Skotos is without words for a moment. It hurts, after all. To be given a quest, then to have it pulled out of her hands; make things right, but do so yourself. This is the spite of the queen of the gods, a refusal to return power to the powerless. But more than that, she is in the presence of Aphrodite.

She should not accept. Aphrodite is, in his own way, as dangerous as Poseidon; not for nothing is he Aphrodite [i]Androphonos[/i]. Perhaps even moreso. Both are gods of vast expanses, with terror in their depths; both drown the unwary and bring ruin to the mighty and the powerful. But where Poseidon lures the foolish into his grasp with the treasures of the sea, not least of which are the strange and wonderful lands beyond them, Aphrodite offers a different boon.

Imagine being seen for who you are, Aphrodite’s song goes. Imagine being accepted anyway. Imagine someone choosing you, over and over again.

And even if she doesn’t have that sort of story with Bella, Hera is right. Of course she was. Bella deserves an apology for everything. For leaving her behind, time after time, for not seeing what was placed upon her shoulders, for not being Redana Claudius. And Skotos, then—

Perhaps she will become someone new. The gods are capable of strange metamorphosis. But surely she will no longer be a shadow? Surely. Surely if Bella forgives her. Her palms sweat; her heart throbs almost painfully in her chest. Bella, who holds the keys to Elysium and Tartarus in her hands. With a contemptuous glance, she could tear Skotos apart; with a quiet word, she could make Skotos whole.

See me, and do not look away. Touch me, and do not flinch. Hear me, and do not condemn. The siren song of Aphrodite is sweeter and headier than wine.

Skotos does not address him by either of his greatest titles, as Redana would: [i]Ourania,[/i] the god of high and portentous romance, the god of love-as-swords, or [i]Pandemos,[/i] the god of ordinary loves, the god of the pulp novel and the bedroom closet. She simply says: “Please. She has to know she was… that she was special. To Redana. And how, if things were different…”

Her voice trails off. She doesn’t deserve anything more. She doesn’t deserve anything at all. She needs to do this for Bella’s sake. But if things had been different, could they have been— not like that, but could they have been, could she have been happy? Could Redana have made her smile? Could she have understood that Redana wanted to give her an entire universe?

Skotos curtsies before [i]Tymborychos,[/i] the digger of graves, in her shapeless yellow robe, and awaits his judgment.