[Potential 2. Hopeless. Insecure.]

The garden is a quiet place, especially by moonlight. Artificially kept as a perfectly regulated environment (though both Anathet and the frogs might have appreciated the rain tonight). Anathet, now free of her costume, is dressed in her long robes and monk's veil mixing with her brimmed hat. She almost starts when the black-eyed girl appears, but then again she could hardly have expected anything else. Had she thought about it for more than a moment, she'd have quickly realized that she couldn't conceal her identity here. Anathet was Set and Set Anathet, not a fully separate being or spirit. 

She lets her heart rate calm instead, it had sped up in that jolt of momentary panic and surprise. Anathet took out her trowel and started digging, beginning a new patch next to some bushes, just on the other side of the frog pond, perhaps fifty feet from her little hutch. She lets the motion wash through her mind. The slight springiness of the soil, the feeling of resistance turning to give as her trowel pulls it up. She's going to be planting something new here, some lush ferns ("ooh, native from the Earth" the Annunaki might say) with little leaves that coil and roll like their shepherd's crooks. Old plants that come from an age so long ago that most people have forgotten it. They need a deep bed, of course, and there's nobody around to notice when a portal opens up at the bottom of that bed and deposits a collection of black library tablets to line the base of the new hole. Then in go the ferns, roots spreading wide wide wide, and in goes the soil packed in firmly, and last of all some water so they'll grow big and strong.

Anathet's hands are dirty and a little muddy, her robe covered with soil and bits of bark around the knees, and she smells of fresh-turned soil and leaves. For her, this is a memory of fond times and distant Zhianku gardens. An escape, a ritual, and a joy all at once. For the black-eyed girl, perhaps this is something new. A mental projection entirely in the here and now, present in the feeling and strength of the space. 

If she really was some kind of Annunaki noble turned into something strange and monstrous, perhaps even one of these children of Tiamat, she may never in her life have done this sort of work. She may never have felt the simple pleasure of moving the ground and placing something there to grow. So, Anathet is making this moment for herself and her new friend. She hopes that the girl will come back and watch the fern grow, it's leaves unfurl and grow broad and flat. 

Later, she might project an image of a multi-color five-headed dragon to the girl and try to ask a very confusing question because her first image of Tiamat is a dragon goddess and not a Babylonian myth. But now was not the time for questioning or exploring. It was a time for just being.