Nothing was foreseen.

All was imminent.

—Eunice Odio, The Fire’s Journey

The only thing left was to discover,

to fall into the purest, swiftest accents;

only the warmth of the World to be born perfect;

so that henceforth the ascension

could be a true and visible act.

What voice, what damp cup

would hold the sound of her heart?

—Eunice Odio, The Fire’s Journey