OOTD - Lily

The mirror in her bedroom was not forgiving.

Lily stood before it in nothing but her towel, damp curls dripping across her shoulders, and stared at the faint flush on her cheeks. She told herself it was the bath. The steam. Not the thought of him. Not the thought of stepping into the marble council chamber and finding Ares already there, lounging in that insolent sprawl, his storm-gray eyes dragging over her.  

Stop this. You are stronger than this, you are not some god-obsessed girl. She scolded herself. But creeping in the back of her mind, but you are just a woman too. 

She let the towel drop to the floor. She crossed to the bed where the dress lay waiting. It was silk, a midnight-blue, darker than her usual palette. Clio had waved something red and scandalous under her nose. Thalia offered a traditional white peplos. Lily had chosen the blue herself. It was wise, grounded, and serious. The color of calm seas. She then realized the cut betrayed her. It draped close around her waist, with a neckline just deep enough to make her breath hitch when she imagined his eyes landing below her throat.

She lifted it slowly, fingers brushing the fabric as though it might scald her. Maybe it would. This is for Olympus, for dignity, for Hera... she told herself firmly. But another voice whispered, you also want him to see you, to hear the silk when you pass, to show him that you can be soft for the ones you want. Her stomach tightened. She hated how true it felt. 

As the silk slid over her skin, she straightened, spine stiff, as if the fabric itself demanded her poise. She tied it at the waist. I am not mortal. Do not mistake me for one. Hera would notice. Hera noticed everything. 

She looked at her shelf of shoes in the closet.  Soft leather dyed the same deep blue, the heels discreet. Practical, but charmed against slipping. A Muse did not stumble. Not in front of Hera. Not once. Not ever.

Her hair came next. She caught her own reflection and nearly laughed: half-dry, half-curls rebelling in every direction, copper catching the light like fire that refused to be tamed. This godforsaken hair — it’s rebelling. It hates me. It wants me to die alone. Is it trying to strangle me? Probably. She had always been like this. Her hair an outward expression of her internal dichotomies. Softness, chaos, stubbornness, vanity, and defiance. All warring in the copper strands that framed her face. Her hair had moods of its own, and none of them obedient. It was maddening, infuriating, impossible to tame, and yet, it was her. She pinned it half-up, muttering under her breath as the curls slipped through her fingers, but left some to fall around her shoulders anyway. Fine. Let Hera see the discipline. Let Ares see what refuses to be tamed.

She paused, brush in hand. Her chest ached suddenly. Why am I always dividing myself in two?

She walked over to the small vanity by the window, bottles and brushes arranged in tidy rows. Her perfume waited there, a small vial she uncorked and closed her eyes before touching it to her skin. She had gone to a magical perfumery in the city and had them bottle up the essence of her magic. It didn't feel right to wear anything else.  Citrus, sharp and bright. Lavender, grounding, the echo of parchment and ink. She dabbed it at her throat, her wrists, the hollow behind her ear. Already she could imagine him leaning too close, drawn in to her.  

Her pulse quickened. I hate this.

She loved it.

She considered the velvet-lined tray sitting next her perfume. A necklace heavy with sapphires, gifted once by Apollo. Arrogant prat. He'd love to see me walk in with this on. Ares would be furious. She pushed them aside. 

She lifted the crown of laurel leaves and set it gently into her curls. Her crown. Then she slid a single gold cuff onto her wrist. Her shackle. Fitting, really, isn't it? 

The mirror looked back at her. A Muse. Composed. Elegant. Perfectly armed in silk and metal and her magic. Hera won't find a fault in this, and maybe Ares won't be able to look away...Doubtful. He probably won't look at all. 

She leaned closer. Whispered to her own image: “Best foot forward. Give Hera nothing. Give him… nothing he can use against yourself.”

Her reflection’s eyes betrayed her. Yearning, raw, insistent, pressed thin beneath her beautiful mask of composure. 

Lily picked up her notes for the council, fingers trembling just enough to crease the edge of the parchment. She smoothed it flat, inhaled, exhaled. The silk whispered against her legs as she turned away from the mirror.

The house was quiet for once, her sisters elsewhere. For a moment, she stood at the threshold of her room, hands clenched, imagining what it would be like to walk into that chamber free. No Hera. No vow. Just him. His eyes. His hand reaching across the polished marble table... 

She shook her head hard. Stop it! That is not your reality.  Show them who you are. 

With practiced grace, she squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and walked out, only her breath trembled.