I met a traveller from an antique land...

Masika was in a complete moment of utter awe. Everything around her was perfectly coloured in as though it were a drawing that had not once went over the lines. Even the smell seemed as though it were perfume lingering just around her body enough to make her want to taste the air. It smelt of freshly cut barley and ripened pomegranates – just like a summers evening. But part of her knew that she did not belong here.

She shook the feeling of nostalgia from her body.

"Are you a traveller, dear?" a soft voice asked behind her.

Masika was startled and jumped around. The lady was old, her skin on the brink of turning into caramel leather and her hair growing wispily with age.

"Of sorts," Masika replied cautiously, eyeing the woman. Her eyes were bright azure – neither like a demon's eyes nor like someone fake. This person looked real as she stumbled towards her using an old wooden cane to assist her frail legs. Masika couldn't help but think of the sky every time she glanced at the lady's eyes. She thought of Nut and the loneliness of the Gods. In here, it was lonely too.

Would this lady think the same? Masika wondered, Are the Sky and the Underworld so different? Or is solitude all the same?

"Have you been here before?" the lady asked, pulling Masika from her mind. The young girl studied the woman. Her appearance would falter every now and then as though the wind was going straight through the woman's body.

Who said—"Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. . . .

"I am afraid not," Masika said softly, "Perhaps you will show me which way to go?"

"Only the Gods can do that, or yourself," the old lady added and hobbled along the path. Masika felt a warm breeze blow over her body. The Gods and humans were once again compared in her mind. Masika was so busy staring that she missed the lady's small smile. In the distance, Masika could see tall trees reaching into the sky and glistening golden heads of wheat swaying delicately and then, just beyond the horizon, a statue. It reminded her of the ones back in Egypt, although the one that was here had fallen. She couldn't let the old lady get away without a few questions. Masika no longer wished to question or pray to Nut – she was quite capable of taking care of herself. She wanted to prove that humans could be powerful too.

"Excuse me," Masika ran a few paces to catch up to the lady, "Would you mind telling me what the statue upon the horizon is?"

Near them, on the sand, Half sunk a shattered visage lies,

"You are a rather curious traveller," the old dame chuckled thoughtfully, "But if you must know it is of an old King, one that is no longer believed or in existence."

"So his statute has crumbled?" Masika asked.

"It would appear so,"

Masika allowed the lady to hobble ahead while she stared at the statue again. She couldn't see much as the sandstone blended into the perfectly cultivated crop but she could imagine what it would look like – much like she did when she imagined herself to be in the sky. The man had once been powerful, now his statue was crumbled on the ground and disregarded by all those who had thought of him. The chunks of sandstone carelessly lay under overgrown weeds. Masika couldn't feel anything of significance – all she could feel was abandonment.

whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

"Why did they forget him?" Masika called and ran, again, to catch up.

"They didn't, they stopped believing. He rarely gave anything in return for their worship, so they stopped believing and he faded," she heaved a hideous cough, one that rattled her lungs and Masika held her breath as the woman recovered, "Belief is capable of creating but without it, belief destroys."

The woman came upon a chair and rested her fragile body on the wooden boards, "You look like my daughter," she said suddenly, "Tell me, do you dance?"

Masika eyed the lady again, her mind rushing with everything the old woman was saying but it suddenly halted and it became clear. If she danced then she would think clearly and if she danced then she would know the way out.

"Yes," Masika murmured.

"My daughter danced for them too," the lady whispered thoughtfully with a frown.

Masika extended her body until she was on her toes and began spinning slightly on the tips. She could already feel the confusion washing away. Like she had in the House of Rest, Masika demanded to be seen with her movements. She lifted her leg higher as she spun and lifted it gracefully as she arched her back.

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

She could imagine the old lady's daughter dancing for the broken statue like Masika danced for Nut. The dancer was beautiful, each twirl executed with as much harshness and softness as her mother. She could imagine when the people stopped their festivals and the loneliness gnawed away at the statue's grandeur. Masika slowed her body down until both her feet were on the ground. Her head should have been spinning but it wasn't – she could think clear again without the distraction of the beauty around her. All the gifts that they gave to the Gods and all the power that they sacrificed were poured into lifeless temples and statues by artists who paid tribute to the Gods through their creations. Masika liked to believe that the Gods would always share their power but she knew it was rarely the case. Masika believed that the Gods liked to be worshipped because they were lonely – after exploring her way through this world with nothing but her will to dance and survive pushing her through each chapter she felt somewhat odd. Nothing would ever be the same.

The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed; And on the pedestal, these words appear:

Masika could remember times when there was no food or no rain and she had prayed ceaselessly with no answer from the Gods. Time that could have been better spent searching for edibles or planting more seeds. Beings were capable of owning power but it just wasn't lonely. She remembered hoping that the people would build a temple for her – her glorious skills of dancing would earn her riches that could not be dreamed of but she had never considered that she would be lonely. The hand that held power – the power of Gods – was connected to a heart that yearned worship. But Masika's hand was connected to a heart that worked hard. Her mother's was one that had power, people watched her in awe and not the Gods.

Would they remember mother when she is gone? Masika thought. She knew the answer but did not say it. There would be no statue or artist that would glorify a dancer. They would only build for the Gods to give them power and fill the hole that loneliness caused.

My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings; Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!

But the Gods would claim it as their work. Humans gave up ownership to empower and gain gifts from the Gods. Nature, Masika knew, required nothing. Nature only treasured the water you gave it. Nature could tear buildings down and gain admiration for nothing but its sheer beauty.

Nature is the only thing that matches Gods, Masika thought to herself, I can be nature but I cannot be a God.

She played with the words in her head as she carelessly dirtied her feed in the soft grains of sand. Her fingers tangled themselves into her shawl and her eyes took in every detail of the new place. This was perfection. And she was perhaps the only thing inside that wasn't. If nature matched the Gods then both were perfect but she knew that sometimes the Gods were not. Ra couldn't make the sun rise and Nut left her in the dark. Was it possible that too many people had stopped believing? Masika wondered if the statues and temples back in Egypt had fallen as a result.

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare

It was a difficult thing for a child to grasp; to find a belief and to find faith and power within oneself. In the Underworld, the statue was no more. A fault in belief itself had taken away the memory and the gifts to the King that now ceased to exist. But that wasn't considered a power to Masika, perhaps she wasn't fully considering the idea of it. She once again thought of the statue on the horizon, the one that seemed no closer than it was when she arrived. The weeds were the only thing that thrived around its downfall, nothing but the bare yellow sand and occasional wisp of dead grass remained.

The lone and level sands stretch far away."

She came back to herself until she could only see the old lady ahead on the path. They were the only humans for miles, the only things of imperfection in this world and the things that didn't quite belong. The lady's black shawl covered her hunched back and, as Masika got closer, she noticed that the lady was no longer moving.

"Are you a traveller, dear?" her soft voice asked from in front of her.

Masika remembered the question and changed her answer, "Yes. I am."

"My daughter married a traveller," she said wishfully and her body began to fade, "I used to sing to her about the trees and the wind but now she spends her time dancing for the Gods."

"Maybe she doesn't dance for the Gods," Masika said quickly as the person before her began to vanish like she was mist being eaten away by the heat.

"Who else would she dance for?" the woman murmured, her voice too began to fade.

"Herself." Masika replied in a whisper because the lady was already gone. She was alone again. She was lonely like a God but powerful like nature. She wasn't sure whether she would continue or not – to save Ra. But there was always a part of her that believed that everything, whether God or human, had a good cause and everyone deserved to be saved. And that was a choice that she would make all by herself.