The raven haired girl’s proud figure grows more distinct as the mist thins and becomes shifting smoke from two large fire bowls built at the temple’s base. Forced to begin walking by the guard behind her, she trudges up the stairs. She counts each step she takes in her mind. She counts to keep herself from screaming at the guards and the crowd and Fate itself. She looks at her feet to shield her eyes from the stinging smoke swirling around her body, and struggles to keep from looking at the top of the stone staircase.
It is a morbid desire to look at what awaits her, she knows, but in the end she can’t keep from giving in. She glances up to the plateau above her. The billowing smoke barrels down at her, and she knows it comes from the great sacrificial altar standing in the center of the mesa. It waits there year round, reminding the city of their commitment to the gods.
At the sight of the smoke, her stomach turns and she quickly lowers her head, unwilling to face her future. She fears the smoke, but she knows it is the least terrifying element that awaits her at the top of the stone staircase. She keeps walking up the steps and watches as the smoke grows larger and the fire that produces it comes into view.
Wanting to run back to her small mud brick home, the raven-haired girl looks out into the crowd, hoping for a sympathetic face, but cringing when she sees instead nothing but intense joy in the faces of the crowd. They cheer and jump and clamber to get closer to her.
Seeing their excitement sends hate rushing through her body, pushing every other feeling away. Straightening herself, she sets her mouth in a scowl and glares at each stone step she is forced to tread. The rough stone scrapes against her bare feet. She despises the crowd for their cheering. She looks down at them again, though she cannot see their faces anymore, and silently curses them for the savagery.
When the hate-filled girl looks back toward her destination, the first guard has stopped. She forgets her anger instantly and stiffens in fear. She has reached the end of the stone staircase. There is nowhere to run.
A breeze begins to blow, but not even her hair moves as the wind silently carries in a thick mist that envelopes her body.