She took herself onto the cliff each morning. Obedient. Observant. Obeisant.
Obscure as her faith seemed to those who did not understand, she nonetheless kept fast to her beliefs. To her practice. Those who shook their head did so due to limits in their vision. Their blindness did not diminish the veracity of what was, to her, as real as the rock she sat on.
She did not belittle other people’s inability.
As she wished they did not deride what they declared her “foolishness.”
To her, it was a line she drew. Of kindness. Or on harder days, of patience.
A mirror to the line that stretched across the water to reflect the passage of the Glories. The empyrean beings that took pain to skim the water in her favor.
In all their favor.
From the monsters of the deep.
The ones she knew. The one she’d seen.
For Crispina‘s Crimson’s Creative Challenge
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