She descends the white stairs dressed in rags and barefoot. Her hair unkempt, Her face dirty and bereft. Her eyes they do scream hunger, Her hands they do tremble.

For She is Poverty and perfect in every way.


She descends the white stairs holding a sword and sheaf of corn. Blinding the ignorant, fallen dumbstruck before Her. A body drops slain, a maiden with child.

For She is Justice and perfect in every way.


She reaches the heavens and brings them to us. She grows the wild green, She embraces our need. We eat an abundance, and dance to Her mercy.

For She is Nature and perfect in every way.


She descends the white stairs, perfumed and adored. She makes the men whirl, the women a-whore. She brings us enjoyment, She brings us delight.

For She is Lust and perfect in every way.


She walks among the hags, in the deepest of night. She dresses in white, her footsteps a-light. She taketh the old, She taketh the new.

For She is Death and perfect in every way.

Sakrisan II, The Hymn of the first Five Blessings


My formal title is Sakrisan IX, E-Azad-kutu-ana is my name. I am the ninth life to have served Her in total. I am Her hands when she walks the lands, for Her touch alone enough for the bearer to die in terrible ecstasy.

Like all the previous eight Sakrisans, I am the Keeper, Scholar, Poet and Priest of She. As you can see, Sakrisan II, whose name corresponded to E-Pad-hu-ana was not the most eloquent or skilled with word. I find him most indelicate! However, the Sisters adore his hymns and She is most pleased by them. Perhaps I can write as E-Pad-hu-ana did, but I prefer tales of excitement and ardour.

I serve within Her temple. Attending the needs of the people, bringing them before Her. Tending to Her every need. My work is arduous and invokes all my passions. But I am most zealous in my duties, for there is nothing more important than She. Without Her, we would return to the nothingness. For She is Love and perfect in every way.

Tonight begins the Festival of Stars, to mourn a love lost to She. People from all over the plateau and valley will descend upon the temple bearing bright torches. Their faces will be wet from the tears of the broken heart. When the moon is highest in the sky, our hearts will be empty as one. Drained with the unbearable pain of loss. It is a most beautiful spectacle and I invite you to attend. Wear simple clothing, bring an open heart.

For She is Pain and perfect in every way.

Sakrisan IX, humble servant of She.

To Chapter Four – Delah