Page 5 of Daughter of the Serpent

She stiffened, knowing they stood somewherein the crowd. Her mother and father, her brothers - those whom she had once called family. Though it was only her mother who seemed to care for her at all.

Had it really been a year since she had last seen her?

She had only memories of her mother from the first six years of her life before being sent to the temple for service. After that, their encounters had become few and far between. Forming attachments with children of the light was discouraged - especially with someone like her. Because of this, their meetings had occurred in secret, behind closed doors, shielded from prying ears and wagging tongues. It was only in those rare and treasured moments, stolen amidst the sea of time, did Sylvie experience the warmth of her mother's embrace, and could briefly recall the feeling of home.

The priest's voice bellowed, capturing her attention as the ceremony continued.

Presented with the golden chalice, his fingers dipped into the glittering vessel, using the blood to paint two lines of crimson down his left cheek down to his jaw, before commencing the same upon the first of the children before him.

He kneeled, cradling the child's head with his blood soaked hand, as his lips touched their forehead.

"The blood of the price paid. The kiss of the gods' mercy!"

The crowd's voices swelled, joining in a harmonious chorus.

Sylvie shivered.

She had once been where that child stood.

She too had felt the brush of evil’s lips upon rose blushed skin, corruptions stain upon the pure of soul.

“And now the flame of judgment must be consulted.” The high priest’s decree resonated throughout the hall, compelling the first young child to approach the altar before the gods, where a large open fire illuminated the ceremonial ground. The sacred flames twirled in a mesmerizing dance of red and white, their unnatural color shimmering and otherworldly. Casting his gaze upon the girl before him, the high priest nodded, "You must pass through the flame."

Sylvie held her breath.

Would the girl be deemed worthy? Or would she perish in front of all?

The gods, known for their steadfast judgments, demanded strength and virtue. Failure to meet these divine prerequisites meant the flame would deem her unworthy, reducing her to ash on the spot.

The girl stood before the flickering flame. Her face, framed with intricate braids, held a mixture of determination and fear as the other children positioned behind her, her hands fisting into her ceremonial robes.

The village held its collective breath, every eye fixed intently upon her.

Summoning courage, the girl bravely stepped forward, her feet hesitating for just a moment before venturing into the heart of the roaring blaze.

One step, then another, each seemingly lighter than the last.

As she emerged unscathed on the other side, a wave of relief washed over the crowd. Cheers erupted, and smiles of joy spread across the faces of the onlookers. The gods had deemed her worthy, and the energy of the village became palpable, filling the air with celebration.

Sylvie's shoulders dropped, her tense posture softening as a gentle smile replaced the lines of worry on her face.

The girl had lived.

Her gaze drifted, seeking out her family in the crowd. There, amid the sea of faces, she finally spotted her mother - her long, fire - kissed hair unmistakable. Though so near, the distance between them felt impossibly wide.

Sylvie’s breath caught.

Was this how she felt all those years ago when she had walked through, and came out unscathed?

Then, two small hands - rosy and delicate - rose from her mother’s breast, causing Sylvie to startle. Only then did she realize her mother was holding a child.

Last she had seen her, there had been no sign of pregnancy.

A wave of resentment rose, though she knew she had no right to it.

Life had moved on. She couldn’t begrudge her mother for doing the same.

She bit down on her cheek when her father stepped into view, an arm wrapped around her mother's waist, gazing down at the baby with tender affection. The years had left their mark on him - the lines around his eyes and mouth had deepened, as had his belly. Yet, the once - prominent vein that pulsed with stress on his forehead was gone, as if his worries had vanished with her absence all those years ago.

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