It's the early hours of the morning when Aphrodite wakes up, blinks a few times, then sighs, and pokes her husband gently in the shoulder.

"Hephaestos. Wake up."

Poke. Poke.

"Sleepyhead. Our daughter wants to get born. She's being quite insistent about it."

There is a very, very pregnant goddess sitting, somewhat shame-faced, in her favourite armchair. She's sitting in one of the windows, golden sunlight playing over her form in a manner that is, for once, un-calculated. She's just enjoying the view - she's been away from him for far too long. She's not sure when Mount Etna became home - but it is ( Read more... )

'Dite is in the living room, today, in a rocking chair pulled close to a fire, roaring not because she needs the heat but because she likes the dance of warmth on her skin, and the flicker of light. She's not doing anything, just idly pushing with one toe against the floor, gently tilting the chair back and forth ( Read more... )

Aphrodite's bedroom is very much a room for her, even though the most beautiful things in it speak eloquently of the hand of her husband in them. The vast bed is upheld by four graceful golden peacocks, gems set into each individual finely sculpted feather. Delicate gauze hangs from the canopy, shimmering gently in the scented breeze that flows in ( Read more... )

The goddess is sitting, cross-legged, in a patch of shifting sunshine that creates ever-changing highlights of liquid gold in her (flame) red hair. The afore-mentioned hair falls past her face, as her head is bent forward in concentration on something she holds between her slender, talented fingers. Not talented for this sort of work, though. A ( Read more... )

OoM: On Mt. Etna; Echo and Aphrodite

Out on the lawn, she isn't even pretending to read any more. Just lounging, and trying to remember.

She's not sure what she's trying to remember, but she's trying to remember.

She suns herself on the side of the mountain, robe tossed to the side while she attempts to suck up the warmth.

She's always cold now.

The side of Mt. Etna is warm. Green, green grass compliments the red, red hair of the sprawling goddess. She's on her stomach, smoking a stick of incense, and trying to read. Trying, because her attention keeps wandering, and her eyes keep losing focus ( Read more... )

The soft shushh of silk against skin as she makes her way in to the library. Aphrodite is wearing silk; a long gown that covers her from collar to floor without a break for ornamentation or skin to show through. It is a deep, heart's blood red that makes her skin nearly glow and the red of her hair look almost gold in comparison ( Read more... )