"Thanks," The bow of her upper lip grows taut and snaps as what started as a grin grows ever more crooked and she laughs softly. "If Grandpa Micah hadn't passed two weeks before I was born." She trails off and Helena who has been staring out at the azure waters looks up at her expectantly to continue. "Well, Mom would have gotten her way despite Dad being vehemently opposed to naming me Helen." There is a bare spot in the turf where Myka has been absently pulling at matted roots. She wipes her hands clean of soil and grass and leans back into her arms, palms flat. "I doubt you'd be saying how singular and lovely my name is if it were Helen, Helena." There's that shy crooked smile again twisting into a smirk.

She doesn't know why she mentions it. It's a random bit of Bering minutiae she's never shared with anyone. But they are sitting on this rocky outcrop on Kythira. And Helena's head is tilted just so and those scintillating eyes dance from her neck to her lips just so and that mouth was pronouncing just how lovely she finds Myka's name while tasting the feel of it and letting it linger in the back of her throat. Just so. And here on this island with their face to the sun and their backs to the Peloponese, it's the details that make the epic.

Helena, lovely Helena shifts closer, close enough that they are now touching. "Myka-"

There it is again, the tasting, the infinite caress when she says her name. "You are singular and lovely and your name darling is so very fitting." She pauses to lean into Myka, to drop her gaze to her bare arm and linger on her throat, to hesitate at Myka's mouth before resting on her eyes. In her eyes. They are on an ancient island filled with secrets and histories and waters that can never be claimed but cannot decide not to. They are here and the sun is warm but Helena's gaze is warmer. Much warmer. Myka starts to feel it in her ears and cheeks but she does not look away entirely. Not from those dark lovely eyes that render her body molten but veil their heat like the inner earth.

"As fitting and lovely as it is, I could quite see you as Helen."

Myka arches her brow but she is not quite sure which question she wants to lead with. Helena seeing her take umbrage at the thought, smirks, "You are no victim. You are no man's prize." And though there is an almost wicked gleam of delight in her eyes, it passes away just as quickly as it appears. Traces of foam on the shore. Here is your true daughter, mighty mighty Aphrodite.

"But, if you were in need of rescue. If it came to it, Helen would suit you just as well I think."

Helena trails her fingers along Myka's arm, brushes her knuckles along her hip, lays her palm on her thigh. "To save you, I'd let everything burn."

Helena is very very serious. Helena is also teasing and biting her lower lip and leaning in and tugging at Myka's top. Myka who cannot understand how she is still in tact. Even as their lips meet and her body ignites. She should be incinerated. Her touch should char her, leave her to dust and yet somehow the heat both melts her and courses liquid iron in her veins.

And though she whispers the words, Myka feels them as arrows finding their way to every nerve ending. Helena is very very serious. "If it came to it. I'd burn worlds for you."

Bows are meant to snap.