Hushed Willows Hold your devil by his spoke and spin him to the ground

'Twas a good journey. A peaceful, pleasant voyage. Cerulean takes her through the wilderness, leading her to the place the girl once called home. For her part, Ereshkigal speaks much of the One. . . for there are rumblings within the earth that cannot be ignored. Strange, unsettling things— events of which are usually harbingers of worse times ahead. 

Only the One can save their souls from whatever hell comes next. Cerulean seems keen on the idea, but she must believe, believe, believe. . . Ereshkigal will not have her new friend lost in apocalypse.

She draws to a stoic stop beside the scout, eyes drifting appreciatively over the willows before them. It is beautiful here, she murmurs, lips curving in a delicate smile. Beautiful, but very quiet. Cerulean remarks that something isn't quite right, and the Seductress can almost sense it, if only an illusion created by the fae's words. Ereshkigal cocks her head, slowly, staring through the trees.

Who will come to greet them? The mothers. . .? (She hopes so.) And she pines for her own mother and sisters in that moment, a brief pang that dissipates at the thought of making new acquaintances. They would be proud of her, she knows. She is doing divine work.