Slowly, the golden disc of the sun broke over the hazy greens and blues of the horizon. Light filled the world, clear and strong, spearing right for us. Ianthe’s back arched, her body a mere vessel for the solstice’s light to fill, and what I could see of her face was already limned in pious ecstasy. The sun rose, a held, gilded note echoing through the land. The crowd began to murmur. Then cry out. Not at Ianthe. But at me. At me, resplendent and pure in white, beginning to glow with the light of day as the sun’s path flowed directly over me instead.
