to Nafretiri. Her words were quiet assurances, then after that delightful kiss... They turned to something altogether different.
A soft smile caught upon her lips as that kiss deepened with Ana's encouragement, and she nearly was tempted to venture forth with her tongue and taste the other woman in earnest. But, seeing how overwhelmed the young priestess was with just this... she decided she'd take it far more slowly. The whisper that poured from her lips, only for Anastasia to hear was a delicious sound. She pulled back as her fingertips trailed along the priestess' jawline, letting a ginger touch keep along her flesh as her breasts pressed into the woman's own. It was playful, so easy for her to get more and more into this. And yet... they shouldn't. Not in the temple where Nafretiri (and Ana herself) could get in immense trouble.
"Warmth that tingles throughout the body, from the point where lips and bodies touch... I'm quite familiar with it," she teased. Slowly, Anastasia circled around Nafretiri, letting herself press into the woman's back. Hands slowly trailed along the priestess' abdomen. It was a temptation that she was entirely too pleased to let herself fall into. "That is pleasure, priestess," she informed her, just as her hand rose from her abdomen to trail her touch between the curve of her breasts. Lips pressed gingerly to Nafretiri's throat as she listened to the priestess' doubts.
Then, Ana took control of herself once more, just as she found her hand at the thin fabric of the priestess' shoulders. Unconsciously, she'd shifted to undress the woman, and... she wanted nothing more than to continue. But, she wouldn't.
Not yet.
"I live in an inn in the Southern Wastan. If you can leave your daughter in that acolyte's responsible hands... Come join me," she told her. Anastasia sought to turn the woman's head, intent upon claiming a second kiss from the priestess, as if to entice her to abandon her responsibilities and turn her attention fully towards the fallen star.
If only for a little while.
Uncertainty and faith almost always coincided.
What Anastasia learned in the midst of her worship of the pantheon of the Greek Gods was that these luminous beings did not intercede in the world directly. Instead, they were sovereign over the elements. Zeus lived in his kingdom in the sky, giving the storms that both wreaked havoc and gave life through sustaining rainfall. Poseidon created the tides that crashed on the shores and presided over all manner of creature, from man-eating and ship devouring monsters to the smallest of fish that nurtured the human stomach. All of the gods served their purpose, but unseen and obscured. To question their benevolence was normal. To question their attentiveness to the world was not strange. And Anastasia could only assume the Egyptian gods to rule in a similar manner.
However little she believed in the Gods of Egypt, it was her prerogative to see how their people interpreted their existence. For the culture of Egypt was quickly becoming her own. She didn't know if she could or would return to Egypt, not with the war that loomed in the horizon. Not did she know which side of that war she wished to see victorious. She decided to ignore that inkling sensation within her, and instead dedicate every bit of her attention to Nafretiri. Her words were quiet assurances, then after that delightful kiss... They turned to something altogether different.
A soft smile caught upon her lips as that kiss deepened with Ana's encouragement, and she nearly was tempted to venture forth with her tongue and taste the other woman in earnest. But, seeing how overwhelmed the young priestess was with just this... she decided she'd take it far more slowly. The whisper that poured from her lips, only for Anastasia to hear was a delicious sound. She pulled back as her fingertips trailed along the priestess' jawline, letting a ginger touch keep along her flesh as her breasts pressed into the woman's own. It was playful, so easy for her to get more and more into this. And yet... they shouldn't. Not in the temple where Nafretiri (and Ana herself) could get in immense trouble.
"Warmth that tingles throughout the body, from the point where lips and bodies touch... I'm quite familiar with it," she teased. Slowly, Anastasia circled around Nafretiri, letting herself press into the woman's back. Hands slowly trailed along the priestess' abdomen. It was a temptation that she was entirely too pleased to let herself fall into. "That is pleasure, priestess," she informed her, just as her hand rose from her abdomen to trail her touch between the curve of her breasts. Lips pressed gingerly to Nafretiri's throat as she listened to the priestess' doubts.
Then, Ana took control of herself once more, just as she found her hand at the thin fabric of the priestess' shoulders. Unconsciously, she'd shifted to undress the woman, and... she wanted nothing more than to continue. But, she wouldn't.
Not yet.
"I live in an inn in the Southern Wastan. If you can leave your daughter in that acolyte's responsible hands... Come join me," she told her. Anastasia sought to turn the woman's head, intent upon claiming a second kiss from the priestess, as if to entice her to abandon her responsibilities and turn her attention fully towards the fallen star.
If only for a little while.
"If this is what pleasure is- if I am to truly learn...I hardly dare hope- but how can one ache so to hope in something?"
"You have an inn?" Nafretiri didn't even care how that sounded, or really if the woman owned the inn or not. She was suddenly so excited her voice brightened. What was wrong with her? "This month- all it symbolizes for me- the third anniversary of my captivity, and my mother's death- must be wearing on my mind,,, but yes,,,," Nafretiri thought for a moment. "I think I can convince them that you would like to visit some other temples. Indeed, perhaps in the sense of learning more about our religion, you would like that. It might be true enough."
A slow smile came to her lips even if she had no idea what she was smiling about.
"But I think we would like to know each other more. And perhaps, as you say, if you have been through something of what I have, then I can know that it eases. The fear."
Though perhaps just how much the fear would ease remained to be seen.
"Since this- I loathe traveling alone- though most times when I do I have no other choice but to do so. But now I won't be."
It was enough, somehow, that kiss, and her assurance that the warmth was pleasure, to make Nafretiri trust this woman upon one meeting. Perhaps Awwal really was the month when she was now most likely to lose her sense of mental clarity.
Or perhaps, since her traumatic experience, she had never quite had mental clarity in the first place. But if the absence of mental clarity heightened this mysterious thing called 'pleasure', then so be it.
She was ready to feel something other than pain and fear- she had been for a long time, but hadn't quite known how to go about it.
"Yes. Show me, Ana. Show me pleasure." Nafretiri checked the sundial, finding that time had moved a little faster than she thought it would, with someone new to talk with.
"Wait for me. I'll explain to the acolyte, and then I need only a slightly less revealing shawl- to keep the sand from my nose. Then we can begin our journey."
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"If this is what pleasure is- if I am to truly learn...I hardly dare hope- but how can one ache so to hope in something?"
"You have an inn?" Nafretiri didn't even care how that sounded, or really if the woman owned the inn or not. She was suddenly so excited her voice brightened. What was wrong with her? "This month- all it symbolizes for me- the third anniversary of my captivity, and my mother's death- must be wearing on my mind,,, but yes,,,," Nafretiri thought for a moment. "I think I can convince them that you would like to visit some other temples. Indeed, perhaps in the sense of learning more about our religion, you would like that. It might be true enough."
A slow smile came to her lips even if she had no idea what she was smiling about.
"But I think we would like to know each other more. And perhaps, as you say, if you have been through something of what I have, then I can know that it eases. The fear."
Though perhaps just how much the fear would ease remained to be seen.
"Since this- I loathe traveling alone- though most times when I do I have no other choice but to do so. But now I won't be."
It was enough, somehow, that kiss, and her assurance that the warmth was pleasure, to make Nafretiri trust this woman upon one meeting. Perhaps Awwal really was the month when she was now most likely to lose her sense of mental clarity.
Or perhaps, since her traumatic experience, she had never quite had mental clarity in the first place. But if the absence of mental clarity heightened this mysterious thing called 'pleasure', then so be it.
She was ready to feel something other than pain and fear- she had been for a long time, but hadn't quite known how to go about it.
"Yes. Show me, Ana. Show me pleasure." Nafretiri checked the sundial, finding that time had moved a little faster than she thought it would, with someone new to talk with.
"Wait for me. I'll explain to the acolyte, and then I need only a slightly less revealing shawl- to keep the sand from my nose. Then we can begin our journey."
"If this is what pleasure is- if I am to truly learn...I hardly dare hope- but how can one ache so to hope in something?"
"You have an inn?" Nafretiri didn't even care how that sounded, or really if the woman owned the inn or not. She was suddenly so excited her voice brightened. What was wrong with her? "This month- all it symbolizes for me- the third anniversary of my captivity, and my mother's death- must be wearing on my mind,,, but yes,,,," Nafretiri thought for a moment. "I think I can convince them that you would like to visit some other temples. Indeed, perhaps in the sense of learning more about our religion, you would like that. It might be true enough."
A slow smile came to her lips even if she had no idea what she was smiling about.
"But I think we would like to know each other more. And perhaps, as you say, if you have been through something of what I have, then I can know that it eases. The fear."
Though perhaps just how much the fear would ease remained to be seen.
"Since this- I loathe traveling alone- though most times when I do I have no other choice but to do so. But now I won't be."
It was enough, somehow, that kiss, and her assurance that the warmth was pleasure, to make Nafretiri trust this woman upon one meeting. Perhaps Awwal really was the month when she was now most likely to lose her sense of mental clarity.
Or perhaps, since her traumatic experience, she had never quite had mental clarity in the first place. But if the absence of mental clarity heightened this mysterious thing called 'pleasure', then so be it.
She was ready to feel something other than pain and fear- she had been for a long time, but hadn't quite known how to go about it.
"Yes. Show me, Ana. Show me pleasure." Nafretiri checked the sundial, finding that time had moved a little faster than she thought it would, with someone new to talk with.
"Wait for me. I'll explain to the acolyte, and then I need only a slightly less revealing shawl- to keep the sand from my nose. Then we can begin our journey."