"Hail thee Bethsheba, Goddess of Purity and Light. Glorify my night skies, reap my bountiful beauty, take me to the inner sanctum of thine holiness. Protect me from the rath of Delimar, God of Darkness and Sin. Let him not taint my sacred right, my virgin choice to walk the path of self-sacrifice. Blessed be thee who protects the female holy chalice of abstainance. Blessed be thee who casts the clouds and shadows away. Blessed be thee who lights my way."
The power pulsed and throbbed within her as the sky danced in terror. She was sure she could hear a growl of frustration echoing in the rumbling roar of wind and thunder.The demon God Delimar was not happy with this unexpected turn of things. He did not like being thwarted by a mere mortal, even one whose family encompassed the pagan cult of Bathynderin and had done for thirteen generations. Kali allowed the blood of her elders to quicken its flow through her veins, driven by her racing heart. She was the thirteenth child of the thirteenth child of the thirteenth generation. Twelve times had this been cast before, twelve times had the thirteenth daughter stood here and cast her chant to the billowing wind and wild skies. Each time a life partner had been sent to perpetuate the cycle, the forever men revealed to them in passion on a tempetuous eve.
Kali knew it was written in the prodigy book that she would be the one. That the power of the bloods would blend and produce one divine chosen vessel for the Goddess to reveal her Earthly visage to. The thirteenth of the thirteenth of the thirteenth generation. Delimar once again snarled his displeasure.
"Oh Bethsheba, Goddess of Purity and Light. Light my path.Cast back the darkness and allow me to see thee in thy chosen form. Anoint me as thy pre-ordained priestess, forever to stand by your side as your earthly guide. Illuminate the way to self-preservation and immortality. Defy the ties of hatred and darkness the wicked God Delimar yearns to bind you with. Send me the LIGHT!"
Upon this last proclamation an unearthly flash surrounded the thirteenth daughter of the thirteenth daughter in this the thirteenth generation of the pagan cult of Bathynderin. The heavens opened and the fields ran awash with cleansing rain. But of the chosen child there was no sign; nothing to show where she had stood arms outstretched only seconds before. Nothing bar a pair of small smouldering half moons of metal inside a circle of the lightening scorched earth.
Steam arose in sibulant sulking protest as the downpour hit the burning, glowering heat of the halved rings, then the earth resonated once more with a menacing manifest:
"Stupid mortal. Just one more annoying little storm in a B-cup. Mwahahahahahahaha..."
Apologies, forgot explanation and links: Original brainchild of Melissa, the now aptly named Muse Wars was to inspire anyone who was struggling with a missing muse to write again. Challenge is a picture is chosen, you have around 48 hours to write what it inspires, around the 500 word mark. Whoever adds their link first chooses next challenge.