It was an ancient and barbaric ritual, and it befitted the people. A nation in decay, desperate to resurrect their former glory while arrogantly turning a blind eye on all that had brought them to their knees. Perhaps it was a success, responsible for their one last brilliant flash in the chronicles. Perhaps it was a judgment, insuring their demise. Or, perhaps, it was nothing more than a memory, a meaningless act that held no power over fate, a coincidence in time and place. Whatever you believe, it cannot be denied that an unprecedented reaction was followed by unprecedented results, or that the sons of the final lady sealed the tomb on the once dauntless Power.
The Hall of Winter Rites seemed to be carved of pure white marble. A crystalline blue painted window allowed the sharp winter light to flood the center of the circular chamber while the vaulted ceiling was supported by twelve plain white pillars, a direct contrast to the ornate designs found throughout the rest of the palace. A simple yet elegant marble tub rose out of the center of the floor and was surrounded by twelve brass pots. At the foot of every column and at the head of the tub were stationed glass braziers. Within the tub, snow of the First True Fall floated within its own melting, a clear channel between the remaining ice and the marble. It was time.
Twelve maidens, all born on the winter solstice, of eighteen to twenty-four years of age, chosen for beauty and mind and spirit, each gathered a pot to be filled with fresh snow before being led to the ante-chamber. They were dressed in flowing gowns of an identical cut and make that ranged from solid white to truly sheer and given to drink the Wine of Awakening while the priests wearing the dark robes of Winter Rites completed preparations in the Hall. Six of the pots they boiled, covered, and set in waiting. Twelve guards, dressed only in white cloths wrapped about their waists and carrying only ceremonial spears with dull heads, filed in, lighting the braziers as they took their positions at each pillar.
As the Master lit the final brazier, the maidens drifted into the Hall. Each had spent hours massaging the marble tub with the Oils of Receiving since the night of the First Frost, and now that all had been prepared, the first to take notice of and desire the bath would become the Winter Lady. The priests were prepared to wait for hours, perhaps through the night, though only the Master had witnessed the Rites of Conception once performed. Twenty years the predecessor had aged, and ten he had reigned when the winter wind blew across the harvest and called for the Lady with a First Frost matched by none other remembered followed by a First
The Hall of Winter Rites seemed to be carved of pure white marble. A crystalline blue painted window allowed the sharp winter light to flood the center of the circular chamber while the vaulted ceiling was supported by twelve plain white pillars, a direct contrast to the ornate designs found throughout the rest of the palace. A simple yet elegant marble tub rose out of the center of the floor and was surrounded by twelve brass pots. At the foot of every column and at the head of the tub were stationed glass braziers. Within the tub, snow of the First True Fall floated within its own melting, a clear channel between the remaining ice and the marble. It was time.
Twelve maidens, all born on the winter solstice, of eighteen to twenty-four years of age, chosen for beauty and mind and spirit, each gathered a pot to be filled with fresh snow before being led to the ante-chamber. They were dressed in flowing gowns of an identical cut and make that ranged from solid white to truly sheer and given to drink the Wine of Awakening while the priests wearing the dark robes of Winter Rites completed preparations in the Hall. Six of the pots they boiled, covered, and set in waiting. Twelve guards, dressed only in white cloths wrapped about their waists and carrying only ceremonial spears with dull heads, filed in, lighting the braziers as they took their positions at each pillar.
As the Master lit the final brazier, the maidens drifted into the Hall. Each had spent hours massaging the marble tub with the Oils of Receiving since the night of the First Frost, and now that all had been prepared, the first to take notice of and desire the bath would become the Winter Lady. The priests were prepared to wait for hours, perhaps through the night, though only the Master had witnessed the Rites of Conception once performed. Twenty years the predecessor had aged, and ten he had reigned when the winter wind blew across the harvest and called for the Lady with a First Frost matched by none other remembered followed by a First
