The woman stands atop a cliff overlooking a stormy sea. A brazier has tipped over beside her; the steaming coals have poured out on the rocks. She is wearing a long white dress. An elaborate belt buckle holds the dress to her slender waist; it is worked with a rearing white lion wearing a crown. Her small, white feet have only leather sandals between them and the cold earth. Her name is Finlandia.
At sea: a tempest. A two headed eagle claws and tears at the Book that she holds. Her eyes are wide, desperate, Egyptian. One of the eagle’s heads snaps at the Book, while the other shrieks into her face. The muscles are tight in her arms as she struggles to hold on to the Book. The Book bears a single word on its cover, in shimmering red letters: LEX. Her long blond hair streams out in the wind that pulls at her, tugs at her skirt, drags sharp fingers across the leather cover of the book.
Lightning is striking the mountains across the wide sea, and no one comes to her aid, no one drives away the eagle, no one calms the wild ocean.