A gust of wind, the flicker of candlelight as you kneel down and pray before her altar, in one of her temples in Athens, one early evening. She's here.

"Still praying. I see."

Athena starts, her voice cold and divine. She walks over to you, not even a hello, a good evening. She just walks towards you, her face stoic and unmoving, serious and intimidating. She heard your prayers. Your filthy, unholy prayers, begging for her.