>>5887643There is a flash of light, beyond your squeezed-shut lids. A prayer goes up and, unable to speak without the risk of puking, you repeat it internally. Before too long, though, Clanirae’s hand leaves yours, and instead finds your face again. You open your eyes, carefully NOT looking at the corpse that was once a deer, or at the deadly weapon which did the deed. If the priestess judges you for it, it doesn’t show upon her features. Instead, she guides your gaze upwards with outstretched finger, up towards the moon-stone’s sacred place upon the top of the blocky mass of sacred stone.
At the apex, its glow brightens—invigorated anew by the offering, one assumes. It glows brighter than you have ever seen it glow without direct intervention by yourself and Clanirae at once. The waters of its sacramental bowl seem to slosh by the wobbling of the light, moving by mysterious currents until they overflow. The water doesn’t splash, however, but rather disperses like a luminous rain, down over the stones. The painted-on chalk white is washed away, revealing a richer and more lustrous light, and that same light seems to refresh and restore the clearing. Every patch of burnt or shredded glass seems to fill once more with green and vibrant life, and even the bloom with small, moon-white flowers—a field of stars to match the sky. You seem the same sort of restoration on the faces of all those present—their quiet sadness at the sacrifice or disturbance at your interruption washed away and replaced with a subtle euphoria.
Clanirae squeezes your hand, and shuts her eyes tight, grinning widely.
“Do you see?” she asks.
You feel… Nothing. You say nothing, either. You seek out your father, wondering if your human blood has denied you this experience, but even he seems overawed by the experience. Even MUFFINS sort of looks like he might be feeling this ecstasy, where he lurks a short distance away from proceedings.
What… What’s WRONG with you?
Before you can give voice to the wretched feeling alienation growing within you, Clanirae falls to her knees beside you, head bowed low. You are alarmed enough to forget your personal worries for a moment, but a moment later you understand what is happening, and develop all NEW worries—and hopes. A single beam of light ascends from the moon-stone into an empty patch of the sky where—somehow—you know the hidden face of Holy Luna gazes down. The blackness is briefly broken by a faint ring of white light and then, in another sudden flash that seems to ripple the air itself, he appears:
Miannie, Princess of the New Moon.
