Work Text:
Angelina took in a deep breath, placing her small straw effigy, a miniature figurine of a woman with a scrap of fabric as a scarf over her head and face, onto the stack before her. She was surrounded by her fellows, the people of Portvale, who all performed the action in their own ways, but the ritual remained familiar.
Each of their own creations was dwarfed by a large figure, a scarecrow dressed to mimic their Lady, wearing her scarf that covered her form, and half of her face. A section of her afro was created from straw, along with a stone eye were all that was visible of the form of their Lady.
They performed this ritual, their ritual, every Wednesday, the one day that their Lady did not stay in the village, but rather left them. She visited her beloved, the other side of their worship, the human worker who represented them all, equally cherished within their Lady’s world.
As the blaze caught alight, the chanting began. A soft sound that started as a whisper and grew into a storm, raging through the village like a stampede, swelling with the voices of the faithful. Nature herself bowed to the song of their Lady.
Smiling, Angelina wondered whether their Lady could hear them while she was away, hear them singing for her while she stayed with her beloved, her own Lady.