You don’t scare Arachne. Did you really think you scared Arachne? Arachne is just startled, didn’t see you coming. Why the face? Under jaw stuck out, head back. You look like you got a whiff of potted herring gone stale. Never mind. Arachne’s seen it before. You are jealous of Arachne; it’s only natural. Arachne’s talents intimidate even the goddesses, why not you. You know Arachne will hold up a mirror and show you your crimes, as if you even need Arachne to do that. Just look at you, guilt hanging all over you like nets or a fine veil. Fine like what do you call it gossamer. And what’s that Arachne smells? In the air just now (why smell it only now? mysterious) ever so many millions of tiny grains blown across. Smell that? Took its time in coming, slow but sure. Shame. Arachne thought so. Must be the heat bringing it out of you. Must cling to everything. Arachne supposes people like the smell of shame or they wouldn’t exude so much of it. Like flies around treacle.