SIDEREAL PRIMORDIAL SHIFT
“An hour, once it lodges in the queer element of the human spirit, may be stretched to fifty or a hundred times its clock length.” Virginia Woolf
The Oracle of the Peak lay prone on the rocky outcrop. Her eyes feasted on the return of the Goddess, Alcyeyx. She noticed the division of the one, eyebrows raised but quickly pulled back, an involuntary shrug eased almost made her chuckle. To her, the contexts of the different body’s alignments, posturing, tones, placements, drew one correlation. This was an entity in complete and utter thrall to itself, no matter the form(s) it took.
Prophecy brought her to the ruins of Janiculum. This Oracle, the great-great granddaughter of she who fled The Ice Leveling, gathered the herbs she’d need, the homemade tools of her wooden pestle and bowl, and “borrowed” the sacred knife from the Temple of Alcyeyx. It was a trek that took its toll on her twenty-six ans. Hunger was continuously nibbling away at her resolve. Fasting before she left was not ideal. The Priestess had pleaded with her to stay. The Oracle would not heed any deterring words.
The quarreling below limped to an end as night began its saturation of the sky and land. She prayed herself to sleep, hearing sounds far different than the bellowing of the day. It was a lull as the Goddess lay calm in her mind. The Oracle slept through the remaking of Janiculum. Alcyeyx turned back the ruins piece by stone, tile by oiled skins, foundations secure, thick and sturdy Oak. The Gates of Prógramma Spoudón stood golden and tall. The dawn light showered the gates, which spread its diffused luster over the reborn city.
Janiculum was as it was, as it always should be. Z and V left the vaulted walls of the city hand in hand. Breathing in the air they did not need, they nestled down on to of the freshly misted grass. Their love making woke The Oracle, who had been paralyzed atop the mountain hand. Her mind had been screaming over and again to find true waking, but she was caught on the tines of fear.
The Oracle of the Peak needed the liquid tincture of ashwagandha. Her shaking subsided as her teeth stopped its grinding. She spat out diluted blood from the lacerations of the night terror. It took a short while for The Oracle’s breathing to relax and her head to stop twirling. Rising, Her eyes first went to the Goddess, but a strong reflected sun beam drew all of her attention. Dropping to her knees, scrapping flesh on the harsh rock surface, The Oracle was transfixed by the reality of Janiculum restored.
A roiling blast of primal anger fell. The Oracle almost tumbled off the outcrop. She wished she had. Yet, she knew it was not her fate in the balance. She screamed for the Goddess, she screamed for the city, she screamed as the Peak shed tears of rocks.
The prophecy. The Oracle held back, but
Khronos walked the land.