A Hall of Mirrors

A Sparkling Realization

Apollo, God of Poetry, Music, (etc.) was thoroughly bored out his mind.

His family had never known how to throw a party, not like he and Dionysus did, and this one was eating away at his life force bit by bit. It seemed ridiculous in the first place why they were having this Introduction for a child that had been kept out of the public eye for a hundred years. Why didn’t Zeus just let the girl grow up like a normal little goddess? Better yet, why did they even bother Introducing her now?

Apollo was missing slam poetry night down in the Valley and Trinity, the spunky little nymph he had been courting this week, was there. He was so sure he was close to convincing her a night with him would make her entire life more vivid—the Apollo Effect, as people said—but this thing in the palace set him back. 

Everyone was as sparkly as he remembered. Gatherings as large as this one did not happen often these days, and he supposed he missed the glitzy glamour that it required, but gods he didn’t miss the stiffness of it one bit. His sky blue eyes roamed the pristine grounds and tried to remember the night Kathréftis, the child being Introduced tonight, was born. 

As a baby, Apollo supposed she was cute. Chubby cheeks, a head full of curly brown hair, butterfly lips that let out a gurgle of laughter as that freakishly large rose opened up to reveal her to them. He still wasn’t sure why Gaia even gave her to them in the first place, the Flower of Olympus. A gift, before the Earth Mother had gone into radio silence. The night of her birth was much like this one. Only it was held in a smaller garden and only the Twelve Olympians, plus Hades, were allowed to witness. 

And now a hundred years later, her Introduction. Apollo had to admit he was curious about the girl. From the nymphs he had managed to finagle into talking, the girl had grown into a beautiful goddess. They also told him she spent her days reading and tending to the garden where she was born. It sounded standard enough for a cooped up princess, but perhaps he was missing something else.

Yet there was that message that Hermes had delivered this morning, a Zeus’ send-to-everyone missive that told them to be on their best behaviors. 

He downed another ambrosia and snatched a fresh one from a passing harpy. From the corner of his eye, he could see a small figure stalking her way towards him. Pretending to watch the massive double doors, he waited.

A small, biting but hushed voice said from beside him, “I honestly thought you wouldn’t attend the Introduction.”

“Hello, sister,” Apollo greeted warmly, looking at her sideways. She was dressed in a plunging, forest green gown that showcased her every curve, no doubt to torture all the men who couldn’t have her. His twin liked that. “That dress is spectacular on you.”

She grinned, her eyes identical to his, sparkling with that wicked gleam that usually sent animals and men running to the opposite direction. Her blonde hair was gold under the lights that illuminated the gardens, her features fierce and not at all the warm, open, and charming face that Apollo had. But even if Artemis could be scary (even to him), he loved his sister to bits.

“Thank you.” Her eyes darted over him from head to toe, eyebrow rising. “The little Flower’s Introduction didn’t even warrant a suit jacket? Or a tie?”

Apollo frowned. The white dress shirt was immaculately pressed, only the top button left open. He even had cufflinks on. And his black slacks and shoes he made sure bore no wrinkles or scuffs. He looked good. But Artemis was shaking her head at him.

“I look relaxed,” he argued, eliciting a chuckle from his twin. “What? I stand out. It would make it easier for the girl to remember me.”

“And that’s so important, isn’t it?” She crossed her arms, tossing her hair behind her. “Don’t flirt or even try your charm on her, brother. Father will have your head.”

It was his turn to cross his arms. “She’s a kid,” Apollo stressed to Artemis who only looked at him with disbelief in her eyes. “Gods, Artie, even I have lines I won’t cross.”

“But she’s not a kid. She’s all grown up now. Not to mention pretty. I hope she has the good sense to declare tonight she’ll vow chastity.” Artemis sighed. “Men are such pigs.”

“Thanks for that.”

She patted his arm. “I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. After all, you managed to come here tonight and ignore that Trinity girl for family.”

The god grunted, taking a sip from his glass. If she only knew the restraint it took, she’ll give him more than damned benefit of the doubt.

Artemis floated away and for a moment he watched his sister strut across the garden and bare her teeth threateningly at Orpheus whom she caught staring at her backside. He supposed he should defend his sister, but Artemis would have his genitals on a platter if he stepped in her way.

As soon as she was gone, Hermes, in a simple silver suit and his white wings tucked behind him, slithered up to him with another of those mischievous grins of his. Apollo tried not to groan and ducked to avoid the muscled arm that wrapped around his shoulders. The god smelled suspiciously of cherry lemon bourbon, a devious mix by Dionysus himself, and wondered where he got it. Dio was banned from mixing tonight by Zeus, or handing out anything that was not served here in the palace itself.

“I got to see her a while ago,” Hermes’ scratchy voice sang in his ear. The god’s five o’ clock shadow made his own hairless face itch. “Hope she swears none of those stupid virgin vows. I’d like to—”

Apollo made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat as he shook his head and stepped out of his grip. “Gods above, Hermes. Need I remind you that you told everyone else to behave?”

His straight, dark hair flopped to his forehead. “Tonight,” Hermes corrected. “We only need to behave tonight. I bet you’ll forget about that nymph you’re chasing once you see her.” He pointed his tanned hand back to the palace. “She’s already behind those doors.”

Apollo knew he was being baited. You didn’t spend eons with Hermes, God of Messengers and Trickery, and did not learn one thing or another. But he did look. He told himself it was because he was already facing that way, and that he had noticed the other gods and goddesses in attendance were doing the same thing. Apollo watched as Aphrodite, the primary carer of the girl, crossed the space in front of the gathered throng, as beautiful as a Goddess of Beauty would allow, and settled herself beside the steps of a small, raised platform where Zeus and Hera now appeared.

Hermes gagged at the traditional drapes that the King and Queen of Olympus wore. His chest and all its fuzzy glory was bare, his robe a one-shouldered affair, while Hera wore something a little more dignified but in the same shade of cream that her husband wore. 

“Gods and Goddesses of Olympus, welcome! It is our delight to introduce and present to you, Kathréftis, Goddess of Reflections!”

Apollo and the others clapped enthusiastically, not because they felt that way, but because it was expected of them. Goddess of Reflections… that might be the most useless occupation someone could have. What even would it entail? But Apollo stopped wondering about it and instead focused on the doors that parted like the sea for the small girl—lady, he corrected himself—wearing a glittering, rose gold dress that left her shoulders bare and highlighted that ample bosom. Her hair, while longer than he remembered, was the same chocolate brown it had been when she was born. And instead of it being curly, they tumbled down her shoulders in soft waves. A tiara sent sparkles that reflected light across her face.

Apollo caught himself, but she was beguiling and, he supposed, different. Those deep-set, silvery eyes reminded him of the pools in Mount Etna underneath the glow of the moon. She was tanned, which surprised him because he didn’t imagine she got much sun being cooped up in the palace for a hundred years, and her elegantly oval face rid her of the chubby cheeks, instead making for high cheekbones that gave her a sultry look. Apollo didn’t let himself focus on her lips for health reasons.

He heard Hermes curse softly as Kathréftis swished her hips as she walked to the dais. “f**k me,” he sighed. Apollo grimaced, but he had to agree. f**k me, indeed.

But that would get him in exactly the kind of trouble Artemis and Hermes himself warned him of. And as Hermes moved to the dais (because it was his job tonight to make sure the little lady was made well acquainted), Apollo couldn’t help but think that for the first time in a millennia, he would be willing to do anything to make sure he didn’t cross the line he told his sister he held himself to.

He was a god. He would have the damned self-control of one.

***

Kath had decided she liked the God of Messengers.

He was funny and foul-mouthed, but he was able to carry a conversation with her and that was already better than most nymphs she had grown up with. She was also thankful that it was his job tonight to be beside her as she met all the gods and goddess. It would take all night, but Hermes was like a walking directory. He knew everyone and everyone’s business which he slyly whispered in her ear here and there. Kath didn’t think she’d laughed this much in all her life!

First, she was introduced to Ares, a grumpy, wall of muscle that towered over her (everyone seemed to tower over her), with brown eyes that seemed to blacken in anger at the sight of her. She was quickly whisked away to meet the Lady Hestia, who appeared younger than even Kath did, and gave her a very long and warm hug, those hazel eyes crinkling in happiness at the sight of her. She decided right then and there that Hestia was someone she’d make an effort to befriend. 

Next was Poseidon, who smelled salty and citrusy at the same time, with deep olive skin, a peppering of dark and light hair. He had a beard that made him seem older than he was, and when Kath looked into his eyes, she could see the ocean in them. He was wearing a suit and pants but he seemed as uncomfortable with it as everyone were at seeing Zeus and Hera in their traditional chiton garb. His wife, Amphitrite, was wearing a dress of sea foam, her auburn hair contrasting with the crown made of seashells atop her braided hair. Kath also decided she liked the two of them, especially when they invited her to spend summer in Atlantis.

“Where’s the other one?” Kath asked Hermes as she was led away. She peered up at the dark-haired, tanned god beside her whose muscled arms she could feel under his silver suit. “Hades.”

She knew she shouldn’t even ask. Zeus and Aphrodite already warned her, but he was there when she was born. She wanted to at the very least put a face to the name.

Hermes shrugged as they both approached two women, one in a gorgeous forest-green gown and one in black velvet that was just as magnificent. “Hades comes when he wants to. But don’t worry. He’ll be here, appearing when it’s convenient for him, not us.” He grinned at the two women. He bowed first to the one in black. “Athena, Artemis, let me introduce Kathréftis.”

Kath still winced at the use of her full name but she could not help but gasp at the auburn haired woman. Athena. The one responsible for all her gorgeous dresses. Her gray eyes sparkled. “I suppose you know whose been dressing you,” she murmured.

A little awestruck, she nodded vigorously and, remembering herself, curtsied. “Lady Athena, yes, oh my gods, thank you.” Then her eyes flickered towards the other goddess who was eyeing her with amusement over her glass of ambrosia. “Lady Artemis,” she said a bit reverently.

Artemis smirked at her. “Bubbly. I don’t know if I’ll like you.”

Hermes and Athena laughed, but Kath merely blinked, her face refusing to betray the pang of hurt. Her tongue, however, couldn’t stop. “I’m sure you’ll find it a relief that I don’t want you to try too hard.”

The words made her wince, and the winged god to choke on his ambrosia, but Artemis merely threw her that hunter’s grin as her eyes roved over Kath.

“Oh, I think we’ll be friends, all right.”

Kath wished the opposite. Athena wedged herself between Artemis and Kath. “I certainly hope you are planning to keep that,” she said, making Kath blink. “The dress.”

“Oh. Oh,” Kath nodded, her hands smoothed over the dress once more. “I already told Aphrodite I would.”

That seemed to please the goddess. “Great! Now, are you enjoying yourself so far?

Kath thought about lying. She really did. But she thought it was unwise to lie to the Goddess of Wisdom. Besides, Hermes did make things a bit better. But her feet was aching and her stomach badly wanted to lead her to the banquet table that was steadily filling with other people. She just wanted to lose herself in her dinner and then wake up tomorrow before dawn to start her exploration of the Valley.

So, she said, “I’m adjusting.” It was a lame answer. She knew that. But she doubted the goddess wanted a whole dissertation on her feelings.

Athena’s smile was warm, her eyes bringing on that all-knowing glint to them. “That’s good. That’s—” Then she frowned at somebody over her shoulder. “Apollo, why aren’t you wearing the jacket I gave you earlier?”

“Because it’s too stuffy for it, Athena. Sorry.”

Kath whirled, only for her hair to slap the sun god on the face. Startled, the pair jumped back and red creeped up Kath’s face in a blush. Apollo, who was in the process of ducking, blinked at her with wide, blue eyes the color of the sky. His hair of sunshine was tousled, run through one too any times by anxious fingers. 

“Oh, gods,” Kath breathed. “I am so sorry.”

He grimaced at her. “Yeah, I’m sure you didn’t intend to turn like a shampoo commercial model.”

Shock, and a healthy dose of irritation, burned right up in Kath. “I already apologized,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Still hurts.”

Kath crossed her arms. “Aren’t you the god of healing? I’m sure you could heal yourself.”

A sandy brown eyebrow was raised. “Why aren’t you just a bratty, little—”

“Don’t call me bratty, you—”

Hermes pulled her back, eyes wide. “Alright, I think that’s enough.”

But Kath fumed. If this god knew how not bratty she was, how miserable her past hundred years of existence was… She huffed in anger and strode off to the banquet hall where she could scent her mother’s sweet smell. Kath realized with a small drop in her stomach that everyone probably thought the same about her.

Something hot stung her eyes. It was so unfair if they thought that of her. Her chest heaved and she felt all her resolve from this morning break a tiny bit. Perhaps before she could have her freedom, the Fates wanted her a little broken first. Maybe they wanted her to endure the shame of being Introduced as a goddess of something so useless, and to bathe in the attention of people that meant very little to her.

Kath detoured from the path into the banquet hall and instead found herself nearing one of the gazebos that was a bit removed and hidden by cypress trees from view. The smell of the earth comforted her but it held no healing.

“Don’t tell me someone broke your heart already,” a sensual voice that had Kath whirling to the shadows said, feeling the smirk within. “That would be no fun at all.”