Slipping through the veil after the abomination was nothing like Seraphiel had feared.
All it had taken was a thought. A choice really... decision to commit to her mission and stop second-guessing whether commitment was the correct posture.
Doubt had been her only obstacle, and the moment she'd set the doubt aside the gate had become a suggestion she could politely ignore. Good that she'd asked her foolish questions in the Hall and returned to this sphere and seen, with her own misread eyes, the reason her orders were correct.
Her hesitation had cost her nothing and given her the most useful resolve of her long existence.
There were other forces in this game, though. Old ones whose Essence she'd brushed against on the island earlier and the taste was still on the back of her tongue.
She couldn't rush or afford to be—what was the mortal saying?—a chicken without feet?
