Mahasin was peacefully sitting by the reflective pool, haloed the multicoloured shades of prismatic rays of setting sun. There was an aura of otherworldliness and sanctity to her silhouette, disconcerting for someone of a different confession and denomination. But it well could be a clever architectural trick of the deliberately impressive structure, well above many others on this relatively small island. The culture that knew how to awe and infuse religious humility and devotion just by how it built its temples was a threat to those whose hearts questioned the precepts of the Faith of the Lost Daughter.
The imam was reading a thick tome.