It's not a prison, it's called home.
The dress was so deeply pink it was almost red. Soft, draping yards of material, light like a butterfly's wing and hanging in classic shape, falling from her shoulders to scoop teasingly over one breast. Hebe sat with her legs curled under her, sitting along the stone banister and watching the world blink through drifting clouds.
She couldn't leave. Not yet. No matter how much she wanted to. There were consequences to the fact that her home now included both brother and husband; this time not one and the same.
Hebe stretched out her hand and a few inches into rhe air her fingertips pushed against an invisible film, it sparkled briefly golden with the sound of birds, peacocks.
Chaos and Nothingness she was bored. And seriously begining to understand why every once in a while Ares liked to set fire to things, if this was how boredom hit him everytime.
There was nothing to do, nothing she hadn't seen before, conversations she hadn't already had, and it wasn't even as if she was trying to outwit anyone. Just outlast the bluster; the polite fiction of outrage alongside smirking and roving eyes, the absolute bristling fury mixed with disappointment and maternal domination.
Hebe slumped back, lying prone on the stone and sighed. One hand went up to play along the satiny embroidered threads of her bodice's top. Old script, interlocking names mixed with vines and leaves in a shade just darker than the dress. A glimmer along the soft cloth draping her chest. Juventas and Mars.
It was one of her favorite dresses. But wearing it now was just plain sweet.
She couldn't leave. Not yet. No matter how much she wanted to. There were consequences to the fact that her home now included both brother and husband; this time not one and the same.
Hebe stretched out her hand and a few inches into rhe air her fingertips pushed against an invisible film, it sparkled briefly golden with the sound of birds, peacocks.
Chaos and Nothingness she was bored. And seriously begining to understand why every once in a while Ares liked to set fire to things, if this was how boredom hit him everytime.
There was nothing to do, nothing she hadn't seen before, conversations she hadn't already had, and it wasn't even as if she was trying to outwit anyone. Just outlast the bluster; the polite fiction of outrage alongside smirking and roving eyes, the absolute bristling fury mixed with disappointment and maternal domination.
Hebe slumped back, lying prone on the stone and sighed. One hand went up to play along the satiny embroidered threads of her bodice's top. Old script, interlocking names mixed with vines and leaves in a shade just darker than the dress. A glimmer along the soft cloth draping her chest. Juventas and Mars.
It was one of her favorite dresses. But wearing it now was just plain sweet.