They’re building the Sinner King, all forty feet of him, his skeleton a stark spread-eagle of quiescent neon. Â It’s hot work, but if they wanted to be cool, they wouldn’t be wearing sackcloth on the playa.
It does get cold when the sun goes down, though. Â Circe shivers as she takes her place in the concentric ranks, shivers more as they all douse themselves in grain spirit. Â They say if you can hold really still the Sinner King won’t see you, the sackcloth will consume itself and leave you unharmed.
The neon lights. Â Circe raises her match to the desert wind.