"Goddess above, who makes the trees grow tall and the earth good for planting ..."
Philomel grasped tight either piece of flora in her hand as she turned fully to the altar.
She raised her chin.
"Protect the spirit of she who comes into your arms tonight, keep her close and safe on her journey to your paradise."
Raising the branch and flower she crossed them above her head, focusing with intent.
"Even though you - you," she stopped herself, cutting off short. Although she wanted to blame the goddess ... and well did to some respect, she did not want to verbally blame her. For all Drys had taken from her, she had given Philomel ten times more, and if she was completely honest there were many other gods in the world who likely were really the ones to blame. The gods of disease, for instance.