[In the Vine's mirror is the visage of a goddess, more composed and focused than the first time the network had seen her. She poised to make an impression, now dressed in her favored bronzed armor and her great avian wings fanning out from her back to cast shadows on gleaming metal. Her expression may be calm, but her gold eye betray an ever burning ferocity that should not be underestimated.]

Mortals of the Gardens.

[She doesn't mean it in a derogatory way, as it is simply how she sees the shorter lived species.]

I do not know what faith you follow. I do not know who you name as your protectors, your saviors, or your rulers. I do not know of the realms you come from. We are from different versions of the same existence. This much I understand, and this much I appreciate.

What I cannot comprehend is why you would deny the truths of the universe that extend beyond the barriers of time and space.

You would deny me, you would dismiss all that I am. I am not perfect. I am not your specific vision of celestial life. I have no illusions of such. Yet my power is real, and my purpose is grand and ever continuing.

I am a goddess.

I know what I am. Why would you think yourself so learned that you may tell me otherwise? Why do you suppose yourselves higher than I, when all you have achieved in your short lives is to quarrel with and suppress one another? Why do you assume I lie when I have nothing to gain from you?

I would offer you proof, and you would dismiss it, wrapped within your cocoons of rusted logic and skewed perceptions of the world around you. You would call for me, and I would answer, yet once your victory has been won you would assume all the glory for yourself. What am I to do with such narrow-minded beings?

I do not assume I will ever understand you, mortals. I only admit, that even I, can be dazzled by your unexplainable ways.

[Her wings flap restlessly. She is not used to this, having to deal directly with nonbelievers and skeptics.]