Zeus passes. Demeter is left alone to her business. Paused in rebuke, but bitter, much too bitter to stay her hand. Vasilia can go nowhere. She has waited long enough. She expected satisfaction long ago. Her continued existence is an insult, a denial of her vision. Would it still be Demeter’s garden if even one weed was permitted to flourish?

In a moment, she will settle her mind.

“Oh, Lady Demeter,”

But before that, he speaks. Again. 

“You are engaged in mighty works this day. I do not…presume that I can be counted as a distraction. My…my apologies, then, are only those of poor timing. But the…worse insult would be to remain silent.”

Hadn’t he left? Hadn’t she told him to leave? So difficult, to remember something so small…

“As you have said, you [i]did[/i] give the task of Vasilia’s death over to your niece, Artemis…and I must recall to you:”

The vines shuddered, and turned a sickly, withered brown.

“The hunt is not yet finished.”

[Vasilia has Protection from a Location stat via the Anathema.]