Fiona is starting to
feel dizzy just trying to focus her sight on the figure before her.
She knows in her mind that it's one man, yet her eyes are telling her
there are several figures, all trying to occupy the same space.
“What do you want
from me?” she asks as nausea begins to ferment in her stomach.
“This place,” the
figure replies with the voice of many, gesturing in all directions,
“This, that you would call the Weave, yet we have known as Olympus
these many millennia.”
The turmoil in her
belly threatens to overwhelm her, causing Fiona to gasp and swallow.
“Deep breaths,” she says to herself, “In...” and she sucks
air until her lungs are strained, “...and out,” she continues,
releasing it with relief.
“In...” she says
again, repeating the process, “...and out,” letting her breath
go.
“Good lady?” the
single figure chorus inquires, “You are in distress. Is there
something we can do to help?”
