“Those who covet the High Priestess don’t understand what a High Priestess is,” I say, working through something snagged inside.
“Go on,” Loki urges.
“A divine processor of nature, darkness, light, and life. The experiences of these, to hold the intuitive wisdom the ancestors held and carry forward that wisdom in the ways she is gifted to do so, from her very ancestry.”
“And?”
“Be a priestess, be a priest. There are traditions for these callings, laid out and exemplified. The High Priestess might step into tradition, but she firmly grounds herself in embodying boundaries and restraint, discipline where there is none or only a weak pouring of it. Liminality, her playground, but drawing the circle within that liminality is her call forward.”
“Why would anyone envy her, Loki? She should be mourned.”
“Why is that?”
“Because she’s been touched by too much darkness and light to be integrated into society. She’s cast out. She’s an outcast. A veiled one. A flickering flame fed by otherness.
“And no one actually desires to be the High Priestess. That’s why the reverence is there. It’s fear and respect, and a dropping off of that responsibility to someone formed to handle it with the Divine differently than everyone else. She’s carved out, gutted, and put back together again to hold so much unheld.”
He snaps and flicks a spark of fire at me. I let it burn and consume me to ashes.
“What am I?”
“You tell me.”
“A monster.”
“Beautiful slut love. Carnivorous whore. Curious dark. Gorgeous heart and well-imprinted, kneed one. Your every tear is made a rough diamond, grown from the ash and pressure of being too human than human.”
“Don’t worship me.”
“Let me.”
He licks his lips, the patience gone from his eyes, and I see Loki’s promise never to allow me to make myself a bastard of his ilk.
And I know he lies.
I wave my hand through his mirage and find him sitting silently in the shadows.
I sit beside him.
“I can’t save you from the mistakes you wish to make. I can guide you through your unmaking.”
“I will never believe your promises.”
“Fair.”
“Teach me. Please.”
He motions to my soot-covered feet peeking from beneath the hem of my dress. I realize I wore white to a funeral and laugh.
