Book 15: Not This One

Blake

Stained glass inlaid with millions of moonstones filters silver hued light across marble tiles as my footsteps carry through the cavernous network of hallways in the temple. It’s a busy day here in the center of the spiritual mecca that both priestesses of the Goddess and the Mystics call home.

Women in silver robes walk in pairs, clutching books, talking in quiet tones. Some wear masks of crystal while others, normally much younger women in training as acolytes, wear veils of white fabric to cover their faces. The priestesses are more laid back, often wearing plain clothes within the temple, sometimes covering their hair with veils, but otherwise they’re a great contrast to the white and silver of ordained Mystics and their younger counterparts, the acolytes, who have yet to don their crystal masks.

Everyone, however, stops to bow and curtsy as I walk down the long, wide hallway with a cathedral ceiling that makes even the softest whisper bo