I totally sneaked a story of my partner's she wrote for her creative writing class!

It was the sound that no one had heard in over a century. Forty-four dual voices vibrated off of stone walls, the volume shaking loose the dirt from foundations. These were people who were connected to the gods. In such a sacred time, in a sacred place. It was Endala. Men and women lined the floor on their knees facing one another, their eyes turned up to their marble deities. They had been singing for six days now and the end was near. Their bodies were stiff, almost as rigid as the statues of their gods that stand before them. Their arms were raised high, fingers stretching as if their deities which stood only a breath away were infinitely out of their reach. Each Voice of the Gods were trained to use two voices in song, one their own and one of the deity they represented. It was only with this possession by the gods that they considered themselves worthy of the task that lay before them.
But Endala was more than a task, it was their lives. Secluded from society in the annex laying just outside the temple, they only had each other since birth. They had no friends and their family had long since counted them among the dead. From their first breath, these Voices knew it was their duty to one day release a god from their earthly form. They did not know which god, nor was it a concern. Theirs was a life of eternal servitude, to never question the will of the gods.
Having never stepped foot inside this temple until six days ago—no one had since it's last use—they had taken their places at the base of the statues with some sense of hesitation. It was only through their sacred texts and traditions that this ritual was known. Singing in shifts they did not stop to eat, only to drink the holy water blessed by the sun god Astanaesius. They sang in harmony, not only with each other, but with the flow of life itself. Their duty was to appease the gods and protect the city and all who dwell within. But they would never see the city beyond the walls of this temple. After this ceremony, they would ascend with those they worshiped so the secrets of the gods would die with them. And they would do so happily. They were chosen to devote their existence to the gods, in both life and death.
Temple servants moved around them in a dance of their own, cleaning the century old chamber of the remnants of the last ceremony. It would only be moments before the rituals initiation. Everything would be perfect—must be perfect. Shuffling robes scratched against stone floors as the priests entered through the side doors. They inspected the room, searching for any flaws or signs that something could be wrong. These were unlike any priests the Voices or temple servants alike had seen. They did not wear the masks of the gods as the others did it the temples. It was deeply unsettling to see human faces instead of the fixed representations of the Seven Emotions. The priests took their places behind a glass box, signaling the servants away.
A moment later at the large doors groaned with age as they were opened for the first time in over a hundred years. Unsure shuffling followed by the jangle of jewelry signaled the arrival of the new goddess. The Voices would not look to greet her as she stepped through the over-sized doors, but instead only raised their volume. This child's appearance meant nothing but another part of the ritual. They did not need to see her, for her human form was a prison. They knew the body that stepped through those doors was only a vessel, a means for the goddess to travel down from the heavens and into the realm of man.
The veiled figure was pushed forward by one of the priests beside her, urging her continue on. The Voices knew it was their duty to light her way, to see for her, to sing her to her release. If the ritual failed, then mankind was lost, doomed to once more return to the ways of old—those uncertain days when men were more like beasts than rational creatures. To fail at this task was to fail the gods, to loose their favor and to loose the right of humanity. It seemed that every Voice felt the gravity of their role as they raised their voices to the heavens, asking in ancient tongues to aid them in what was to come.  
****
Kiset was, until rather recently, nothing more than a merchant's daughter. She had only turned nine this year, but already she felt very much that she should be included in with her older sisters at the bathhouse instead of with her younger siblings and her mother. But that was before. Before the sacred white gates opened. Before the priests rode out on their white horses, commanding all children to form lines in the town square. Before the priest with a hitch in his step who wore the Mask of Tears stopped in front of her. That was before she had to say goodbye to her family, to watch her mother fall to her knees in a tearful, wailing prayer. She was put in a box carriage and was taken away, inside the white gates to the acropolis.
That was seven days ago, or was it eight? Since she was taken the days seemed to run together endlessly and she felt as though she could not keep up. Every day began before the sun rose, just as every day had a new task, a new schedule to follow. The only thing she could be certain of was that each day as she rose from her silk sheets and feather down pillows, she would be helpless to follow the orders of the gods.
One day she was to gorge herself on a feast so grand her young mind could not comprehend the varied tastes, but the following days she was to fast. One day she was to be dressed in green, another red, and one day she was to wear nothing at all! She never questioned, for who could gather the courage to question the men who spoke to the gods? But the shame was still all too real when men and women she knew would fall to her bare legs and kiss them as if they had never seen her before. Tears flowed from their eyes as they spoke to her as if she was no longer there. She had been instructed not to speak and to focus on the golden bell hanging in her window, as if that would be enough to keep her mind busy as she was fawned over. But every time the bell swayed in the wind and rang more people would shout. From somewhere in the city the temple bells would begin to ring and everyone around her would once more drop to their knees, praying. It was so hard not to run and hide, to cover her nakedness and ask them all to go away.
But finally she was able to relax. She awoke with a surprise. Her room was empty and the kiss of the sun's rays warmed her skin. It was well past midday but no one had woke her. She had been greeted by a large breakfast that was so rich she could not finish. Everything had been served with a blue tint and the gelatin served at the end was the best she ever had.
Soon after, the priestesses entered her room. Each carried a small figure of the gods, like the sort Kiset's family had set up at their altars at home. They handed her several sticks of sweet smelling incense that reminded her of going to the temples to pray. With an uncertain smile, she lit each one, offering it to the statues. It gave her strength to know that the gods were still with her, even in these awkward moments. She prayed that soon she would be released, allowed to return to her home, to her normal life. But that was not to be the case.
Soon after, temple servants entered the room and proceeded to dress her without a glance. Kiset could not help but to think of the statue dressings, where servants would change the garb of the statues in all of the main temples of the city. What that all she was to them? Just some statue that could not think or feel?
Just as her sheets she was dressed in silk, which was dyed to match the gray blue of the sea. Kiset could not hide the smile on her face as she touched the embroidery with painted fingertips, green and red fish seemed to dance among the reeds on her sleeves.
Soon after the priestesses led Kiset out of her room and up the stairs to the temple at the height of the acropolis. It was the sacred temple that had been locked shut since before her grandmother's time, something she had only seen from outside the white gates as she followed her father to market for supplies.
As she stared up at the towering doors before her, the hands of one of the masked people holding a bowl appeared before her face. She looks down to find a thick amber liquid swirling inside the bowl. Kiset could not stop staring at their hands, ancient, just like her grandmother's. When the child did nothing, the person held the bowl up to the girl's lips. The woman's mask did not stop smiling as Kiset drank the substance down, and refused to move until every drop was gone. Without any other word, those weathered hands brought a veil over Kiset's face. She was to enter the temple blind.
The great doors opened with a creak and the smell of something foul underling the incense caught in her nose. Another hand caught her side and as she looked down at his shoes she was comforted by the first familiar sight in what seemed like an eternity. These men were dressed in their priestly attire, each with the charred stick of the Sun God in their hands. As they led her inside, the jewelry on her body and clothes making it impossible to remain unnoticed. At once she was greeted with the terrible sound of screaming and wailing. It sounded as if whatever was making the noise was trying to murder the gods themselves and she was terrified that she was being sacrificed. Her young mind picture all too clearly singing monsters in their horrible forms and how they were calling to her in their inhuman tongues, trying to trick her to become their meal.
“Kiset, ahn lo,” the priest whispered, nudging her forward with his staff.
With a deep breath she squeezed her eyes shut and balled up her fists and began the long walk. Kiset could not understand how they expected her to walk down the pathway blind, between the singing creatures to an unknown fate. Were there people to protect her? Was this really a sacrifice? She could only hope that this was some sort of test and that in the end she would be rewarded for her bravery.
As she continued along the path, the singing grew louder, as if these monsters were closing in on her. Tears began to leak from the corners of her eyes, but still she continued walking. Each step was harder than the next to take, and in the back of her mind she felt that this was not only because of her fear. It reminded her of when the streets would flood in the summer and she would sink into the muddy roads up to her knees. The singing grew louder and louder but still she knew that the priests she had left behind were still watching her. What if she displeased them? Was that the same as displeasing the gods?
She could feel her head drooping, a creeping sort of distance between her and her body. She felt almost as though she were at the cusp of sleep but somehow still trapped in the world of the waking. How long could this path be? As she lifted her foot to take her next step, the world went dark. The singing seemed to fade out, replaced first with a high pitched ring then nothing. The hollow silence hurt her ears and made the singing almost preferable. As her foot gave way, Kiset became aware that she was falling but also powerless to stop it.
Even as her body began to feel distant she could also feel herself being lifted high into the air several times and wondered if she had made it to the end of the pathway or if she had failed and was going to be tossed to those terrible beasts. With no sight or sound the cold wash of water over her skin was a shock. Hands, far too many to count, held onto her limbs and supported her head. She knew at that moment she had failed and that she was now in the hands of the monsters. She struggled to move her arms and legs, to shout for help but it was no good. She could no longer feel anything at all other than the icy fear that had grown in her stomach. Water rushed into her open mouth and then Kiset slept.
She had to force her eyes open and even with the blurred vision she was able to clearly make out the room around her for the first time. Men and women standing before statues of the gods and plunging daggers into their chests. Looking down she saw the same was happening before her. For some reason they had changed her into white clothing, it seemed to be colored like marble, like the other statues. She felt cold, distant from her body, as if she did not belong. She could not move her head, so instead she strained her adjusting eyes to look around. The dark room was still populated with men on either side, like the priests that had pushed her inside. The men furthest from the door, who did not wear the masks of emotions made their way to join their brethren, stepping over the dying servants and twitching corpses.
Kiset tried to call out to the men, but found she had no voice. She knew she should be frightened and could feel it growing inside. Once more she tried to move her hand but still she was unable. Kiset looked to where the priests had walked from. A large glass box sit atop an alter, the area decorated with sea shells, reeds, bird feathers, and small carvings of ships. There was something in the box. Her eyes were now perfect, perhaps better than before, so although she could see inside this box, she could not understand its contents. Black hair floated carelessly as small limbs hung loosely in their buoyancy. It was only as the doors began to close that she saw the embroidered fish swimming through the reeds of blue silk.
Her frantic eyes searched the room, finding now only the statues of the gods and a floor littered with corpses. Now Kiset screamed, but no longer out of fear. Only desperation. She could only hope that they would come back—that they would not leave her behind, alone in his empty place. Tears fell from lifeless marble eyes, but no sound was heard by anyone other than the creaking of the temple door as it was dragged shut. The light from the outside world was reduced to a thin, hopeless sliver, then darkness.