Blind Arol

The priestess crouched on the black stone behind the curtains. Her hands moved through a squat pink tongue of fire she could not see. It did not burn her. Sullen night held sway outside of the temple walls but Arol did not care. Blazing sunlight or moonless dark, it was all the same to her.


Without removing her focus from the Hya flame, she spoke, “What do you want?”


Only a beast’s eyes could have made out the intruder’s form. Very few ears besides Arol’s would have marked his jungle cat tread.


“I wish to give you sight.” Said the man. His voice held the polished accent of the Capital’s citizens.


Arol wove her flame, “Only the god can give sight.”


“So it is said,” said the man. He pushed aside a transluscent black curtain to stand before the embers, “But tell me, Arol, what would you give to be able to see? To know color and intangible shape?” He knelt and plunged his own hand into the fire’s heart, which spurted blue in response, “To know light?”


Arol brought her palms down on top of the embers and the fire vanished without smoke. Darkness, nearly as deep as blindness, smothered the temple.


“Perhaps for this,” said the stranger, “you would offer even your soul.”