As if awakening from a dream, Anela shook her head at the sudden transformation of the abandoned shrine. It took but the time of a blink of the eye, and there she was, standing in a temple of virtue with her swollen desires. Did she just harass the local devotee? The confusing sense that reality could have been different from appearances left Anela silent for a moment. 

She straightened her back, and closed her lips in a long flat and thin line. Her hair still flowed rather indecorously on her shoulders, and her dress felt a bit too airy for the occasion. All the riches of the shrine seemed unfamiliar to her eyes, and the perfect decorations, barely swayed by the sudden gush of air that had her close her eyes: she could not recall any of them. 

Above all, she gazed at the perfect amazon talking to her. That amazon which she had taken for merely a sculpture, was no less than a human being, made of flesh and bones. A superb human being. One of such a terrifying beauty, that words of compliments turned to fear, and desires turned to the morbid attraction of horror. Oh she was beautiful, so much beautiful to eclipse the existence of yet another woman barely two arms away. Her attire, so poor in contrast to the noble look of her eyes and the dignity of her temples, made her shine even more, and by the time Anela paid attention to the third woman, her heart had given a burst of joy, and stopped.

That was what a human could be, closest to the incarnation of a Goddess. A Goddess of fiery love, perhaps, or a Goddess of harsh passions, clad in armor, and bearing a sword. Or nothing of that. Just a harlot perhaps, one gifted with an unearthly beauty by nature, and playing some articulate game to entice rich clients. A playful twist, indeed, very unexpected of such a forgotten place like Harvest. Anela forced herself the believe the latter, he struggled in her heart to accept the easiest explanation of reality, that the fabric of the Universe may not be altered as easily by a lustful desire. Let it be a well disguised brothel, she thought, one where they use complex artifices to create all sorts of illusions.

But the look of the Goddess was too strong, and her power too large to ignore. Her beauty too perfect, her symmetry too unnatural. Which hand could frame such body? Which flute could play such tones? Anela found herself trembling lightly, and her knees stiff and sore from the effort of keeping them straight. 

"So you say. Prove it." she said, finally.