The Sentinels You've got me seeing stars

She ran until she couldn't anymore, and found herself in a ruined forest; a place touched by fire, changed irrevocably. Reverie knew the look of it all too well. The scars left by the flames were cold and stiff with years past, but anyone who looked would know what had happened.
Even the wonder of it could not calm her. She staggered to a halt and threw up into the dirt, dry-eyed but trembling with emotion. The scent of the woman's heat seemed as if it had followed her, and she could hardly stand it. She could hardly stand herself. Half-blind with panic, she went stumbling for the raised roots of a tree. Safety here. Solitude. But it didn't help. Nothing helped, and she couldn't, she couldn't do this —
Reverie buried her face in her forelegs and screamed until her throat was raw. She screamed because she hated herself; she hated her life; she hated that she felt so helpless. And it was this hatred that drove her again to her feet and blindly through the burned forest, until she stumbled over something she did not see and fell into a wide patch of flowers.
Flowers. She clutched at them a little desperately, feeling foolish, but it brought her comfort. Never forget the flowers, she recalled, trying to steady her breathing as she studied them. She remembered, too, what she had seen in the depths of her illness. No flowers would ever grow in a place where gods died. Not until the rains came. She closed her eyes and remembered the empty place. Her god was surely dead. She knew this, because — well, because she was bleeding now.
She was still sick.