Violante planned to perform the familiar centuries-old ceremony. As the decades passed she found the ritual was becoming harder to complete. It wasn’t the ritual itself, but the preparation that taxed her. Things were easier in earlier times, technology and progress impeded her ability to make the ritual work.
She sighed wishing for simplicity, the old times and her sister’s comradery. They had become as rare as the magical walnut tree. Now, she worked alone. The night arrived, and she and her pets walked the moonlight path.
Under the walnut she felt the power it held and said the ancient chants, clouds gathered, and the old gods walked with her. They anointed Violante with oil, released the frail body that cursed her existence, raised her in the rays of a new sun. The transformation complete, the physical link to her life severed, she stepped into her new beginning.
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer