She is a god and the daughter of gods, but also a girl of flesh and bone and blood and ideals; she is the focal point of the concentrated power of belief, as well as the living warmth of the dark earth.

So when her uncle steps into her garden he steps into her space and her selfhood in a way, and of course she can’t help peering at him from her extremely well-hidden bower, how he swirls the very air into a dark cloak to mark his presence and how it’s absolutely compelling.

He keeps visiting and she keeps watching, until the day she makes herself known, until the day she compels him to beg, until the day he takes her in her own garden and she cries out in the exquisite ecstasy of pain and wonder.