Think of Chantico, She Who Dwells in the House, as you return again to the dim little room you now share with no one.
Think of her tending the fires, hearing the warriors' prayers said to dying flames, and giving them the hope of returning to their own hearths, as you sweep up more ashes every day.
Think of her poisonous cactus crown and her tongue of fire, scourging those who would take her treasures, as the truth dims the luster of your dearest pearls.
Think of her eating paprika in spite of Tonacatecuhtli, and receiving his wrath for the sake of a flavorful fish, as you agree to two weeks of tears for one morning of laughter.
Think of her bearing her punishment, becoming a dog, pet of the sun and of the dead, as you draw closer to your last candle, and scratch an orphaned puppy behind the ears.