The gods are real.
All it takes is this one realization, sparked by a short video no one expected to go viral, to turn 21-year-old Angie Nohl and her friends' worlds on their heads.
Their existence now exposed to the masses, Angie and the Greek pant...
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Angie could probably count on one hand the amount of times she had worn a gown or any sort of dress in her life, some of those instances more enjoyable than others, but altogether fairly traumatizing.
This is to say that she was quite uncomfortable at the moment, standing in front of her bedroom mirror in a dress she'd probably last worn to her senior prom. The design was fairly simple: velvety, royal purple fabric, a spaghetti-strapped bodice with a modest arrangement of silver sequins. She'd swept her braids back into a bun and secured it all with a pearl hair piece that had once been her mother's. For all intents and purposes, she looked gala-ready, but she certainly didn't feel like it.
Maybe tonight would just be a night. But what if it's the night where everything changes?
A soft knock on Angie's bedroom door interrupted her thoughts before they could spiral any further. She smiled and said, "Come in," already knowing who was waiting for her.
Clio gasped. When Angie turned to look at her, she fought the urge to do the same—clad in a soft green tulle gown with flower details, the nymph was something out of a renaissance painting, the skirts cloud-like as they moved about her legs.
"Angie," Clio breathed, her hands going to her mouth. "Oh, I am positively the luckiest woman alive. You look beautiful."
"Shut it," Angie whined, but she was smiling. She crossed the room, taking Clio's hands. "Next to you and your nymphiness, I'll look like a bum."
"Not even close." Clio lifted each of Angie's hands in turn, kissing her knuckles. "You'll be the belle of the ball, as they say."
"Enough with the flattery!"
"Why?" Clio said. "And it's not flattery, by the way. I am just telling the truth."
"Clio," Angie said, softly enough that the nymph's eyes rounded, attentive. Angie brushed one of the flowers pinned in Clio's hair, then exhaled, brushing a knuckle along her chin. "You can sense things. That's like your thing, or whatever. Aren't you a little worried? Aren't you sensing...I don't know. A storm?"
"Poseidon himself is a walking storm, Angie. Everyone knows that," Clio said, and sighed, letting her hands rest on Angie's hips. Mentally, Angie cursed. Clio always knew the tiniest ways to drive her crazy. "We knew when we gave him our RSVP that we were probably walking into something complicated. But think of who we've got on our team. Conny and Alex and Hermes, and Hades, and you—you're all some of the most capable people I've ever met."
Angie exhaled, letting her forehead rest against Clio's. "You think?"
"Better than that. I know," Clio said. "Whatever Poseidon throws at us, we'll be able to take it. We have before and we will again. That's all there is to it."
Angie said Clio's name again, softly, but couldn't think of what else to say. So instead she tilted up her chin, letting her lips meet Clio's, momentarily losing herself in a solitude of their own creation. She tasted like how a garden smelled—like everything lovely and natural.
