As Zoe began to walk down the stairs -- more float than walk, really -- Linana began to sing the true words of the Song of Becoming, words never spoken in any human tongue, words not spoken in a thousand years by any human lips. As she sang, multicolored runes poured from her lips, flying to Zoe, swirling around her former daughter.
Linana intellectually knew that this young woman had been her daughter, had been more dear to her than her own flesh; but those were memories devoid of warmth. Linana now had love only for her Master, and for the Shining Way. As the Herald, it was her Duty to bring forth the Songmistress in this slip of a girl, her gift to make it so.
As the runes danced around Zoe, the adolescent girl lifted off the ground, floating to stand before the Herald and her Master. Linana threw out both of her arms and cried, "Come forth, Zalaha, Songmistress of the Shining Way!"
The runes paused in their swirling, then embedded themselves in the girl's flesh. Light began to pour from her pores themselves.
Zoe's eyes were the first things to change as her body grew and aged. From the dark brown she'd inherited from her father, they rapidly faded to the color of ice on a clear day. The piercings that lined her nose, ears, and belly melted into her flesh. She shot up half a foot, her face maturing ten years as her breasts, hips, and butt fleshed out.
Her hair became a more natural black, and spilled down her shoulders and back. Her lips plumped and her eyes widened, her nose becoming more hawk-like than the pert shape it had held moments before.
Her clothes began to shift as well, her panties becoming a skirt and sandals like her former mother's. Her bra became identical to Linana's, and the gold that had disappeared into her flesh reappeared as a brooch in an intricate design embedded in the small of her neck.
The light dimmed and vanished. Her feet touched the floor. Zalaha bowed to her Master, and then to the Herald. "What do you will of me, O Herald?" Zalaha was Zalaha. She had always been Zalaha. The future and the present were bright. Glory to the Shining Way.
"Build me a Choir, Songmistress," Linana replied.
Zalaha bowed again to her lady, and then knelt upon the floor, her cascading black hair never stirring. She opened her mouth and as she sang the Song of Becoming, she built a Song of Making into it.
And her Choir heard her.
