She knows the answer would be in his eyes.
Amid the frenzied rapture of the crowd’s roar, she harkens to the still small voice.
Incense and sweat clog her nostrils. The masses surge forward, eager, anticipating his passing; thrusting babies to the fore, baptising them in the waves of hysteria. They press against her, the impersonal contact of strangers, buffeting her, more urgent, rougher than the lover’s gentle embrace she would never know.
If it is him, she will save mankind.
She must look.
He is close. The red shoes stride up the aisle, the triregnum bobs. TV lights glint off the Fisherman’s ring as it dispenses blessings. She searches for certainty, but heavy lids guard his soul’s windows. Does dragon fire lie shrouded beneath those towering brows?
She calls to him.
He turns, smiling, his eyes widening.
She sees, and knows.
Calmly, serenely, she delivers her judgement.
This story was written for Angela Goff's Visual Dare prompt 'Waiting'