Back to the now.

Everyconcept holds.

The aura holds, this is just a phantom of Nótt.

”We might, but I see no reason to.” she says.

The rebuke is taken in a stride. The six-legged stag-thing grows the darkness to imperfect proportions.

It feels a little bit like falling.

“I could make you.” It flies closer pushing itself against her shell.

Reality lingers. She can still see all around her through the clamor of this God.

“My name is Helena and you are but a trifling thing to me. Why did you seek me out?”

The shadow-fiends have left the room, the child of Theseus-slain took scooped up his master with it.

All others scream with fright. Even the ones upstairs fall to their knees.

It gets cold, really cold while the roof rips open with a sickening twist. The sheet metal strips sings in the wind. Wind takes the splintering wood with it. A splinter wedges between her fingers.

But there is light.

“You are dismissed.” With a wave of her hand she lights up the shade. Before fading away it burns like a verdurous lantern wick.

“Not nearly enough, Helena. You will answer my questions.”

Four more of the creatures speak in unison.

“You! You are but an understudy compared to us.”

The screaming antelopes charge.