Dolce stood pole-straight among the tumbling flowerbeds, frozen under the weight of what was Not. This was not a stroll through a pretty garden. This was not an outing with Hera, kind Hera. Hera, who had not ever abandoned him or done him wrong. This was not an adventure. He was not a fluffy barnacle. He was not standing still, nervously smoothing his arm over and over and over. He stopped and forced his hands to his side, and they were not content to be still. This was not safe! This was not right! And, and... And Vasilia was not to have her bouquet, would she? His chest puffed out with a great intake of air, and he let it all out in a stiff whoosh. Pull yourself together, Dolce! Stand taller. Stop lollygagging. Step proper, and quit dragging your feet, it’s unsightly. You’re tidying up for a [i]god,[/i] do you know that? How often do you get to aid the divine so directly? Hades looked so angry, imagine what a relief it’ll be to see his things to rights. Maybe he’ll smile, even. Wouldn’t that be nice? Wouldn’t that lighten your heart, just a little? So go on, Dolce. Mind the flowers, and step inside. Work waits for no one.