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Meditation was difficult, but necessary.
Qiyana’s blood boiled too hot for such things; she was not so fiery as to forget what was necessary, what pieces would be put together to construct a brilliant puzzle. Her top lip drew taut over the bottom, water drew in soft circles when she focused, like ripples throughout the lake, like stones dropped against the skin. This was an effortless exercise, she had done greater feats before, a blade that lacked routine would grow dull even when it had once cut through steel.
It sang in gentle whispers, echos of every voice, like a choir beyond. She watched quietly, the way lines danced and bound together, the very structure of the world laid out beyond her gaze. It was only as it should’ve been, where she had been denied succession, life laid its forgiveness in her birthright. Her birthright. The very nature of the elements unmade for her. The Yun Tal spoke that it was something which belonged to every Ixtali, it was what set them apart, but who among them could speak as Qiyana could? Who among them watched and witnessed how it set lines in the sand, flickering like gold in the details of her eyes, how they begged for her will to shatter them.
Why wouldn’t she oblige? So few things asked properly.
The pond stirred violently, flakes of ice scattered along the skim surface as Qiyana clenched her fist tightly. Controlled, like every detail, she watched the lines in the air dance and sing a sharp song of freezing. The sun blistered in the sky above and yet, when Qiyana demanded ice, she was granted it. She wondered why it couldn’t all be this easy, why they didn’t tire of being proven wrong, why they didn’t tire of being told properly. She would complain less about the need to show her greatness, if it meant anything when it was so clear.
Her fist eased and it broke apart gently, silent and still all at once. But still singing, still singing. She dragged a few fingers against her jaw and felt sweat begin to bead on her skin. Her own flesh bore a song of salted water like that of oceans. Her own breath a chorus like breezes through the jungle. Qiyana swallowed tightly, teeth clenched like she intended to break the bones against one another. Lines frayed just at the edges, she could feel the stone beneath her tremble like it was in fear of her wrath. More things should’ve done such, sometimes when Qiyana spoke, she could hear the very water in their blood quiver with the threat of her power.
Meditation was a necessity.
She rose carefully on poised legs, taking just a second to drag a hand against her thigh to brush away any dust which might’ve settled on the dark fabric. A single strip of her dress caught light in a way that no other cloth could’ve, in some cruel fashion, it reminded her of her place. White hair billowed softly in curls against tanned shoulders, she brushed it back and her chest swelled with a deep breath.
For those who were not Qiyana.