15. The Price of Awakening
The town sleeps, unaware of the danger that stirs in the
earth beneath them.
The people gather for the harvest, eyes wide,
smiles thin, too busy to notice the growing
tension in the air.
The fruit falls from the trees,
still sweet, still heavy with the secret of what has been
forgotten.
The girl watches them,
her eyes heavy with the burden of
knowledge, with the weight of what she
has woken. She cannot unsee it.
Cannot unfeel it.
Her heart beats backward,
as if it is keeping time with something ancient,
something forgotten, and the
god's hunger calls to her.
She steps into the orchard again, her feet light on the ground, her
breath shallow in the quiet dusk. The apples that hang from the
branches seem to glow in the low light, their
skin shining with an
almost unnatural gleam.
The god is awake.
And now, the price must be paid.
She picks an apple, the fruit is warm in
her palm, its weight heavy with what it
represents.
The taste of the god is in the fruit.
The taste of memories long buried,
of pain,
of
hunger.
Of loss.
Mesha Dreams in Ink. 