Silent Figure

1.
​“How is it fair that, to learn the unspeakable, I must sacrifice my own voice?”
“In order to know the unknown, you must pay your debt.”
“How must I be deprived of my words? None is right and nor is it wrong. If knowing changes nothing, why seek knowledge at all?”
"Like a river does it creep, like a river does it flow. Years would pass and people change, but the true beauty of a prophecy never fades."

2.
Down away from the faraway mountains, where myths have faltered and ancient islands are long forgotten, Cassandra lives in the house of that ancient sun-god. Banished and unhappy, she lingers among the long abandoned. Each morning she awakes in the house where His followers received all his love, save for her. As the prime servant of the temple, she tends to the house.
When the song of the nightingale falters, she rises with the sun. In the pouring sunlight, she cleanses the room, little by little refilling the well.
Looking up from her early work, she reads the sun and continues her routine: first, the dust among the altars, then a meal for the worshippers. When the glamorous carriage rises from the mountains, she sits and waits for the words. Songs are sung, and life flows: O, the beauty she has never known. With mellow sunlight, they pour in, little by little entering her heart.
Anger, despair, power, and wars— all the chaos has she heard. Death takes life, and life outruns death. Fathers devour their heirs, and children murder their spouses. Those who see do not know, those who know do not speak, and those who speak do not see. 

3.
Sitting beside the empty amphora, she remembers Hestia: how the sand of life had left her, and how she was forgotten by the gods. She has never understood why the fair-haired goddess gave up her immortal life for the love of the hearth.
Lifting her white-dyed skirt, Cassandra cleanses the empty amphora at a nearby river. Clear water flows over shallow grass; a swallow glides down and leaves her a gift: a small leaf of forget-me-not. She holds the petals in her hand, lifts her fair, long arms, and places it beside her pearl-like ear.
Amid it all, Cassandra listens, hearing cries and sorrow. The silent meadow embraces them all. With gentle care, it sways with the breeze, cradling lives and cleansing her soul. How does it care? Silent and still as it always is, bringing comfort to all who linger.
Cassandra, Cassandra, you are still young.
Take the hearth and feel the pain; learn the silence of the house.
Cassandra smiles and raises her eyes. Years have passed, and the stars have fallen. Nothing matters but the words of life. Raising her cupped palms, little by little the sand returns.
Like a river does it creep, like a river does it flow. Years would pass and people change, but the true beauty of a prophecy never fades.