The water pummeled Thia’s body, driving her to the floor. The large drops fell in a torrent, pushing the breath out of her lungs as it washed over her. In the growing light, she saw the blood flow away from her as the deluge subsided. The rivulets began to run clear, no longer tainted. Her soul, though, was still drenched with guilt.
Nothing would wash that away. And she knew it.
“Get up,” a woman commanded her. A towel was thrown down near her hand.
Thia sat up, grasping at the rough fabric, and covered herself. Herasta stared at her. “Thank you,” she muttered.
Her mother snorted, “For what? A towel? I knew you’d be weak when you came out of me. I should’ve kept you, or made sure you died. Bran did nothing but make you even softer.”
Thia hung her head, the wet strands of her hair falling around her face. “Then kill me now,” she whispered. “Please.”
“I won’t allow that, child.” Lolth said.
Thia kept her head down. Tears mixed with the water that dripped from her head. Kelemvor, she begged, please. I need you now more than ever.
“Look at me.”
She couldn’t resist the command. Raising her head, she looked Lolth in the face. Instead of a giant spider, She was a beautiful woman. Voluptuous, sensual, and terrifying all at the same time, the Goddess regarded her with cool indifference.
“There,” She said, a thin smile spreading across her face, “isn’t this better than hiding from me? I’m not much different from you, child. All that time you wasted, being afraid of an image that isn’t who I really am.”
The water on the floor in front of her began to swirl together, drawn into a small pool by unseen magic. “You know what that is, don’t you, Thia?”
“It’s a scrying mirror,” her voice cracked with exhaustion.
“You know, then, that it will show the truth of the past. Thia, child,” Lolth’s tone softened, “you have to see this. You deserve to know the truth of what my Brother, and your paladin friend, truly want.”
The surface of the water shimmered. A scene began to come into focus. A circular room, with a portal in the center. Jinnaari was handing Kelemvor his sword.
She watched as the God she’d dedicated her life to drew a single finger across the blade. The words He spoke drove daggers into her soul. “I ask that you use this weapon to end her life.” He held the weapon out to Jinnaari, “Do this for me, please.”
As the Dragonborn’s hands grasped the sword, the vision faded.
Anger, pain, and hatred began to rise within her. A scream tore from her throat, and she threw her head back to let it fly.
Her hands grasped the hooked blade Lolth gave her. Rage guided her strokes and she started to cut her way out of the cocoon.