The mortals don't know her.
It is another face that adorns posters and tee-shirts and gets painted on the backs of leather jackets, the public presence of one half of the Pantheon's terrifying underworld duo.
Annie slips among them, unseen save for the children that stare and smile shyly from behind their parents' legs, and the punks who nod in recognition at seeing one of their own. She can see where the aura of death clings, can feel its ripples throughout the crowded tube station.
Those that mourn, those that fear. They are either drawn to her, or subconsciously steered from her path. They don't realize how closely they brush with death, an acoustic guitar from her days as one of them slung across her back.
It's adorned with ravens to match her sleeve; burned into the wood at Baphomet's fingertips one quiet night with Annie's hands curled around his, directing every swoop and curve.
...Then he'd jokingly threatened to carve his own name and various expletives along with them; she'd threatened him in return, and when he'd asked, far too excitedly, "and then what?" that had been the end of that.
Shiny pink marks still stain her thighs, her hips, her sides, in the shape of Baphomet's fingers no matter the form in which she is made manifest. Annie could heal them, but she would rather the reminder.
The girl who compliments her on her ink however, pulling nervously at the hems of her own sleeves, bares a far less pleasant one.
Annie clasps one of her hands in hers and raises it to her lips, the theatricality of the gesture making it as much performance as not. And so the words do not matter - will be remembered, if at all, as vague reassurance beside the divine - but Annie selects them carefully all the same. "Doubt your strength not."
She boards the train before the girl has recovered, shaking her head to dispel the lingering sense of epiphany and glancing about her for some source with which to place it. Annie doesn't smile, but a part of her would like to. No need for theater halls and concert stages. They are fleeting, insubstantial little gods in a crowded world; unknown to even their admirers and far more momentous for it.
Life and death she holds in the palm of her hand, and only the humanity she retained - gentle, loving Marian - keeps the Morrigan from frighteningly fickle impulse. Pushes Annie to reach her hand out to strangers and grant them her more palatable half. And so they mistake her for kind.
There is only one who fully appreciates her caresses - knowing that the fingers which coax his heart to race, could, at the same touch, cease it beating evermore. He knows better than to think her harmless, and yet those things that terrify Baphomet turn him on.
She likes that. It appeals to her the way his wrath strikes at some chord deep within her gut - one that lusts for destruction even beyond her lover's purview. And though he is never far from her mind, tonight he dances with Dionysus whilst she walks among the untouched, propping open her guitar case for one more diversion as if she needed the change they would foist on her either way.
As on the platform, Annie traverses the train car between songs. She speaks to the masses one on one and learns who they are, what they desire; what they love and what they fear - so often inextricably tied.
A young pregnant woman is on the way to the hospital to visit her father, and worries that he won't live to see his grandson. She compliments Annie on a cover of 'Brown Eyed Girl' with tears in her eyes, and tells her that the song will always remind her of him.
Annie lays a hand on her arm in comfort. Would she have chosen such for herself, if providence had seen fit to grant her the years? If her touch could extend to the gods' lives as well as others? "Remember gentle Annie," she says, "and give him a kiss for me."
If the woman follows through, it will hold him long enough to meet the child she carries. If she doesn't, who knows. Perhaps he will be tenacious and cling to life - grasping and clawing at its dregs the way Baphomet has determined himself - but perhaps he won't.
Life is a funny thing and Annie just gives the blessings - it's up to the humans to decide what to do with them.
.
When the doors open several stops later down the line, Annie cannot help looking up in surprise. The sudden feel of sparks and cinders on the air warms her blood, causes the hair on her arms to prickle. It spreads through her, heavy and hot and as familiar as breathing.
Her first thought is Pantheon business or something to do with London's subterranean wonderland, and Annie shifts her guitar onto her hip in preparation of having to depart.
But Baphomet moves to the back of the car without a word. He is dressed conservatively: ripped black jeans and a tee-shirt from one of the Morrigan's earliest gigs beneath his leather jacket, and he keeps his head down, clearly trying not to draw attention.
From the cheeky grin that flashes across his features for a fraction of a second when he finally turns to look at her, he's inordinately pleased with himself for managing it.
Annie smiles openly in response; Baphomet came to see her.
Lonely without though he'd never admit it, but no matter what draws her consort in, they are together now. A different kind of dance; again and forever.
Now, there is an unspoken game in it, clever little spin and step: both of them pretending to be what they are not. Annie doesn't let her line of sight linger, turning to face the couple directly across from her - he is far more recognizable, and if she pays him too much mind surely someone will make the connection - but it is with Baphomet in mind that she selects the next song.
It isn't a love song - not quite - but it brings to mind memories of happier times, and it is for that reason that Annie allows her divinity to shine through more intensely than before. Her lover is among them. If the mortals in the car between them know that the atmosphere has changed, it is because there is a sudden lightness in their chests and in the soles of their feet.
She can feel the weight of his gaze without looking, let alone being able to see his eyes for the mirrored sunglasses he's hiding behind. It is an instinctual thing. I know you. Better than anyone.
And you know me too.
The intimacy of the shared secret between them makes Annie's heart soar. She is careful not to get carried away, but to share this side of her with him is even better than to do it on her own.
"Freebird," he calls out teasingly. Enough to make several people in the car laugh, but not quite enough to draw attention to himself.
Annie smiles, and teases him right back by humoring his request.
It's perhaps more applicable than he realized when making the joke, but she pours her love for him into the performance - tries to tell him not to worry, not to grieve prematurely, though she knows just as well it's not in his nature.
The humans in the car all have tears in their eyes when Annie finishes. In the corner of hers, Baphomet sits as if he's turned to stone despite the movement of the train. She doesn't turn - doesn't give any indication - but though she gazes across the awed human faces that surround her, the two of them could be the only ones in the car.
Baphomet is the most real thing Annie knows in this world and vice-versa, no matter what they pretend.
"Sounds like your bird doesn't want to go free," a man calls out eventually, breaking the silence that's fallen over them all, and she has to concentrate to see him.
"Not a question of wants," Annie says, assuredly cryptic to those that don't know, but her words are meant for Baphomet alone. Listen, she persuades him silently. Understand. "Bird can't keep from the sky forever. Doesn't have to mean goodbye."
She chances a look towards him. Baphomet's head is lowered, knuckles white from how tightly his fingers dig into his thighs. It is daringly blatant, risks drawing attention and spoiling their charade, but Annie needs him to know; "never goodbye," she insists.
It is well worth it when he lifts his head in recognition. Annie cannot see his eyes, but she doesn't need to in order to feel them lock with hers. She can read the way her words have torn into him in the furrow of Baphomet's brow and the tightness to his mouth.
Were they alone, Annie would tell him to save his tears.
Tender heart behind his mask; his shades; his leather and metal. But if he blamed her for the reminder, Baphomet would provoke her in turn. Now he simply looks lost.
Annie strums a familiar chord; a song he likes - promise for ever more more more - and watches Baphomet slouch back against the wall. Not satisfied, but she did not expect him to be. It is the familiar impasse: he does not know how she can be so calm; she cannot impart her faith in another future.
Slowly the number of people in the car dwindle, until there is only one other besides them.
And then he gets up, tucks away his newspaper and moves towards the door - pausing only to drop a five in Annie's guitar case and tell her how much he enjoyed the performance. "I expect great things from you in a few years, young miss," he says. Annie only smiles and ducks her head. He meant well, not that Baphomet will want to kill him any less.
She goes and sits down beside him at last, when the man has left. Leans into his space as they wait for the train to reach its last stop, and lays her head on his shoulder. Annie could tell him not to worry, that she loves him, or even that she's sorry. But he will, he knows, and she's not. And Baphomet doesn't speak either, lost somewhere in his own thoughts.
Idly brushes his fingers over the small patch of hair on her forehead, but doesn't pester her for reassurance beyond that. Tomorrow perhaps he'll be more withdrawn, or otherwise light up frantically bright - torment the mortals that come to see him in a manic onslaught of frustration and fear until he burns himself out - but he molds himself to her now in pensive silence.
.
At the stop Baphomet trades her for his jacket, carrying Annie's guitar in one hand while he keeps the other slung around her neck, reluctant to let her go for even a moment. She can smell him on the well-worn leather bunched around her shoulders and draped over her hands. They're both all too aware that the day is coming where no matter how tightly they hold to each other, it will not be enough.
Perhaps Annie will walk this shadowy station alone with only the ghost of memories for company, smelling smoke and ash. Perhaps Baphomet will burn it down.
But tonight they have each other. And tonight that is enough.