The work goes quickly, this preparation of the woman's cast-off shell. A washing of the corpse, a brief search for suitable clothing proves fruitless... but the sheets will do, wound about the Siddha as if a sari. The sheets need burning any way. They bear too many traces of the life-that-was. There is almost nothing of her here in this place... she had prepared well for her death, almost too well. It is a challenge to find what I need for the rite.

No flowers.... From folded scraps of paper they bloom from my fingertips, a working that comes nearly as natural as breathing now, the struggle to master it hard to believe as garlands weave themselves beneath my hands, annointing the corpse with their fragrance. Neither is there gold to be found, so this too I must make for myself, crumbling a bone to powder. My will transforms it into shining gold, which blown from my palms dusts the pallid face. I have no sandlewood... have found none, and Beatrice seems too distraught to send. Kim has left. This too, I form from my will, from another portion of ground bone stirred in water. The fragrant incense wafts into the air as I make the sacred words upon her brow.

With a clarity of thought (whence came this clarity???), I whisper prayers to Kali, to take up my unnamed sister again and cause her rebirth into a new life... to Agni, so that the flames burn pure and true. I feel... buoyed, elated... even joyful. If only Beatrice could understand... there is nothing to be mourned here: no loss, no destruction, no ending. As I murmur the soft invokations, I lay within the Chakravanti's hands the tools of our magick, a knife found in the kitchen and bones drawn from my own precious store.

As I lift my arms to begin the last stage of the rite, a feeling of incompleteness comes over me as I gaze upon that still face. A disparagement between the form that lays before me now, and how she seemed in the moment of her passing. In haste, before my own vanity or Beatrice, can be summoned to halt me, I shear off the length of my blonde hair with my own dagger, tucking and arranging the locks around the poor shorn head of my sister, a gesture to honor she, though facing her own death, possessed serenity and wisdom beyond my own paltry store, and handed me the key to release myself from this shadowy realm.

A single fold to the 'sari', and I raise my hands again, imploring the aid of Indra, so that the body may be lifted from the earth, and Agni, so that it might be encased in the flames of purification. I must have a care, in this place, so that the flames produce no smoke, so that they do not consume more than what is intended. My whispered mantra rises with my concentration, my sister's abandoned husk rising into the air. I can only imagine how this will look to Beatrice... my eyes pressed shut, I see it all within my mind, as with a single gesture the levitating form ignites into a burst of flame.

Ashes swirl from the fire... these as well I see, though sightless, guiding them to the prepared vessel, one I nearly cringe to use, but had no time to unearth more then an emptied jar. It will not matter, I tell myself, schooling my attendence to the fire, burning it hot. I feel the heat upon my face, the intensity of it, and modulate its effects under my Will, until there is nothing but ashes.