Written 11 September 2017.

We looked at ourselves in the full-length mirror, thinking the same thing: our bodies emulated our positions better than our robes. My many braids sparkled with the gold beads threaded in them, shining out of the black. The sun painted on my forehead stood out on my gray-tinted skin. My role was seen as the embodiment of life and power, but I hated it. It was my prison.

Conversely, his wavy blond hair that shone like sunbeams were broken with several raven’s feathers, and the silver crescent painted on his collarbone shimmered against his olive skin. His power was death, a reminder of mortality and of things lost. But he was a way to reconnect with passed loved ones, and I yearned for the peace in his ocean-colored eyes.

I envied him, but I did not begrudge him his happiness and, given the choice, I would not switch roles. I was given the power to channel the divines because I could handle it, and I was placed with him because he could make me happier. We complimented each other, and sat beside one another at the foot of the throne. We were equally powerful, and equally vulnerable.

I was surprised by the realization that here was a man I could share myself with. One who would neither worship nor fear my power. We understood each other. I met his eyes, and saw he had come to the same conclusion.

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