At the edge of the field near the darkened outskirts of the woods stood a figure, but the figure could not be said as just one. Ever shifting through three stages was a woman, holding sometimes a key, a torch, and wrapping serpents around her arms. Her face was like a mirage, ever shifting through vibrant youth or melting with age, sometimes in the middle with a matron's stoic visage. The woods hummed rhythmically around her, a soothing and forceful beat nearly imperceptible unless one knew what to look for. The figure stared at the slave on the slab of rock quietly, the shade in which the ominous shifting character stood almost completely masking her. With a steady, bare foot the woman began to walk through the field, flowers springing up as if to greet her and then resuming their wilted state in the heat as she passed. Without word or sound, the woman stood maybe just a few feet from the dirty slave girl, suddenly shifting into an old crone with sagging cheeks and tattered clothes as she made her presence known.
"Sweet girl, permit me to sit with you," the crone called out, hobbling pathetically. "Tell me, have you found any mint beneath the boughs of the trees? My teeth ache, I need some mint to chew," moaned the old woman, rubbing at her face and watching her dunk petals into hot wax. "I will give you something in exchange," tantalized the crone in a singsong voice, hoping to entice her. Pity me, and the world will be at your mercy, the mysterious woman thought to herself, a small grin coming to her folded face.
Of course, Hecate knew what she was doing. She did not expect the slave who worshiped her at midnight to refuse this simple request. However, Hecate had been wrong before. But this was an opportunity to bring glory and self worth to this mere human with little to live for, all in exchange for a sweet smelling weed. Hecate kept waiting in expectation, deciding the best thing to hold in her tattered old clothes was the perfect key to fit that nasty collar around the girl's neck.