What is it about voices that make them storm through our minds at odd places? The places our souls frequent, to get that sense of calm; places like temples, churches, mosques, shrines.

These voices perch on our shoulder and proceed to mock every word, feeling or thought we have.

What is it about these voices that wake up a wife at three o’clock in the morning? The voices that help her watch her husband sleep and list the ten thousand ways she could kill him. She looks at his neck, the thing of beauty that holds his head, and smiles. She then slips the knife beneath her pillow and drifts off, her slumber summoning the voices.

If you would have asked Leah at that moment, what it felt like seeing the goddess that summoned her husband, she would have laughed. My mother calls it “the face,” and she says “every woman has that face, the one that neither the world nor her offenders can read.”

Leah would tell you that she does not care and isn’t that how a storm is brewed?