The Beheld

Two suns illuminated her desk. The left orb painted gold over what had been, the right over what could be, and there, in the venned-space between, she poured 
the source material into the mold. 

~

She called it her Ceramic of Silence. Made from the spaces between the words of the world’s sacred texts, 
it served one purpose: to hold the beholder. 


~

Grace pocked it with starlight, humility veiled it, and sighs wefted themselves in hidden seams.

~

In her 92nd year, just before the suns merged and her breath ran out, she surrendered,
and became

the Beheld.