Go West.

The smell of gardenias hangs heavy in a brightly lit room. The dust motes dance silently in the beams of sunshine that fall to the floor.

A barefoot woman walks in, towards the largest window, furthest from the west wall.

She methodically removes her dress, followed by her bra and panties. Clad now only in an antique pendant, she closes her eyes, points her body West, and begins to move. Her hips sway to a silent rythm, her small feet following steps uncharted by human history. She raises her hands, moving them in elaborate gestures towards the heavens. She begins to chant, barely a decibel above inaudible, words unutterable to most, unheard for a millennia.

She dances on, the oppressive heat brings a sheen of sweat to her skin, her fluid movements unencumbered by the humidity in the air around her.

One final flick of her wrist, followed by a final word, and the West wall is gone, replaced by a gaping black hole; a gateway.

She drops to her knees, and crawls on all fours towards the cavernous sacrificial altar of the long dead god she loves. As the darkness envelopes her, she finds there is peace in sacrifice, but no love.