Izabel’s body wavered like a balloon losing air, and she missed a beat on the conga. She felt as if her world was being consumed with a purifying fire, and if she was to survive, she had to become a flaming phoenix rising out of the ashes. With a deep breath, she steadied herself and prepared to sprout wings.
Instead of a bird, however, it was the moon that had risen. It was as if the women had drummed La bella luna into the night sky. She was magnificent. Miriam nodded toward Veronica, who, like an elfin sprite, carried her tambourine and wove in and out among the buried candles, lighting each one as she passed. The sand turned to sky, and diamonds twinkled above and below.
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