Tell me again, that story I am not meant to know

The imperfect history, the missing pieces

The incomplete inscription and defaced monuments

She who is lost to time, whose name is whispered in passing

She of the many motives, She of the furtive glance

Take me to where her cult meets, teach me her rites

Say her name to my face like an incantation, tell me how the people loved her

The one whose temple I stand in, judged and found wanting

Memories like offerings left at my feet, a golden age long gone

A rare glimpse, a pottery shard

Tell me the very truth of it all

Start at the beginning

“I was their witness.”