There was a dragonfly buzzing around on the windowsill. And the sunlight seemed so particularly bright today, something that would have been extremely pleasant if Melantriche weren't... well, Melantriche. Beams of fragrant light dappled gorgeously against the little bug's wings, causing them to glitter iridescently like a rainbow. Vaguely, Melantriche recalled a particular necklace Mother had, all gold beads dripping with tiny teardrops of amber. A smooth and thick pebble was enlarged in the center. Even though it was pitch black, particles of it would sparkle orange, green, and purple. It was a gift from her father, when he'd come to court a much younger Leida. Some day, she'd promised, Melantriche would have pretty jewels of her own...

"Ahem!"

Melantriche jolted, feeling as though she'd been whacked soundly in the head. The woman sitting on the opposite bench glared at her. She was a very beautiful lady, tall with flawless tan skin and hair the color of caramel. Her hard eyes glittered green and dark gold. They were a slight intimidating, really. 3 wicker baskets were piled neatly at her feet. A half-finished one lay in her lap. Meanwhile, there was Melantriche, still on her first basket and not even half-way finished. Even then, she'd done a completely shoddy job of it. Patches of the weaving were misplaced and sloppy. Somehow, without realizing it, she'd entangled her fingers in the strands of dry grass.

"How long have you been working at that one?"

Melantriche flushed, a loss for words. "I... uh..."

"Well, while you've been chewing the fat all afternoon, I've done more than half the work. Haven't you labored a day in your life, dove?"

"I-I'm sorry, I just..."

"Humans." The woman sneered. "I assume you were a rich one, hm? I've been in the company of princesses who are more efficient."

"I'll... I'll try harder. Promise." Melantriche struggled to keep her lip from trembling, that uncomfortable heat creeping up her neck. The woman snorted and returned her attention to her own work again.

"Honest of gods, why bother sending for help?" She was muttering. "His Majesty always picks the daft ones." Melantriche stared hard down at her work, pretending the words didn't sting very much and she was actually applying herself to her task. Not to be misunderstood, she was glad to have something to do. It helped to keep her mind off of... other things. Sort of. Not really.

She tried to make sense of what was even happening, she really did. It was frustrating that the amount of things she could recall was comparable to a pinch of salt. She woke up here, in this strange place. A palace, probably. This room had the sort of architecture like a temple, only that a normal one would crumble in comparison. She'd woken, passed out on a heap of silky covers and vibrantly-embroidered cushions all piled up on top of an enormous sofa. At the edge of the room was a section outlined by extravagantly pillars that looked to be carved like beautiful women. There was a carpeted space laden with a glossy, reddish-looking wood table, more cushions, and countless vases full of sweet-smelling things—flowers that looked like tall lilies and daffodils and other things she couldn't name. Tall gossamer curtains flowed from the window near her, where she could see a cluster of gorgeous flora clouding the view of a garden. A morning shower was happening, and yet the sun was orange and glittering through the falling droplets, like a golden chandelier. It was so much to take in, there in her only just woken state. Perplexed was an understatement as she strained her brain to remember the past few days. It was all very much a blur, and this felt too much like a dream. Tentatively, she reached out to touch a statue's face. Its ivory nose was smooth, cold, and very much real. Her hand flew back to her side, shaking.

A glance to the window. She could crawl out from there if she wanted to. The vegetation might've been able to cover her up and—no. She couldn't dare think any more past that. Utter damned straw head, what was she even thinking? That maybe 2nd time was the charm? She felt like slapping herself.

And then, suddenly, the doors had bursted open and then there was the woman, hoisting a large basket of thick yellow grass over her shoulder. Melantriche stared at her blankly.

"Oh, good. You're awake. You can help me with these, then."

That was the then, and this was the now. Melantriche shook her head lightly, ignoring the dazzling images that came to mind. Very blond hair... no, stop that, Melantriche. He... he might kill her, if not now then maybe after he was finished "punishing" her, whatever that meant. Melantriche shivered. That might not... be so bad... no wait, that was actually very bad. No way was Melantriche ready for that kind of thing. If it was what she was thinking of, anyways. But she wasn't completely blind, right? He had kissed her, she believed. Why would he do that if he weren't a little, well, infatuated? It didn't make sense. But did she really have any right, trying to predict the Lord of the Sun? And, he really was the Lord of the Sun, not a dream in any way. All this was very much real.

She clutched her temple lightly. All this was too much to process. Maybe if she overthought it too much, she might do something stupid. Right now, she should be focusing on what was really important, like...

Well, she'd like to believe that working hard at something would eventually make it look adequate, but this basket was just loathsome. Sighing, she began to untangle the grass. Usually she was more adept when it came to spinning wool, but she had the feeling that here such skills weren't needed. She always imagined that gods didn't have to make their own tools. If there was ever such a thing as a divine basket it would have to be woven of gold, wouldn't it? Maybe they just did it for fun.

Where was the sun god? That was what Melantriche wanted to know. As she wove pieces of grass together she kept imagining the parched yellow strands melting into a lovely flaxen color, strands of silk sliding against her fingers and she caressed them possessively. At the same time she kept thinking of the color of honey and deep dread welled inside of her. She didn't dare ask about him, or even to mention him.

Her fingers found little semblances of strength. By the time the sun had sunk halfway down the mountains the grass was all gone and she'd finished her 7th basket. Currently she fiddled with the one in her hands. It wasn't at all flawless, so to speak, but it was perfectly usable to Melantriche's relief. The other woman had 12, all identical in perfection which was a slight damper to the achievement of the latter. How could she work so deftly? It was inhuman, although considering the recent events that wouldn't be so surprising. All the more reason to be respectful.

"They're so beautiful." The woman raised her eyebrows and Melantriche sweated a little. She gestured at her feet. "The baskets, I mean. You're really good at them."

"I very better well be!" The woman huffed, crossing her arms. "I've had my hand at it for about a millennia. If I couldn't do even that I'd eat my hat!"

"Wha-what will you do with them?"

"Cooking, cleaning? What else? A sister of mine has her hands in planning an important banquet. She needs all the help she can get."

A banquet for gods, surely. If only she'd known that in the first place she would've applied herself more. The woman was stacking them all into a single row. Melantriche hurried to do the same. Standing, she dragged the large grass basket close and tossed them all inside. She hefted the pack onto her lean shoulders while Melantriche's fingers twitched, worrying over whether the woman needed more help carrying it.

"Well, that's me done. You struggle with the most standard tasks, but the help was appreciated."

"Er, th-thank you." The woman went to the door, and paused. She tossed a glance backwards.

"You should do your best to behave, dove. It's not unprecedented." Then she left.

Melantriche stood in the middle of the room. It was almost nearly totally dark, the sky outside being a dark mix of orange, mauve, and indigo. Somehow it made Melantriche depressed. Depressed and scared. She would've welcomed any more company. She should've offered to help the woman carry the baskets back to wherever she came from, but that probably wouldn't have worked. She should've been hungry at this time, having not eaten anything for the entire day but she hadn't any heart for it.

Finally she moved, fumbling in the dark for a light. There must've been a candle somewhere. On the other side of the room there were a few pieces of furniture. A trunk and a cabinet, a wardrobe. Probably something was in there. She went over, momentarily tripping over the edge of the carpet like a fool before she opened the cabinet. Whatever dim light was still abroad allowed her to see a rather peculiar sight. For all her luck, there was not only 1 or 2 candles, but a whole fleet of them. From the right, ranging from a little one that was scarcely longer than one's middle finger, to one that was as large as the Athena statuette that was worshipped in her family's praying room. And then there was something else. It was totally dark now, so that Melantriche couldn't see, but it looked like a cylinder-looking dark colored thing. And some small sticks in a little pouch—matches, thank the gods. She reached for one tentatively, struck it against the flat of the cabinet wood. The little spark came after the 4th strike, the sudden little pinch of light surprising Melantriche. She rubbed her eyes slightly. She wasn't thinking at all when she took the first tiny candle and lit it quickly for fear of burning her fingers. With a surprisingly efficient source of light, she turned around to survey the room, and jumped nearly out of her skin as her eyes landed on the sofa.

It was him.

* Yayyy it's finally happening now! Sorry I took a bit of a break on this story. I've been working on a lot of my other stories, so I haven't had as much time to work on this one. But I'm glad that people were patient regardless, it really helps.

That brings me to some important news: I'm writing a new book!!! I'm planning for it to be a 3 book series surrounding certain Greek gods, and the first one is centered around Dionysus and one very unlucky girl. By the time I upload this chapter, the first chapter for that one should be up on my account. It is called Rage, and is very mature. But it's also by far my most favorite Greek fanfic I've been writing yet, so please check it out and comment on what you think of it!!!

Another thing I've noticed is that some people get a little confused as to why it's Melantriche that has to shoulder the punishment instead of her mom since it was her that caused the whole mess in the first place, so I'll just explain in case some didn't understand, even though I'm kind of sure that most already do?? A lot of times in Greek mythos when someone did something shitty, there was about a 65% chance that someone else close to them would take the blame. Specifically I'm talking about the story of Niobe. If you didn't know, she was a queen who bragged that she was better than Leto because she had more children, so Leto got pissed and instead of straight up killing Niobe she sent Apollo and Artemis to shoot up her kids, literally. So this story is kind of inspired of that kind of scenario lol.

Also, if you couldn't tell, the smut drawing near, so you loves better prepare to either turn your faces modestly or read that shit like it fucking slaps.

Hope you enjoyed reading, comments and criticism are welcome :)