Qebhet stared down at the ugly white feather shafts, protruding like hedgehog spines from the back of her hands. It was hard not to pick at them.
She didn't feel impressive. She felt small and unclean and so very, very foolish.
"Yes," she agreed dully. "Perhaps it is."
She ought to get up. Have another shower (another dozen showers), scrub her awful skin with natron and oils and change into something dry. She ought to clean up this mess before it had a chance to seep into the walls and floor. But now that her head had cleared, all she could think of was the soul eater, and her own folly.
She made herself meet the goddess's eyes, and her own were large and haunted. "I was stupid, Hecate."