Desperation writhed across her otherworldly form. Her trek was an arduous one; gliding across roots for kilometres on end she allowed her instincts to guide her to an altar before throwing herself upon the ground. Wings, previously a stream of pure white following her form now faced forwards, a reflection of her body. Nude, bar the traditional crown for prayer atop her brow, Fleur lay in supplication.
"Lord of the skies, creator of Veela"
"Zeus"
choking back a sob, she continues.
"Father."
With a deep breathe she moves on.
"Maman speaks of the adoration with which you held me as a babe."
Shaking her head, she turns to her real reason for being at this altar.
"I have always wanted to be more. More than your daughter, more than a Veela. Yet, here I lay prostrate before you willing to do anything, embrace all parts of myself and my heritage."
Her breath vibrates with the emotion of the request she's yet to bring forth.
"Please. I beg of you, bless Harry and I with a child of our own."