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starfirette · 3 years

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Tales of Bacchenthia

Pleasure Volume Two: Diadēma

✨Diana Prince x Goddess! Reader | masterlist | volume one here

✨ HAHAAA SIKE, I HAVE THE NEXT CHAPTER OF ToB RIGHT NOW. REMEMBER WHEN I SAID I WOULD POST THIS ON JULY FIRST>>>>OF 2021>>>>> THAT'S MY BAD, THAT'S EMBARRASSING

1-Delphi 2-Perachora 3-Loutraki Casino Hotel 4-Corinth

The party had an energy of its own, and you couldn’t match it.

It was obvious and bothersome. You didn’t belong there.

You were like a buttery breath of air in a room full of must. The stares came in plenty, each pair of eyes glossing Diana’s figure then your own. You felt out of place when you looked at every man and woman and the clothing they bore—denim trousers too tight or too high on the waist, thick blazers catching pockets of underarm sweat.

Diana dressed like them, the fabric and design easily matching the room’s, but she didn’t look like them. She looked like an entirely different sort of being, perhaps even of another world. Her beauty flooded the room. You felt out of place even more at Dianas’s arm. She was regarded by all with kind reception and eagerness, an eagerness to flock to her and even kiss her feet.

It was easy to see that Diana was a gem of beauty everywhere she went.

Diana escorted you to the gallery room, and you called it such because it appeared a gallery. The walls were boarded with paintings and photographs. Shelves and pillars housed statues, artifacts, and busts. Everyone seemed to have a piece with a name tag attached.

“The presentation involves every one of these,” Diana explained. “Every piece here was discovered or restored by someone from museums all over the world.” ‘Where’s your piece?” You asked as you looked all around--was it the curved, Chinese sword displayed in velvet? Your blood sang in envy. What epic battles it must have seen.

“No, mine is…” She trailed off and smiled softly, so softly that you were certain she had forgotten what she was going to say in the first place.

Diana took you by the hand and led you through the room.

“Look familiar?” She says.

You looked surprised at first, as you caught sight of the relic Diana was presenting as her own. You felt your heart pound twice as fast. There was a little sign in bold print that made a little explanation of what Miss Prince was presenting, but it wasn’t something you needed to read to know. It was you. It was your face, made smoothly from white marble. The divots of your nose and the hollows just under your eyes, where your closed eyelids let your lashes kiss the skin.

It was like looking in the perfect mirror.

“Diana…”

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she asked, her lips in a small smile. The curve of her lower lip was calling to you like a siren in the water.

You looked away, taking a sharp breath. “Why would you do it?”

Something panged inside of Diana when you said it. She hid her hurt the way she tended to and she shrugged all too casually. “It made its way to me at the most opportune of times,” she said. “Your message was sent through it.”

“Interesting,” you said. “I didn’t realize that it would come from my lips so literally,” you added with a shrug that was just like Diana’s-- too casual. “The incantation said it’d be just as good as the real thing. You know, face to face. But this was...face to face.”

You were pale. Diana could see it as you tried to hide it, looking away from your marble image. “So how do we start looking?” you asked, rubbing your hands together mischeviously. You were more than ready to ditch the venue and begin the search.

“Looking?” Diana asked. “Look around at whatever you’d like. There’s lots of wonderful pieces to see.”

“That’s not what I meant, Dee,” you said, putting a hand on your hip. “I didn’t come here to flirt and play games. You told me the reason we even came to this place was because the chances of finding the artifacts were higher.”

Diana’s brows furrowed with anger as you looked flippantly at her. “You don't like the statue?”

Your chest constricted painfully as you looked into her brown eyes abruptly. You took a deep breath. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” she asked. She was prodding you for answers, something she did often. Today, though, you weren’t in the mood for her prodding. “I smell wine,” you said with a smile. You held out a hand for Diana to take. She hesitantly accepted. By the look on her face, she was trying to figure out what was going on inside your head.

“I'm sorry for my attitude, Dee,” you said as you both strolled out of the exhibit. Indeed your senses were correct, and you found a table of champagne and wine, stacked in neat glasses that made an elaborate tower.

Diana took a glass in her slender hands, balancing it in the folds of two fingers. “You don't have to apologize,” she said as she took a studious sip of her drink. You were not as wary-the drink was gone in a single gulp, leaving Diana to give you a chastising glare. She stopped you from taking a second goblet.

“It's not as if I'd get drunk off it,” you complained as Diana arduously took you away.

“Let's enjoy the time you have here,” Diana said softly as she linked her arm with yours. “You still have so much to see before you return to The Mountain.”

You shivered at the thought.

“Dee...if I don't find these artifacts, then I-I don't know if I'll want to return.”

Diana lifted a brow. She was surprised to hear you stuttering. It’s not usual that you’re at a loss for words. “What happened to not wanting to live without powers?” She asked, in the slight guise of a tease.

You were not in a gaming mood. You pulled your arm away from Diana’s. Your skin prickled with warmth from where she had touched you, so softly.

“How long do we have to be here?” You asked, picking up another glass.

Diana frowned. “Don't you want to watch my presentation?”

“No,” you said, blandly. You had no interest in watching Diana talk about you and your life.

Diana looked stupefied. For a brief second you could see her youth melt away to reveal the aches and pains she'd felt over the span of her long, long life. But being Diana, she quickly covered herself back up with a warm smile. “Hmm. Then…enjoy the other galleries. Please don’t go off and start looking on your own. I will help you. Just wait until tonight. Okay?”

“Sure. Whatever.”

Diana’s eyes hardened. “Fine.” She left you briskly, like a wounded animal trying to play off the gravity of their injuries. She had been hurt. You hurt her.

You kept seeing her face in mind, melting away from the pain you had instilled.

Angry boiled in your gut as you stormed out, your curly sprigs of hair bouncing around your face. She didn't have the right to look at you that way. How dare she?

What made her think that she was obliged to your time and attention, especially when you were so very clearly trying to search for the stupid artifacts?

Diana didn't care about you. Not really. She was having a grand time playing housewife with you in her Paris forest home. But she didn't understand the pressure you were under, nor the fear that was blossoming in you every day.

Persephone wanted what she wanted, and she usually gets what she wants. And Persephone just so happens to want a mistress of her own. Her departures from the Underworld leave her so lonely that she wanted a special plaything to keep her occupied for the few months she spent away from home. A special wife, just for Persephone’s boredom. And for some reason, you were the only name to come up. You found it hard to believe that no other name was thrown in the ring. What made you so special? What was so imperative about this marriage arrangement that only an epic search around the world would get you out of it?

You were in need of catharsis. Big time.

You cast one finally glance over your shoulder. Diana was making friendly conversation with her colleagues. Good. Let her.

You left to explore the rest of the venue. It was definitely an art venue, that was for sure. Other rooms had galleries of portraits and cultural artifacts on display. You examined everything closely. It must be easy to fool mortals. You could identify with ease the real, valuable baubles from the fake.

The Mesopotamian pottery? Almost all fake.

But the armor? Most of it is authentic.

Boring, oh, boring, you think as you pass a table of refreshments. You down another glass of champagne. Less boring, the world became as the bubbly drink warmed your insides.

You moved onto the paintings. Now paintings are certainly nice to see! No one actually cared about them, though. At least, not on the Mountain. Some mortals poured their blood, sweat, and tears into a just a few paintings. Little did they know that Gods would rather see a phallic statue or two. But, paintings? Boring.

Your eyes caught a glance of one particular image on the far end of the room. You left your empty glass on the nearest surface and quickly headed for the painting.

“Mother,” you whispered.

Aphrodite was pictured in a gilded frame. Aphrodite was pretty well known. And this painting captured her imagery down to the tee. You stared at the image, half expecting it to come to life.

“You look like her,” a voice said. You rolled your eyes, recognizing the flirtatious lilt in the woman's voice already.

Oh.

She was prettier than you expected.

“Do I?” You purred.

Guilt dripped down the back of your neck in the form of sweat.

But, you tell yourself, there's no reason to feel guilty. Diana would not care if you simply spoke to another. Diana wouldn't. Diana wasn't anyone important.

Just a friend.

“Actually, yes, you do,” the woman said, looking between you and the painted Aphrodite. “That's really strange.”

You shrugged impassively. “Maybe it's my outfit.”

The woman giggled, covering her thin lips with a hand. “You certainly look authentic,” she said. “Are you presenting something, or…?” You shrugged. “I just dress this way,” you said, trying to sound pompous. Your tactics were working, strangely enough. The woman was eating from the palm of your hand. She moved closer, her blue eyes analyzing your outfit and figure. No one can resist a bitch.

“It looks really good,” she said.

You offered a fleeting smile. “What brings you here? Are you a curator as well?”

“Just a patron of the arts,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “I collect. I live for these exhibitions.”

“Collect?” you repeated.

“I buy whatever is for sale and I add it to my collection,” she amended. Interesting.

“And what is it that you like to collect?” you asked her with a flirtatious smile.

Your teeth slid over your lip as you spoke, drawing the woman’s attention to the bow of your mouth and the pearly white of your canines. Your veins flexed as you pushed the glittering energy to the forefront of your mind, willing it to gloss through the woman’s nostrils and mouth. She took a deep breath and momentarily looked dazed. Was this her first experience with magic? She was taking it well.

“I collect priceless artifacts that I then auction off through an illegal ring of buyers,” she admitted, her eyes glazed over with dulled senses.

“Why?” you asked.

“We’re looking for magic in the real world, trying to prove it exists.”

You cut off the magic flow of the energy that was seeping right into her, making her tell the truth without thinking about it. “Wow, now that’s very interesting.”

She looked bashful, realizing exactly what she had just said. “Forgive me,” she said, clearing her throat. “I tend to dramatize most of what I do.”

“It’s okay,” you said, sending out a last minute wave of magic. “I’m in the same line of work. I work with your colleagues.”

“You work with Joseph and Alicia?” she asked, looking surprised even as the enchanting fumes seeped into her skin.

“I do,” you said. I’m looking for my own artifacts. Maybe you could help me.”

Cut off. The pulses of magic ceased in a sudden break, as if they’d hit a brick wall.

She once again looked dazed, maybe a little nauseated. But she shook it off. “Maybe I could,” she said, looking pleased with the idea as if it were her own.

You were pleased. Smirking at her, you admired your handiwork. Mortals are so easy to enchant. Especially one that already believes in magic. She, foolishly, allowed her mind to be off guard, likely never expecting to be ambushed by the one force she sought to discover.

You led her out of the room, plucking up another glass of sparkling wine upon passing the mobile waiter.

“What sort of magic are you looking for, exactly?” you asked as you downed the drink.

You led her by the arm, touching her bare skin and feeling her hair stand on edge. You tried not to frown. Was she lovestruck? You’d hardly tried to sway her. A little bit of magic must go a long way. Given your heritage, you’re really good at making others fall in love with you. Unfortunately, you never seem to attract the ones that really matter. You thought of Diana. Your chest constricted and you got angry again.

“Just magic,” the woman said, shrugging off the term. “Is there many kinds?”

“‘Are there,’” you corrected her, tapping her cute, Fae-like nose. “And I’d say that there are several. There’s not a dynasty in the world that never knew of it. Civilizations across the eons have all tried to gather as much knowledge as they can. It’s like a language. Words can be translated over and over and over, and eventually, it will lose all meaning. That is magic.”

“How do you know this?” the woman asks, looking up at you with awe.

“Take it on my authority,” you sighed, sprinkling another charm in between your words. “If you can help me, then I’ll help you bring back something ‘magical.’ But only if you help me.”

“Let me know how I can!” she said eagerly.

What could be the simplest way to explain everything? “There are two artifacts I’m looking for. Two very specific pieces. I must find the real ones, not any other lookalikes or recreations. A crown and a spear.”

The woman’s face softened grievously. “That will be very difficult,” she explained. “There are thousands of those from this current generation alone.”

“Oh, I feared you’d say that,” you sighed. “These artifacts span back a long time ago. Both are Greek in origin. The crown, well, its legend says that Aphrodite herself lost it during war. And the spear is very specifically the Thyrsus of Dionysus. I do realize that it will be hard to find, but I’m hoping that perhaps you and your syndicate have come across it…?”

The woman blinked. “Well. Maybe. I need more specifics. What do they look like?”

Irritated, you sighed. A part of you hoped that just a description would suffice. “Aphrodite’s crown” seems like something someone would just know about, without needing a description foretold.

“It’s…silver. After all this time, it will remain so. It was mended and infused with the magic of Gods, so it will never tarnish; it will never rust. It will always be Aphrodite’s paragon.”

Indeed, the tiara was Aphrodite’s favored possession, which she mourned the loss of for some time. If you found it…

Not only would you gain your freedom. You’d earn your mother’s happiness. The smile on her face upon receiving her lost thing would be because of you.

Dare to dream, a voice whispered in your head; it sounded eerily like Diana’s.

You led the woman, your new friend, around other exhibits as you did your very best to funnel images of the two artifacts you so desperately needed. As much detail as you could. It was an overload for the poor mortal’s brain. You had to ease up and funnel little percentages of magic in intervals. Giving the woman some time to breathe, you let her take a seat on a marble bench. You found her a glass, not filled with champagne, and thrust it in her hand. “You’re alright,” you compelled her.

She took ginger sips of her water. “I’m alright,” she assured you, once again mistaking the words for an idea of her own device.

“Don’t you know anyone that’s heard of these things?” you asked her. “You have connections, right?”

“I do!” she said eagerly. “I just have to-”

“Y/n!” A loud voice boomed in your ears. You clamped your hands around your ears.

The voice wasn’t coming from an external force; it was coming from within you. The Voice of the Gods often flowed past your brain, going from the inside out and pushing into your ears. This Voice was Diana’s. You whipped around and saw Diana storming down the hall, her heels attacking the marbled floors as she charged your way.

You tried to rush at her and stop her from doing whatever it was she was prepared to do. Kill you? Perhaps. Behead you? Maybe. String you up with her lasso and shame you? Sure.

If you were lucky, she’d just kick your ass.

“What’s going on here? The place reeks of magic. What the hell are you up to?” her Voice demanded.

“Hello, Diana,” you said aloud, trying to remain cordial and ignore the fact that she was yelling at you.

Diana took one look at the woman sipping her water and her eyes filled with rage. You hadn’t ever felt the brunt of her full fledged anger before; you have a feeling you’re about to.

Her eyes took hold of the woman on the bench. She could see what you were seeing: the golden, glowing cloud in the woman’s aura. Gods could see magic, and your magic, the compulsion, persuasion, was golden and bright, like glitter and a setting sun.

You actually felt like cowering down from her as she tried not to yell. “Do you even know her name?” she demanded.

Your cheeks burned. “No,” you muttered. You felt, surprisingly, ashamed.

Diana physically restrained herself, taking a deep breath of composure as she brushed past you to your informant. She tugged on the woman’s elbow to capture her attention. “What’s your name?” she asked carefully. It was difficult for her to get the woman’s undivided attention. The woman looked lost without you directly at her side. The lack of magic triggered a dizziness in the woman’s brain.

“Fiona Solway,” she responded. If she noticed the tensions running between you and Diana, she didn’t say anything. She looked around Diana’s shoulder. The physical taughtness of her shoulders relaxed when she caught sight of you. “Fiona,” Diana said, trying to remain pleasant. “Did my friend even ask your name?”

You physically started at the sound of Diana’s voice; though she said ‘friend’, she didn’t sound at all ‘friendly’, making the term sound negative.

“No,” Fiona said, sounding not at all offended. Your magic was too deep in her head for her to care. Her urge to follow you, to receive more magic from that direct connection you’d created, was too strong. It interfered with her mortal nature. It interfered with her mind and her person.

The look Diana gave you was grave. It made your heart sink into your stomach. You really would have preferred it if Diana had punched you square in the boobs.

“She has connections,” you told Diana. “She can help us find the artifacts.”

“Is my help just not enough for you?” Diana seethed. “Bringing a mortal into this? A human? I told you I could help you and I really want to. But this is a dangerous search! We don't know where either of the Artifacts are, or who they're with. Didn't you ever contemplate the fact that there could be others looking for them? Magic runs deep into gangs and mobs and cults. I can guarantee you that we aren't the only ones who know.”

You felt the urge to cry, the sensation pricking at corners of your eyes. “It’ll be fine,” you managed to scowl, crossing your arms. The grip of yourself was enough to keep you from unravelling completely. But still, your emotions were coming off as stark anger and attitude, which Diana didn’t seem to appreciate.

“Fiona doesn’t mind,” you snapped.

Diana’s brown eyes were blown wide with anger. You could see her aura, billowing silver and red and blue, like magic was pluming off of her. She was trying to contain herself, but the Voice that rang loudly in your head was enough notice for you that she was very close to losing it. You felt small.

“She won’t be coming with us,” Diana’s Voice echoed. “I recommend you break whatever spell you’ve put her under.”

With a burning face, you turned back to Fiona, who was typing away on her cell phone.

You sat beside her, ignoring the burning glare of Diana, who watched you like an impatient mother, her foot tapping away and all.

“Small change in plans,” you said warmly as you rubbed Fiona’s shoulder. “I don’t need your help anymore.”

Fiona looked up from her phone, her nose scrunching in confusion. “I already put out an alert for the crown, though,” she said in a tiny voice. The heartbreak she felt as though she had displeased you made Diana suck in a deep, frustrated breath.

“No, it’s okay,” you told her. “You’ve helped me enough. I think you can go, now,” you added, pushing in another gentle wave of magic. Very suddenly, her mood changed. She nodded and looked happy to have helped. “Okay! I hope you can find them. Do I still get something magical?” she asked, then, looking to have remembered what you promised.

Diana made an impatient sound. “Are you kidding me?” she swore in Ancient Greek.

“I have something for you right now!” you told Fiona, sending Diana a bitter look. You looked around for something, something very small, easy to manage, and also easy to infuse with some form of magic.

You saw a wandering waiter with another tray of flutes filled with sparkling wine. You rushed, grabbed one, and-

“You’ve had enough to drink as it is,” Diana said sharply. She reached out to grab the drink from you, but you evaded her with a graceful spin on your toes.

Diana couldn’t use full magic like most other Gods. She could do basic enchantments, a handful of charms; but not spells. Not like the one you were going to attempt to do. It seemed easy in nature. Judging by the radius of the glass, which you were roughly estimating one point four three, perhaps point five, the entire structure was strong enough to handle the magic you were about to bind to it.

“Erueka,” you told Fiona pleasantly. “It’s a regenerative lust poition. You can drink it and it would refill on its own. Though, I don’t recommend doing that,” you added as a warning before you let her take it in her hands.

Fiona didn’t seem to be impressed. You frowned, and then looked at Diana for some praise.

She looked equally unimpressed.

“Well, pass it back, then,” you muttered as you took the flute away from Fiona. You poured it on the floor, making Diana swear in shame. Fiona’s eyes glittered as the flute refilled itself, the champagne bubbling right back up to the top.

“Someone could slip in that,” Diana hissed at you.

“It’s amazing! What if the glass breaks?” Fiona asked with curiosity tremoring in her words.

You blinked as you thought. “Then the whole spell would probably be broken,” you concluded.

“Did you bind the spell to the glass or to the champagne?” Diana’s irate Voice asked.

“I bound the spell to the glass itself,” you told Fiona, feigning wise knowledge beyond years. Diana fought for your attention in your head as you explained the overall gist of the brand new Lust Potion you’d just now made on a whim.

“So always have protected sex,” you added to Fiona. “And feel free to show that to your friends. I must say, magic based orgies are certainly the best to attend.”

Diana looked tempted to punch you square in the pelvis. She appeared to want to physically harm you. This was alright.

Fiona, drunk and dazed from the sudden magic of various opinion, stumbled away with the glass in hand.

You could feel the tether between you, and her, stretching as she moved farther and farther away. You knew, though, that tether would never break. At least not for a long time.

Diana knew that, too.

“You ruined that woman’s life,” Diana said. To put her voice as sounding ‘cross’ is much too gentle. She wasn’t ‘cross.’ She was ‘enraged.’

“I just saved that woman’s life,” you argued. “She’ll never have to worry about miserable relationships lacking sex. So long as she keeps that glass safe.”

Diana did not find this funny.

“I don’t see the harm,” you defend yourself as you cross your legs. You looked up at her from your spot on the cold bench, examining your nails as a way to appear nonchalant.

“The ‘harm’ is that you’ve outwardly exposed magic to a mortal. The ‘harm’ is that you just gave a human the potion for the very thing all humans crave the most.”

“What, a good rutt?” you chortled.

“Intimacy,” Diana said fiercely. “Humans would fight tooth and nail and claw for the guaranteed chance of intimacy. Of being wanted by someone who would otherwise not want you back. Do you know how that could hurt someone? Especially if it got in the wrong hands? What if she drugs another person with it? That person would be feeling that way against their will. But you didn’t think about that. You didn’t think about the consequences of your actions. You never do. You’ve been spoiled your entire life, and now you’ve come to this realm just to wreak havoc?”

You rolled your [hue] eyes to the sky. “You're a prude,” you spat.

“And you're a brat with the most morosoph of principles,” Diana spit back, using twice the amount of venom you had.

Any other day you'd be able to let such words roll off the shoulders. But today?

Though technically unable to get drunk off mortal alcohols, you did feel a slight tenderness to your belly and chest. And head. And really all over.

Lo! Was it heartache? Love sickness?

The intrepid act of defiance against Diana might have been described, by a licensed professional, as an act of begging for attention. Maybe you wanted to see Diana jealous. Maybe you wanted to see her angry.

You'd gotten part of your wish.

With a pursed expression of anger (fueled by shame! As if it wasn't bad enough) you brushed past Diana’s shoulders.

“You don't even know where you're going,” Diana called after you.

“I'll take a taxi,” you fumed.

“You still need to give the driver an address,” Diana called back. “If you can tell me the name of the resort we’re even staying at, then fine. I’ll let you go.”

You jeered to a stop.

You turned back around and folded your arms over your chest. “Give me the title of our inn,” you spat.

Diana chuckled bitterly. “‘Title of our inn’?” she repeated.

“Exòloio,” you spat.

“You're acting like a drunken bitch,” Diana seethed.

You gasped. “I wish I never came here in the first place,” you shouted.

Diana grabbed you by the wrist, pulling you close and glaring into your very soul. Your breath hitched. You and Diana were chest to chest, breathing hard and snarling at each other like rabid wolves ready to pounce at each other.

With all the aggression of Athena, Diana wrenched you along as she marched outside the museum.

Night had fallen by now. Had it been that long? Maybe you were drunk.

“Fiona!” Diana shouted.

Fiona was easily traceable in the lingering crowd loitering around the venue. Fiona turned around, looking half dead. Her eyes were glossy. Void.

But when she caught sight of you and Diana, she was filled with life. She came over to you like a doe prancing through flowers.

“Hello,” Fiona said happily. She clutched her spelled glass like it was her lifeline.

Diana finally released you. You wanted to tend to your wrist, rub and ease the pain Diana had caused, but doing so would have admitted to Diana that she had an effect on you.

“May I please see that?” Diana asked kindly.

She pointed a manicured finger to the spelled champagne flute. Fiona shrugged naively as she handed the flute to Diana.

“No!” You shouted at Diana, already knowing what she would do the minute she had it within her grasp.

Diana threw the glass at the ground, the spellbound artifact shattering. A piercing pain shot through you, like a spinal headache in its most concentrated form.

The broken glass reverted to the oldest form as Diana waved a hand over it. The shards melted into grains of sand, blowing away in the wind.

You were tempted with the urge to lunge at Diana and wrestle her to the ground, maybe even punch her in the breasts a few times.

“Why'd you do that?” Fiona asked Diana. Her mouth was quivering. She looked like a toddler.

“Look at what you've done,” Diana seethed to you, gesturing to Fiona’s slightly pathetic displays.

You knew what Diana was talking about. The magical inebriation effect on mortals was far more serious than it was on a Demigod or Amazonian.

Fiona Solway was simply a victim of the inebriation. Your magic had seeped into her very being and now most of her life subconsciously revolved around you.

It would wear off once the physical distance between you two increased. But right now, Fiona was utterly devastated to have lost the gift you'd given her. Tears dribbled down her face, and she wiped them away with confusion. “You broke it,” Fiona saidm sounding void of any emotions. Her face contorted before she covered it with her hands and cried. Diana looked frightened as she tried to comfort Fiona, who simply looked to you for comfort, the way a puppy would look at his master.

“Can’t I have another one?” she asked, her lip quivering. “I’ll take better care of it.”

Diana’s horror was blatant. “Look at what you’ve done to her,” she cried.

“She would have been fine once some…physical distance…was between us,” you argued, the feeble attempt to get Diana off your back failing. Diana pushed you aside.

“Let me handle this,” she said bitterly as she held her hands out to Fiona. Fiona took them, looking hopeful for another chance to redeem herself in your eyes. Redemption in your eyes was all Fiona could think about. You could feel her shame pulsing down the one way tether as she shivered in Diana’s gentle grasp. Diana chewed her lip. Magic of a demigod was not as strong as magic of a god. But Diana’s magic was fixating to the center of the enthrallment spell you’d placed so lovingly on Fiona. Diana’s magic shattered it and it left Fiona feeling faint.

“How do you feel?” Diana asked. You could see the remnants of your spell shattering to the ground, fluttering like crystal snow and shining like your favorite gemstones.

“Weird,” Fiona said. “Who are you guys, again?”

“Diana, the curator of the final exhibit you saw. You and I spoke about my work. My friend, Y/n, did a magic trick for you. But you had to leave for bed because you had a few too many glasses of champagne and now you have a headache. You’re excited to come back tomorrow to tour the rest of the remaining exhibits. You had a lot of fun tonight.”

“I had a lot of fun tonight!” Fiona said happily. Her face had completely morphed and she could now look at you without feeling a heart wrenching pain in the pit of her stomach. She bid you goodbye, which you half heartedly reciprocated, and she hailed a taxi.

She left.

Diana turned to glower at you.

Her aura was shimmering with sapphire blue and tinsel-like strands. Her magic was stronger than you had last seen it. Maybe it was the anger that was flowing in her, which was evident to see outside of her aura.

“Thank you,” you said dumbly.

“That’s all you have to say?” Diana asked.

“I didn’t foresee you getting so angry about something so miniscule,” you snipped, putting your nose in the air. You should apologize, admittedly, for ruining her night.

“Doling out magic to random human women you want to play with is irresponsible and idiotic. You should know better than to do such a thing! You’re unrecognizable right now! What happened to you in the brief hours I was away from you? Do I have to keep you on a leash? Well, you’d probably just like that.”

Diana’s words cut deep.

Whatever apology you’d been brewing burnt and shrivled up.

She really said that, huh?

“You’re a bitch. I didn’t realize a pesky mortal sideeffect of being a demigod was getting your period.”

Diana looked half ready to throw you across the street. Her strength was admittedly twice that of any average god you could find On The Mountain; could you take her in a fight? No. Did you want to take her in a fight? Not particularly.

“I’m ready to go to sleep,” you sighed; upon finding yourself backed against a wall, facing an opponent such as Diana, all you could do was talk yourself out of it. Talking is your most formidable weapon, be it against an enemy, or against yourself. You’re good at it.

“Fine. Let’s go,” Diana seethed. She hailed a taxi, keeping her back to you at all times.

She pulled the door open and wrenched your arm in her grip as she harshly ushered you inside. Your skin burned under the touch of her hot motions. Your chest grazed hers as she pushed you into the car, and the motion had your heart beating faster than a hummingbird’s. But the anticipation was one sided, clearly, as Diana shut the car door. She told the address to the driver and let him speed away.

Without her.

You were stunned.

You hadn’t realized how dependent on Diana you were until you arrived back at the hotel.

You couldn’t find your room, so you lingered at the front desk and demanded the room information.

That process required identity verification, which is apparently hard to do without an identity card. People carry their names on little cards as a way to prove their identity. That’s understandable, at least for celebrities and politicians. But what do common folk need to prove their names for?

It’s needless. It causes unnecessary strife.

You did make it back to your bedroom, after a long talk with the evil mortal who guards the hotel’s intelligence desk. He seemed judgemental over the fact you didn’t have an identity card. Or anything with your name on it. If he knew the raw force he was reckoning with he would not be so smug nor so cocky.

And still-you couldn’t help but feel sad over the fact that Diana had not been there to watch you triumph the little mortal. The wee man was no match for your pure persistence.

Diana would pay for the shame she brought upon you tonight. She made you feel guilty and over something miniscule. She didn’t have the right to do such things! She doesn’t own you. She doesn’t know the ways On The Mountain. The laws and principles of that such place are merely different. Starkly different.

You were able to undress yourself. You were able to bathe.

As the shower water beated down on you, you could see your aura shimmering like dull copper on your [hue] skin. Diana was really bringing you down.

You wouldn’t apologize, though, she owed you that.

After bathing, you flickered through the various selections that the television had to offer. The show you’d become so fond of, Friends, wasn’t anywhere to be found.

You felt sick.

Upon not finding your familiar show anywhere, a sinking feeling grew in your belly.

You missed Diana. Where was she? When would she come back?

Maybe you should apologize.

Maybe you should go out and look for her!

You laid back in the bed, twiddling your thumbs in your lap as you stared at the ceiling. The soundless room was somehow the loudest thing you’d ever heard.

You’d never felt this way.

This horrible, sick feeling was never spoken of On The Mountain. This sickness…it was making you anxious.

No. Worse. The sickness is the anxiousness. It’s anxiety.

You sat up, groaning and audibly distressing.

How could this be? A magic slip up and mortal fears, in one night?

There came a knock at the door. You leapt out of bed, your stomach immediately feeling relieved of its pain. Diana was back. Diana, Diana, you’re so sorry. You’ll never do it again.

You pulled open the door, already voicing your apologies-

To Fiona Solway. And to an angry looking, sword wielding, Hephaestus.

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