The guests were gathered and how could she refuse their smiling insistence?
In the distance their voices were a stir of excited echoes, trembling in wait amid effigies of their pleased patron.
It was the excitement of sacrament, of ritual and of the gluttonous festivities that were soon to arrive.
She was honored guest to them and without her, no rite could begin… no celebration could commence.
Climbing stairs of flowing crimson and cool grey, a river of fabric cascading over the earth's bared bones and she couldn't recall how she'd come to be there.
A guided hand gracing rail and escort's arm with equal amounts of hazy acceptance and swaying steps only to clutch and grasp when the world buckled beneath bared foot.
So much left unsaid when her feeble words were discarded among cobwebbed corners or cradled by fallen petals and sprinkled with pungent incense.
The sense of the evening's importance was a curtain of gauze wrapped tenderly over her every sense.
Importance, need, desire, hunger, love, adoration.
A poured picture with crinkled edges, a slipping dreamscape that scraped the inside of her skull for every errant thought that might have once been.
Fluid were the colors splashed over every wall and pooled over flagstone floor. Left to stain all those who tread there amid the smoke of sighed breath and careless whisper.
Her arrival was the spark, the ceremonial flame then laid to its bed of coals awaiting the sacrificial lamb.
Ripples from her every motion begot reaction from the guests, helpful hands taking away her ability to stand and guiding her to rest.
Others began to set their offerings upon the prepared tables wrapped in linen used only for this occasion.
Fruits with their protective layers peeled away beneath eager hands, baked things drenched in the sweet and savory, piled in baskets or wrapped lovingly in ornate cloths, were readied for the edge of a sharp knife.
Empty plates and empty glasses passed through eager hands over tables whose covers would swallow all trace of where she'd been.
White would turn red, pink would pale and then fall away against their lips... and she would spread herself thin to the final drop.
They would drink her liquid courage and taste what it was to live as she had.
Citrus flesh would chase headier flavors down dark throats and all that she was would flee as rabbits do before the jaws of wolves.
Center piece and honored guest drained down and toasted, spilling over brim and on to the crisp white folds of dabbing napkins.
To health and to joy the toasts chimed, a cacophony of chatter and appreciative inhalation snatching scents from the generous air.
Succulent meat blazing to perfection over angry red coals, perfuming each breath with a lick of pepper and exotic spices roasting down until it was ready to be sucked from even the tiniest of bones.
The guest of honor carved, the clatter of platters now steaming, were handed down to each waiting hunger bent over laden table.
She would linger but not remain, a naked lamb remembered in passing pleasantries when those of revile were wont to gather once more.
They who had a taste for this, a taste for flesh.
And an invitation for Namira's sacred feast.
Happy upcoming Halloween everyone, please review and thank you kindly for reading.