The Furies descended like a flock of bats, their hair writhing with snakes. Chthonic Summons. "Guilty!" they screeched. "We smell the blood of the past on this place!"
Hathor danced. She did not draw a weapon. She shook her Sistrum of Dominion. Chhk-chhk-chhk. The sound was crisp and bright, cutting through the wailing of the spirits.
"There is no guilt here," Hathor sang. "Only the dance."
The Rhythm of Life
The Furies tried to lash her with Serpentine Lash. They wanted to inflict Curse of Remorse.
But Hathor's eyes were the sun. Cow-Eyed Enchantment. She looked at the sisters not with anger, but with an overwhelming, intoxicating love.
The snakes in the Furies' hair stopped hissing. They began to sway to the rhythm of the sistrum. The Furies felt their rage dissolving into a confused desire to... celebrate?
"Drink," Hathor whispered, pouring Heavenly Milk onto the dry earth.
The Furies, confused and pacified by the sheer weight of life and joy, retreated to the shadows, unable to maintain their grim purpose in the face of such aggressive happiness.