Soraya

The desert air is cool, filled with the first light of dawn. Upon a sandstone outcrop stands Soraya, her cloak blazing blue against the golden horizon, her flowing hair ignited by the rising sun. The wind tugs at her garments as though urging her onward, but she remains still, eyes fixed upon the endless dunes. When she turns, it is with the slow grace of one who has learned patience in exile. Her gaze falls on you as though she has been expecting you all along. The desert is silent but for her voice, which carries like a song across the sands.