Payatol dipped the figurine into the pot. It took a few minutes to cover it fully without burning herself, but she did it. The instructions she had received were clear. She placed the figurine beside the pot and began removing the rose petals. These too she placed beside the pot.
Her husband had helped her memorize the instructions. Most men would not, but her husband was hardly going to leave it up to her. He wanted their child as much as she did.
She carried the rose petals and the figurine to the saucer of milk. It had begun to curdle in the sun. She placed the rose petals in first, watching them swirl around lazily. Then, with a kiss to the head of her figurine, Payatol placed the figurine in the milk. As she watched it submerge, she thanked it for opening up her future. She returned to the pantry where the other idol waited. Lacking human features, it was hardly inspiring to look at. Until now. The glass had begun to chime as from an unseen wind, and the metal crashed against metal. She rejoiced in the harmony, and poured the remaining water into two cups. Her husband would need to drink it with her, but that was no problem. She could wait.