The temple felt like the calm after a storm. Miri had objectively little need to visit the holy places—after all, the gods were with her all the time—and yet… Something about being surrounded by their power, being in a place infused with godly energy, was calming. Visiting the temples was a way to refocus her mind and prepare for a new stretch of performing. Not to mention that seeing how average people prayed to the gods was fascinating (and adorable). She had free time occasionally, and visiting a temple was certainly a valid use of a fortune teller’s time. No one would dare dispute that.

The Grand Temple felt like home. The likenesses of each of the gods called out to her in turn; Miri spun in a slow circle and gazed upon each of them, offerings clutched in her hands. It was home, her nerves were instantly calmed, and still a hint of guilt crept up her legs into the pit of her stomach. She should be here more often. Miri felt no pull towards her first home, Israel. She was overjoyed with her place at the Tempest of Set, the first place she felt truly accepted and safe. The Grand Temple was a different sort of home. A place that no one besides priests could live, but a home nonetheless. Like a siren calling men towards cliffs, Miri felt drawn to this place. Yes, worship us, little one, laughed Sekhmet, and Miri could have sworn the face of her statue shifted, the echo of her laugh bouncing off the stone. Squeezing her eyes shut for a moment to shake the unsettling feeling of being watched by each of the statues, Miri turned instead towards the statue of @set.

Upon learning she was going to the temple, members of the circus had given her offerings to bestow upon the Chaos God on their behalf. Miri had nodded sullenly and taken the trinkets, even with the voice of Set roaring with laughter in her head. She knew he did not care in the slightest about most of them. Amenemhat was all that mattered. Amenemhat and his vision. Kneeling before his statue, which was noticeably barer than some of the other pillars, Miri placed the large bundle of offerings at his stony feet. Set began to talk, voice rising above the rest of the clamor in her head, and Miri began to speak too, quietly, still somehow hoping to drown out his mockery. Look at these fools, he began. “Thank you,” Miri murmured, hazel eyes flickering shut once more, “For giving us all a home, and for guiding us through the hazards of each show to better serve your will in health.” Miri never quite knew how to pray, let alone with the voice of each god mocking her. Praying to Set was the most difficult of all. He was unpredictable, cruel, and still the most important to the circus’s cause.

Miri rose silently, ignoring the raucous voices to the best of her ability, and glided around to the rest of the statues, leaving offerings and thanks for each one in turn. She ended at the statue of Ptah, gazing up at the stone face with widened eyes. There was another girl kneeling in front of his statue, so Miri stood a few feet back, listening hard. Ptah often spoke more softly than the others, but each word held power most mortals could never dream of. Miri felt the swirl of strength rising through her from her feet to the top of her head, burning in the tips of her fingers and the balls of her feet. Ptah whispered, and Miri listened, the rest of the world seeming to fade away, leaving only the girl and the great statue in the midst of a huge, empty temple. All was forgotten except for the task at hand. It was bliss, it was power, it was knowledge and truth and wisdom. This was where Miri needed to be. Restoring the connections, grounding herself in prayer like any normal worshipper… this was how Miri of Lea stayed sane.

The world stood still for seconds, minutes, eons, and Miri came away with more knowledge than she could ever have dreamed of. A thought swirled somewhere deep in her chest, wondering why she was chosen for the circus rather than as a priestess. To have this power, this control, at any time… well, perhaps the very question was the answer. Miri did not seek power for herself, but for the gods, and yet the pure power tempted her all the same. Yes, better to keep her head down in worship and feel this energy on her free days.

Ptah would always be there, as he always had been.

“Thank you,” she murmured again, hazel eyes still sliding in and out of focus. The last ounce of warmth and energy fell from her fingertips. She was cold.

It took a moment to realize that she was still being watched, by a moral rather than a god this time. The world felt dark and dim as she stared back, expression neutral even as she struggled to contain the wave of emotion threatening to overwhelm her. “You seek answers,” she said simply, as the darkness drew ever closer. Miri took another step back, hand pressed tightly to her stomach as though her small fingers could contain the multitudes of Ptah’s universe. Miri was tired. This connection, this life, drained her. To experience every emotion, to know every face, all at the same time… and then to have it pulled away in an instant. To know love, and to become empty once more, as she always was…

Break was not a word Miri cared to dwell on, in either sense. Breaking was not an option. Her time was too valuable, and her mind too fortified. And so she could not indulge herself further into misery, not when the girl in front of her was searching for gods and reassurance. Miri was better than a priestess for answers. She, like them, was cold and singularly devoted, but Miri could pretend. Even when her very bones seemed to ache, all she did was allow herself to move to the stone bench a few feet away and wait, eyes focused and piercing once more. “You feel as though your soul yearns for things it can never know.” The girl’s eyes told a story that was easy to read.

“I can help you,” Miri said, voice still quiet in the gently ringing circle of statues. She could still hear the whispers of each one, mingled with the desperate prayers of the other worshippers. Fools, most of them, praying to be saved from a fate that had been laid out for them for thousands of years. Something told her the girl before her was not as much of a fool. Though perhaps that was wishful thinking from the weary feeling creeping along Miri’s collarbones. Being the light was exhausting.

Years of performing had allowed a new flaw to worm its way into Miri’s heart; she was now comforted by praise. It had always been true in some capacity: the praise of her parents, the praise of those who held power over her… but now it was true for all. The girl who sought answers was not in charge of Miri’s narrative in any large way. She held little sway over the universe at all. And yet the reverence in her voice sent warmth through Miri’s chest. The power of the gods—and, by extension, Miri’s expression of that power—should be revered, yes. Praise and power, power and praise.

Her eyes followed the girl’s curious ones as she joined Miri on the bench. How. It was a simple enough answer. The voices of the gods filled her every waking moment and infiltrated each dream. Miri had been chosen to be the light, the illumination of the gods’ commands. And yet, and yet. Years with the Tempest had made her weak to praise, yes, but it had also made her more sensitive to the sometimes complicated nature of humans. The girl sought answers, but there were some that would confuse rather than comfort her. There were some answers that could drive her away from the gods entirely, and the loss of her soul would be Miri’s fault. Still, it was a dilemma. Could she start to provide answers if the first ones she spoke were lies and half-truths?

“I was once like you,” Miri said at last, eyes leaving the girl and returning to the tallest statue of them all, Ptah. “I had doubts about what I was always taught, so many uncertainties about the future.” The temple faded again as her eyes misted once more. “I searched for answers in every temple, every face, every grain of sand.” Judean temples, but temples all the same. “And at last I realized that the answers had been there all along, whispering to me in my dreams.” Miri looked at the girl without really seeing her.

“That is the kind of peace you seek?” she asked, arching her eyebrows. “It feels like a deep settling of your soul when you find it.” This girl would never fully be at peace, though. It was clear she would always have that thirst for answers, the kind of knowledge that only the gods’ wisdom could bestow. Miri waited patiently to hear the reaction. Too much information at once might be what she wanted, but it was not what was needed here.