Winning Her Back
This light wasn’t a visitor, it was a resident, born from the depths, undeniable.
The storm intensified. Thunder cracked, closer now, shaking the old windowpanes. Lightning flashed, illuminating the studio in stark, blinding bursts, freezing the image of the glowing gold spreading across the blue, freezing me bent over the sacred table. Then, with a fizzle and a pop, the power died. Darkness plunged into the studio, thick and absolute, broken only by the erratic strobe of lightning and the angry blue glow of my phone screen where it lay charging.
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