What is it you wish to ask the gods?
Will I ever bear another child, o wise one?
I cannot see another child, no matter how far I look.
Then... what do you see?
I see a harvest celebrated in blood. I see a trickster whose weapon cleaves you. I see a city made of marble. And a burning broiling ocean.
Not one of your prophecies do I understand.
It is the way of the prophecy. Only to be understood when it has happened and it is too late to change it.
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