So she stayed. Anela did too. Despite the impending night, and the crickets already troubling the silver chord of their secret harps, she remained. She could have left, standing with a polite word of thanks, and walk out of the shrine, but there was a strength in the warrior, a magnetic presence that pulled Anela, and made her desire more.

She stood straight against the chair back at first. A smile crossed her face, and her hand waved across the sea of hair flowing onto her shoulders. Soon she found herself gazing with lust at the lips of the Goddess, her chin resting on the crossed fingers, and her legs crossed too, with her right foot waving nervously under the table.

Anela wanted adventure. She wanted the adventures that this woman had. She wanted to feel the passion of the fight, the fear of the flight. She wanted to see a dragon, a real one, and not the beast invented to exact more taxes from the uneducated. 

To live a life of pleasures, that had been exciting. But the purpose of it faded in the very face of Cecilia’s dedication. One may have a thousand lovers, but their heart turns when the pleasure ends. One may save a thousand lives, and live in their memories forever, beloved. Maybe not forever, Anela thought, if this self-appointed goddess had been forgotten. 

“And then what did you do? Did you do something regretful? How comes that they forgot about you after all that you did for them? Is the heart of men really so ungrateful?” exclaimed Anela, with a motion of her hand.