She was different. Faded clothes hung to a shapely body and scratched used roller skates adorned swayed small feet as she sang. She was different. As if born from the gods themselves, midnight assaulted her back in waves while day clashed in her eyes. She was different. And to think she was famously known around these shadowed parts, it almost seemed like a dream.

She sways in her garden, surrounded by light. Waiting for her lover to capture her once again like long ago. She waits for him, singing her song. Her Priestess song.