The soul took form as it materialized as a manifestation of a woman: a woman of impossible beauty with the head of an ostrich feather—the traditional symbol of truth and justice, though if you asked anyone there, they'd say it was the most beautiful feather they'd ever seen.
Her skin glowed with the warm gold of desert sunlight, and her eyes held the kind of perfect balance that could weigh the hearts of mortals against the weight of a single feather and somehow make that seem like the most reasonable thing in the world.
Cassandra's precognitive abilities suddenly clicked into place like puzzle pieces falling into a picture she'd been staring at upside down.
