Alexa should be afraid.

He threatens to end all that she cares for, threatens to end civilization as they know it. And, staring at that face, she believes it. Every nerve should scream, wrack her with the tension of knowing that she is in the presence of--not an apex predator, because that elevates her to the position of something he would hunt. Something so utterly beyond comprehension that whatever instincts she has should writhe with terror.

And yet...

There is nothing in the world but those two eyes. Twin wells, portals into infinity, and full of such wonder!-- She could spend an aeon reading the stories in them, and still only scratch the surface. Tales of romance spanning galaxies--daring escapes, forbidden meetings, passionate confessions, swordfights, murders, passion, and more. Alien races, unlike anything she's seen. Looking into these eyes, there's a vague part that remembers that Aphrodite, like Zeus and her family, is born of titan's blood. In those eyes, she sees all that Aphrodite has promised, and more besides.

And at the very center, in the heart of the black hole, a small twinkle surrounding those three little words.

Dimly, she feels pressure against her hands. How did she feel that, under the overbearing weight of those eyes? Everything feels... not off, but diminished, somehow. No, not diminished, not really. The sound is the same as it ever was, as is her vision. But in the presence of Aphrodite, in the midst of such a vibrancy of life and love, everything else must feel like a pallid imitation.

She looks down, wrenching herself away from those eyes to meet the gaze of one of her bridesmaids. She has to be--she bears the bumps and bruises and dented metal from the trip here. And yet, the maid is smiling. Gently. Encouraging. 

They're flowers. That's what the maid is doing. Is giving her a bouquet. Of course she is, can't be a bride without-- She should thank her, right? That's what's done in this circumstance, is be...

Tenderly, the maid closes Alexa's fingers around the bouquet and withdraws back to the cluster of the other bridesmaids.

She knows these flowers. Molech didn't garden, himself. That is to say, he wasn't the one in the dirt, tending to the weeds and the watering. But he drew the plans and ordered the work, and woe betide the errant soul who dared disturb his mastercraft by picking them.

And yet, here they are, in her hands. Errant, wild, run mad with two hundred years of crossbreeding and patchwork.

Her eyes track inexorably through the crowd. Wild, free. Patchwork, run mad. Beautiful in their chaos. There's barely room to contain them all, pushing, shoving, vying for space to see... see her. To watch her get married. Is that touching, she wonders?

The sweep of the room continues to Caval, waiting patiently. Even now, she's impossible to read. Is that excitement? Dread? Eager expectation? Terror? There's nothing to read in that strange, bulging optic array. Does she want this? Is she a mere puppet to the will of the god of madness? No, no, that's. Well, it's possible. But Alexa doesn't want to consider it. Doesn't want to believe that even the gods would be so cruel as to deprive someone of...

...of the ability to choose. To decide who they are. More important, to decide who they want to be. To fix them in place, and tell them, "your lot, and no more."

Her breath hitches as she turns once more, finally, to Aphrodite, and hopes she's making the right choice. 

"I... do not."

She cringes back, waiting for the smiting. When it doesn't come, she cracks her eyes open again.

"I do not marry this woman," she hesitantly declares, if for no other reason than to fill the void. "I barely know her." Slowly, marveling at her own audacity, but picking up steam, "I have not spent time with her, listened to her, held her as she cried or cried in her arms. I have not marveled at the way the sun streaks across her chassis, or found wonder in her smile. I cannot greet her at the doorway with her favorite food, or whirl her away to a romantic evening, because I have not spent enough time with her to know any of that."

She desperately hopes that's a smile creeping around Aphrodite's lips, because all the gods couldn't stop her now.

"I do not love this woman. And I admit that I am as yet unversed in the ways of love, and perhaps in your wisdom you have chosen my perfect mate out for me. If so, I am so very sorry for once more disappointing you, failing you. But I cannot marry someone I do not love, or ask her to marry me when I know that she does not love me. That is not fair to her, and it is"--her voice chokes a little, and she has to rally before continuing--"and it is not fair to me."

The crowd, for once, is silent. Alexa shrinks into herself, and soggily wipes her nose. "I... I am very sorry for wasting your time."