Never before had she been so scared, so confused. A group of people surrounded her, most of them with familiar faces: Lyra, her father's 5 most closest guards, the old slave woman who baked pitas in the kitchen, and, of course, her mother and father. All of their faces were grim as they sped-walked across the city, but mostly, she saw, her mother. Leida had not been seen since the festival, and now that Melantriche was really seeing her for the first time in forever, she was appalled. This woman had once been beautiful, proud in both stature and mind. Now she looked exhausted and old. Like the aging peasant women that worked in the fields, her dull, miserable eyes were sunken in and dark. Wrinkles made themselves known across her cheeks, and she slouched noticeably. No matter how much Melantriche pestered her, she remained dead-looking, silent as a shade. All the while, Adrianis bickered to himself.

"My child! Of all people," he mourned softly to himself. "A drought, they said! Dying cattle? Oh, how could this have happened...?"

"Father?" Melantriche called out cautiously, "What are you talking about? What's going on? Father!"

"Hush, child!" Lyra scolded her in a hushed voice. "Don't make much sound, don't even breathe, lest we get caught."

"Caught? By whom?" Melantriche demanded. "What's happening? I'm getting scared, Lyra, tell me what's going on! I command you!"

"Oh, Lady." Lyra smiled pitifully at her through her veil, and Melantriche swore she saw her eyes shining with tears. "Oh, my sweet, sweet, Lady. You'll be told everything, that I promise you. But for now, please just be quiet, just for now..."

One of the guards looked towards Lyra. Through the slits in his helmet, Melantriche saw spitefulness, as if he wanted to hit her. Understandable to him, she supposed. How dare a slave order her master around in such a way? But still, he did nothing but march forward as he had been doing. Silently, Melantriche itched at the scratchy new peasant clothes Lyra made her wear as she did the same.

No one was out at this time, because it was most likely very, very early in the morning. In the quiet darkness, made alive by only the sound of crickets in song, a single torch led the way, for the moon, like so many nights prior, stayed hidden. Like the way that the Greeks moved silently through inner Troy, a swift and malevolent fog, so did their little group move to the gate. 2 guards had been stationed there for the night shift, but when they saw them coming, they nodded to each other and cranked the gate open. With a handful gesture, they were led outside.

The walk was long. Judging by the familiar directions, they were traveling to Brauron Temple again. Though it was a summer night, it was terribly chilly, and a strong wind was beginning to blow. Like Melantriche's optimism, her hopes, the torch light flickered and waned, less likely to stay strong by the second. As they walked, Melantriche evaluated the past occurrences. When she woke, Lyra had been wearing rich clothes... her clothes. Wait, no, those weren't her clothes, they were Leida's clothes. Lyra's physique, which was tall, lanky, and strong, was more to Leida's likeness than Melantriche's. However, Melantriche was hardly awake when Lyra hurriedly pulled her own clothes over Melantriche's tired, perplexed head and sped her out of her room, where a guard awaited them. He escorted them down to the courtyard, where the rest of the troupe awaited them. Melantriche stared at them all, baffled. The entire house was dark, so why was everyone getting ready to go somewhere? When it was night? She received no explanation as they left. Melantriche mulled this over. This must've had something to do with the past occurrences that she had been investigating, but how? She had been right when suspecting that Lyra had been holding something back from her, and a part of her was angry. Why had everyone been in the know except for her? Just because she was young, and a girl, she should be left in the dark about such important things? She knew now, for sure, that this incident involved her in some way, and maybe that was why they kept it from her.

Regardless, home was getting farther and farther away in the distance, leaving only Melantriche and her thoughts.

Dread. Although Zephyrus rippled slyly through her shawl, thick hot dread slid down her back, causing droplets of sweat to pop from the back of her neck.

So lost in her thoughts she was that she bumped soundly into Lyra, who had stopped abruptly in front of her. She stumbled for a moment, straightened herself, and looked up. So it was Brauron after all. The temple stood tall, dark, and ever so imposing in the dead of night. Melantriche felt her heart fall from her chest to her stomach. She felt woozy, but there was no time to faint, for she was already being ushered inside. The shadows danced upon the pillars as they hurried into the great hall.

"There's not much time, Lady, so listen closely," Lyra whispered, "but, oh, where to start..."

"Where to start?" Adrianis chortled bitterly, "Where to start?! Step aside, you damned goat of a fool-woman, and let me explain if you're too incompetent to do so yourself!"

Melantriche gaped, a pang of hurt sounding in her breast, as if he'd insulted her instead. Never had she heard her father be so harsh, so shrill. Another wave of terror hit her when he pushed Lyra aside and rushed into her face, tears welling down his own.

"My child, my sweet Melantriche. You have incurred the wrath of the gods."

The world was crashing down around her numb head. Melantriche was not stupid. She saw the evidence around her, and suspected, but oh, how she wished it wasn't true!

"What.. H... How..?" Was all that could escape from her throat.

"How? How, the child asks?" Adrianis moaned. He looked ready to swoon. "Well, why don't you ask the woman there?" He crooked an accusing finger at Leida, who, with an apathetic face and eyes full of pain, said nothing and endured her husband's scorn. "You were my pride and joy, and hers too, I knew that well! But, oh, to put you even above the Great She-Bear herself..! Oh woo..."

"What?!"

Adrianis could not go on. As emotional a foolish man he was, he stumbled back and wept both his fair share and Leida's. That, she supposed, was Lyra's cue. She stepped forward silently.

"She said.. she said that you were better than Artemis... better in every way. In beauty, in personality... and um," The woman wrung her hands as she tried to find better words. "We begged her not to say such things, but she didn't—couldn't listen. Her Lady Leida was, erm, intoxicated."

It was all coming together now. The realization dawned on Melantriche now.

"The feast," she whispered hoarsely. Lyra nodded.

"Yes, I did lie to you. There were no thieves, only a drunken woman. We thought that we might be spared divine wrath because of that, but there has been an unending drought since then. The sun does not shine, the rain doesn't come, and the moon has not come out. Not even a glimmer. And the livestock are dying.

"The Council was at the feast, too, you remember. They've been calling meetings ever since to find the root of the problem. Why we have occurred the the wrath of the gods. They knew at once it was you."

All of this truth, coming down on Melantriche's head. She felt as if a giant sack of flour had been dropped on top of her. Her? The object of the gods' spite? Of Artemis' spite? And her beloved brother, Apollo too? It was all too much. She didn't realize it until the drops hit her trembling hands, but she was crying. Out of fear. Shame.

"S-so what are we going to do?" She cried. "Why are we here? To pray for forgiveness? Then let's get to it! Right now!"

Everyone was silent. Unmoving. They all simply stared at her. Even the guards, stone-hearted and rough-handed had eyes full of pity for her. Melantriche stamped her foot.

"What are you all waiting for? We have to summon the Priestesses! Where's the sacrifice?"

Adrianis merely wailed and tackled his daughter into a suffocating hug, as if he would never be able to hold his beloved child again. All the while, Lyra's gaze never moved from hers, completely devoid of emotion.

"We've already received guidance from the Priestesses." She said simply.

"What are they? The conditions?" Melantriche demanded, although inside she dreaded the answer as something foul.

"There is no sacrificial animal because, Lady, you are the sacrifice."