I pick up a small tin. My fingers graze the protrusions on its cover, and I twist the lid off. What lies within is a great deal of brown powder - and a scent that surprises a smile out of me, redolent of spice and incense.
The woman anoints her palms with the zukoh, the body incense; she moves on to her temples, and breathes deeply. She is surrounded by scent - clove, cinnamon, some mysterious essence. It grounds her. It calms her.
She gracefully sweeps forth her right arm, describing a semicircle on the ground before her. Scent rises in her trail, as does magic - a shimmering wall rising before her. She completes the circle and raises her cupped palms.
What she does within is a secret, guarded by the circle. But when she steps forth, hours later, she trails magic and spicy scent behind her in small elaborate whorls for hours, and her smile lasts all day.
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Tin of zukoh (body incense) by
Shane is here with dinner. Sadly, he is not wearing his French maid outfit. We'll deal.
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