Mother, I’d once thought her, back when I’d spent all my strength trying to please her. But she was not a mother. She was an insect, weaving false stories, feeding upon my pain—working Aisling’s machine for her own glory, her own power, her own timelessness. No. She was not a mother. She was the sixth Omen. The moth. And for what she’d done to me, to the other Diviners, to Traum itself— I’d take the tools she’d given me. Then, with hammer, with chisel… I’d annihilate her.
