𝓕𝓲𝓷𝓮 𝓛𝓲𝓷𝓮 // Clarisse La Rue

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓝𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓽𝓮𝓮𝓷

The next thing Florence sees she's in a lavish dining room. It was just like she remembered. She could see a box of Ladurée macarons besides a folder full of half finished sketches. There was a vase filled with fresh pink tulips at the center of the long dining marble table that easily could've fit twelve. She knows instantly where she is. Her father's penthouse in New York.

She stands up from her seat, fabric caressing the skin of her legs as she does so. She looks down to see the dress she's wearing. It's flawless, shiny and sheer fabric draped to make it look like the dress itself is made of seafoam and ocean waves. One of her father's greatest designs.

Faster than she could process what was happening she felt her feet moving, walking outside, to the balcony. There, she finally understood what was going on.

There's a woman standing, overlooking the manhattan skyline as if it's her own personal plaything. Her appearance shifts with the same frequency as Florence's eyes change color, from one beautiful face to the next. She is dressed immaculately in another of Anthony Ferrara's designs. But this one isn't Florence's father's usual style. Her dress, a champagne corset top with a white ruffle skirt and a ruffle detail by the neckline.

"Mama." She mutters under her breath, looking straight at the goddess facing her.

"Hello, darling!" Aphrodite entrapped her daughter in a hug.

"Hello, mama." Florence replies.

"Come. Sit." Her mother instructs once they let go.

She gestures to the round table at the edge of the balcony. It was set got a tea party, linen tablecloths, silverware, china cups, and of course a steaming pot of tea, the fragrance shifting as easily as the appearance of the woman sitting on one side of the table, sometimes mint, jasmine or cinnamon, sometimes blonde, brunette or redhead. There were plates of scones, cookies, and muffins, fresh butter and jam—all of which, Florence figured, were incredibly fattening; unless, of course, you were the immortal goddess of love. Right at the center of the table was a cake stack with a beautiful strawberry shortcake. Her father's famous strawberry shortcake to be precise.

"Why did you bring me here?" Florence says sitting down.

"We have so much to catch up on!" Aphrodite says. "I love gossiping with my children, I was talking to Miuccia just now..."

"But I have to get back on my quest, it's really important." Florence says, worriedly but still trying not to offend her mother.

"Now, now. Don't be silly, darling. You hit your head quite hard, I'm just letting you rest for a little while longer or would you rather be sitting in that horrid row boat for who knows how long?" Aphrodite speaks.

Florence considered her options, a tea party with her mother or having to be with Clarisse. Finally, she places a napkin in her lap as Aphrodite serves tea gracefully without spilling a single crumb on her immaculate dress, her posture always perfect, her smile dazzling. Florence tried to mirror her mother's behavior and maybe for the first time her Aunt Anneliese's guidance came in handy.

"So, your first quest. That's exciting! How is it going?" Aphrodite says.

"It's great. I mean Clarisse is inconvenient but I can manage." Florence answers truthfully, trying to mask her discomfort.

"Ares' daughter, yes?" Aphrodite asked and Florence nodded before taking a sip of her tea, which was the perfect blend. "She's interesting that one..."

"What do you mean?" Florence asks, she didn't want to talk about Clarisse right now. "If by interesting you mean insufferable maybe."

"Never mind..." Aphrodite says, a mischievous smile tugging at her lush lips. "Do you like your dress?"

"I do, I always loved this collection." Florence says. "The fabric is nice."