The Sentinels grace in your heart, flowers in your hair.

Ah, loss. Few things are more affecting. Ereshkigal has not known it herself — her mother and sisters are all whole and hale — but she knows the deep lines that anguish carves upon the soul. She softens her knife-edged features, hides her gleaming ivories beneath a tender curve of lips. Now is the time to take on Inanna's role; Ereshkigal the Seductress is not needed nor welcome within this encounter.

I am so sorry, sister, utters the sylph in a voice like sweet nachtmusik. She dares to come closer, near enough that she feels the vibration of ebbing sobs, of grief desperately, hastily stifled. I cannot begin to imagine your pain. You should not be alone in this. . .

The coywolf minx sits beside the pale-hued girl, and their shoulders brush from moment to moment as breaths are taken and bodies stir. Ereshkigal glances over at her newfound companion, counting the stars within the cerulean eyes. I am Ereshkigal, she offers, her mouth growing wide in a smile that's more natural to her than breathing. You are. . .?

A lost little lamb, no doubt. Needing to be shepherded. The Seductress can shepherd, but only The One can lead this mourning dove to peace once more.