Alone in her mother’s alcove, now window warmed by late-afternoon’s sun, AIYANA with care, alike reverence, arranges her mother’s sacred garment, ritual jewelry and priestly rings, each in a species of ceremony, and here in dressing we witness the transfiguration of a common village girl into a high and splendid priestess. KUBABA quietly behind, toward AIYANA enters, observes all with a gaze sweetly-sad. KUBABA: I recall when last she assumed the goddess’ mantel. AIYANA: As do I, father. KUBABA: Seems that I see her now. AIYANA: If only that were so.