A goddess reflects….
Ariadne looked out over Lesbia, her golden eyes taking in the ancient vistas. The years in which she had been deprived of such a view had awakened her to an appreciation of it, and the elements which made it up. Perhaps she had been softened by loss. In the old days, it had been about the battle for magic. She had protected the witches of the land. Now witches were naught but legend and a new goddess had risen in the cities, a goddess with no eyes, no mouth, a goddess of levers and light and motion.
The world was forever making itself anew, but amid it all, Ayla was fighting the old battle.
Ayla. It always seemed to come back to Ayla, Ariadne mused. All mortals were nodes on the web, but some were more central than others. Ayla was easily the oldest mortal in Lesbia, and yet she was still not entirely mature. She was setting out to fight a ruthless king, not because she had to, but because she wanted to. The rage so carefully concealed in her was seeking an outlet and she was losing the battle with it.