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The witch kneels upon the Oath Of the Unseen.

The Prescence of Night herself is enveloped somewhere in the shadows that she cannot reach yet, but soon.

Melinoë makes plans for this night and the ones that will follow: to climb Mount Olympus and offer some reprieve to her family from the monster that keeps their sacred mountain under siege; or to trek down into the Underworld to face the titan that has stolen her Father’s rightful throne and thrown open the gates of Hell.

The Oath presents a great challenge and a great opportunity for her to prove her worth to Night. Given the dire circumstances, it would be wise to wait before accepting more and more Vows each and every night. But it is precisely because of those circumstances that she can’t stay still. She must take those Vows to grow stronger for the sake of the realm.

The witch feels the concerned gaze coming from where Commander Schelemeus stands alongside the other recruits as she Vows further and further. Their worry is understandable though unwarranted, she’d argue. By now she has managed to beat Chronos and Typhon a few times each, and now here she is taking on more and more Vows.

Melinoë can’t even fall back on the strength of her Arcana as, even with a full Grasp, she still hasn’t managed to unlock their full potential yet. Just last night as she traveled to her Father’s home, Scylla and Charybdis almost managed to get the best of her. She only escaped by a hair and was ultimately taken down by a puny Smacker as soon as she arrived at the Fields .

Every night she fails to beat Chronos or Typhon is another night of suffering for her family above and below.

The witch is still exceptionally weak, both in body and in mind.

Her flurry of thoughts does not show upon her countenance. She does not allow it. Instead she kneels serenely before the Oath, muttering prayers for Sister Selene to watch over her and for Night to protect her with her veil.

As she prays, a new train of thought manifests: What if she could change the circumstances around the Vows? What if she could find a creative way to reach Chronos and Typhon sooner, at least for one night?

Not to avoid the Vows outright, she wouldn’t dare. Rather, find a work around so that she may face her final foes in a healthier state the she would usually do. As she thinks further on it, she concludes that she could perhaps come to strike a bargain with some of the foes she faces at the exit points of each region. They would allow her safe passage perhaps in exchange for something Melinoë can provide.

Though now that she’s further mulling the idea in her mind, she frowns for herself. Could she even manage to convince any of them to let her pass? Does she have anything worthwhile to offer?

Headmistress Hecate is out of the question. Hell, she would probably have a laugh before admonishing Melinoë for thinking she could somehow walk her way out their nightly routine. Scylla would first break up her band and crush whatever slim chances she has at stardom than not take the chance to pierce Melinoë ’s eardrums with her shrills. As for Cerberus, he is not exactly keen on listening to anyone in his current state.

That eliminates the Underworld from her plan altogether.

Well, so much for that.

Although if she were honest, she could sooner manage an Oath bursting at the seams with Fear going beneath the earth than travelling to the surface, where she has to deal with Typhon and the unspeakable monstrosities which reside at the Summit.

Polyphemus is very much susceptible to bribery but he is a brute who sees Melinoë as a ticket to a fancy meal. And Melinoë can already hear the Adamant Rail’s rapid shooting along Eris’ guffawing at her proposal.

This leaves only the Titan of Foresight.

The worst offender against her family and the realm just behind Chronos and Typhon.

Melinoë would soon scrap her entire plan and simply settle for taking the heavy damage for the rest of the nights but something gives her pause.

For all his many, many, many faults, Prometheus is perhaps one of the few foes she faces every other night who consider his wider context. Or at least that’s what he seems to do if his crazy talks about making certain futures come to pass is anything to go by. Granted his ‘logic’ is spotty at best and distastefully twisted at worst. Perhaps that eagle picked at his brain just as much as he did his entrails.

Regardless, Melinoë has nothing to offer the bullheaded titan. His only motivation seemingly being kicking and burning her and attempting to topple the mountain over in the process.

Melinoë sighs, despondent.

Raising her head, she gazes upon the Oath. Her devotion to her family and the realm is absolute. An irrefutable truth she has made clear to herself and all others ever since she was but a little girl. She would do anything in her power to strike back at those who have wronged the ones she loves, even if it means dealing with the devil.

Even if this plan fails, the worst that could happen is that the titan would laugh sardonically at her, maybe fight back harder as punishment for thinking the goddess could goad him into letting her pass without a struggle.

A direct hit to her pride at the hands of a fiery beast.

But she could handle it.

Yes, she most definitely can handle it.

Resolute, the witch raises. She looks down to her right to where Hecuba is sitting, patiently waiting for her to make up her mind on where they will be travelling to this eve.

Melinoë makes a motion for her familiar to follow, turns to her left to where the surface air trickles in and runs without looking back.

The witch will arrive at any moment now. A possibility that will become certainty soon enough.

She will speak her will into the air, her tone filled with the signature condescending venom that all gods share. She will propose an agreement, to her benefit of course, and will try to convince him.

And he will comply. And she will do a poor job at hiding her surprise.

Prometheus stands in the middle of the arena, the heat from the hearth of the mountain creating a suffocating environment for anyone who isn’t an immortal, and even so. He still much prefers it to the bitter cold of the mountain he was chained to.

His visions have revealed that this night will go differently. Their usual thrashing will take a back seat to allow for a different course of action. Instead, they will exchange words–more like discuss as they are prone to do– and then…

And then they will travel down to the god of wine’s feast.

And then…nothing.

All he sees is a blur, lights and shadows passing him by.

Perhaps a vision that is yet to come? A blank space his own mind is instinctively trying to fill in as a way to make sense of things?

No. No that’s not it. That’s not it at all. He definitely sees something but doesn’t know what that something is. There’s no discernible shape to it.

The next clear thing he foresees is himself stepping out of that chamber, seemingly making his way back to his abode somewhere on the dark side of the mountain. The witch is nowhere to be found.

But why would they trudge down to Dionysus’ banquet in the first place? Prometheus would be willing to discard this possibility as one of many futures that plague his mind. Just another wild outlier of many with the faintest chance of occurring. But everything leading up to it is so clear in his head. He has been struck with multiple visions that, when connected, follow a clear chain of events for this very night.

But why won’t that blurry fragment of his vision show clearly? Wouldn’t be the first time the flashes of the future he foresees are confusing in and of themselves, but they always, always present him something. A nigh tangible image he could almost reach to touch.

It seems that on this cold night his curse is determined on making things more difficult for him. As it always has. As it always will.

Aetos flies nearby and lets out a screech, signifying her arrival just outside the gates.

On cue, Prometheus stretches his gloved hand out and the eagle perches upon it, both glowering at the saffron-veiled intruder.

“There she is,” Prometheus exclaims, standing tall in front of the gate that would lead the princess of the Underworld to the Summit.

The witch runs in before coming to a stop, keeping her distance. Her staff, Descura as she calls it, in hand, veiled with the skin of someone other than herself. A hairless black dog familiar at her side.

“Titan,” she responds.

“I know what you are going to say, Agent of Change,” he breaks through the silence, “and I know that you know that I cannot respond to any questions you have not made. So go on. Speak.” his demand loud and clear.

Her annoyance shows clear on her face for a split second before she hides it but Prometheus catches it. She needs to work on keeping calm against a simple taunt if she hopes to make it far against her enemies. They’ve barely exchanged niceties and she already look about ready to tear his head off with her bare hands.

They stare each other down for a moment. Nothing but the howling wind and the fire crackles from the torches surrounding the arena filling the space between them.

For a split moment, he thinks she might not respond at all. It wouldn’t be the first nor the last time that his visions fail him.

Perhaps this will be a night like all the ones that preceded this one.

Then, she straightens her back and brings her legs together, steeling herself. “I have a proposition for you, Prometheus.”

Or perhaps not.

He preens at Aetos feathers. In any other situation, the eagle would snap back at him, but his attention is solely on their common foe. “I’m listening,”

The witch narrows her eyes at his seeming indifference but then inhales and exhales before speaking again. “I want you to let me pass. Without a confrontation.”

Prometheus peers down at her, locking eyes once again. “That is no proposition, witch. You are making a demand of me, and an outrageous one at that. Perhaps your teachers failed at instilling in you the proper ways of diplomacy.”

She visibly seethes at that. Prometheus could laugh at how easy it is to get a raise out of her.

“I wasn’t finished,” she starts again through gritted teeth, “What I meant to say was that I want you to let me pass without a fight. In exchange, I can provide for you something you might need.”

The titan knows exactly why she is here tonight.

Her cause on this particular eve is a rather noble one, something rarely seen in immortals such as they: to make an attempt, as meek as it may be, at choosing words instead of reckless violence. It is still to her benefit in the end, of course. She is still just a goddess after all. A goddess who wishes to bring back the old order of things even if, whether due to pure indifference or willing ignorance, she merely perceives her actions as being aligned to her assigned life-long rescue mission of her family.

“I have gotten enough from you wretched gods for a lifetime,” he spats. “The only thing I need of you is for your unmaking. And for you to leave mortals be. But you would sooner see your mountain turned into rubble than provide either, wouldn’t you?”

Prometheus speaks calmly but inside he can feel the first inkling of his ichor simmering. How much this already resembles their usual nightly banter.

Even so, that blurry vision of his keeps gnawing at the back of his mind.

Why would his foresight show him something that shows nothing at all?

Before the witch can offer a retort he cuts her off. “Although perhaps…there is something you and only you­ can provide right here and now, Agent of Change. After you grant my desire–and I know that you will–I will allow you passage, unscathed.”

The witch closes her mouth, the heated reply dying in her mouth, her eyes widening in surprise just as he knew they would. “And what is that?,” she questions, guarded.

Prometheus smirks and he walks to close the distance between them, extinguishing his flames and locking eyes with her. The witch’s breathing stills as he saunters and her grip on her staff tightens but otherwise does not move, resolute in her demeanor.

Aetos hops onto his shoulder as he walks, not once has he stopped glaring at her.

The titan takes a knee in front of her, glowing red eyes on mismatched red-green ones. This close, Prometheus can catch a whiff of her sweat mixed with the saltwater of the Rift and a splash of sulfur from machine oil.

“Accompany me to Dionysus’ feast, witch. ”

The Agent of Change eyes widen. Dumbfounded, she blinks multiple times as though she saw something unbelievable, her mouth hangs slightly agape, a brow furrowed. “Come again?”

“You heard me: come down the mountain right now and attend that mad god’s incessant party with me. Nothing more.” he clarifies. “Afterwards, you may go and I won’t stop you.”

She wants to say something and he know she does because he has foreseen it. Even so, it seems the underworld goddess holds her tongue and clears her throat, her eyes still fixed on his.

“Very well. Lead the way then,” she nods.

With that he arises, the movement putting some pressure on the wound at his side. He almost lets out a sound but he does not allow it. He will not allow himself to show weakness in front of her.

He walks past her towards the entrance she came from. “Keep up,” he doesn’t turn his head to check but can hear the snow sizzling under fire-licked feet, followed by dog claws scraping against stone.

They climb down the mountain in relative silence, sometimes coming across the carnage left in the witch’s wake, other times Prometheus instructing her to follow close to avoid being detected by Olympus’ Automatons or Chronos’ legions.

During that time, the witch behind him opens her mouth to speak–just as he knew she would–but he talks first. “My reasonings for my actions are for me to know and for you to wonder, little goddess. Now come, we’re almost there.”

He can practically hear her irritated expression as she scoffs.

Soon enough they will reach the chamber, that much he knows, but after that it’s mostly up in the air what transpires. If he wasn’t well acquainted with the twisted ways his curse operates under, he might say he’s almost giddy to find out what will happen.

The distant clamor of Dionysus’ festivity grows louder and soon enough they arrive at the stone gate.

He steels himself as they step in, the stifling heat of the party hitting him immediately. A spirit mixer cleans a goblet as he greets the two of them coming in before doing a double-take, the goblet and rag fazing through their hands. If the shade was more corporate, Prometheus swears their eyes would be bulging out.

Very quickly, he takes notice that he sticks out more than he would prefer, towering over practically every single person and creature in the room. Out of the corner of his eyes he sees groups of shades, satyrs and nymphs muttering under their breaths, their eyes glued onto him.

“Would you look at that,” the witch at his side starts, “you have yet to utter a word to anyone and you are already a celebrity. Don’t let it get to your head, hm?” Her smug smile reveals that she he must be able to sense his uneasiness, much to his annoyance.

Speaking of annoyance, the host of this party has yet to make an appeara–

“Hey hey hey! Well look who finally decided to join us, everybody!”, a rich voice booms through the ruckus.

Augh…

Dionysus cuts through the crowd, greeting his new and returning guests with a lopsided smile. “If it isn’t the Titan of Fire-sight himself! Hah! Get it? ‘Cus you see the future but you also stole the fire and all, see what I did there? – And Mel, baby! How you’ve been? It’s always a treat to have you with us. You’ll stick around for longer than five seconds tonight, yes?”

The boozer god’s speaks a mile a minute, even Prometheus has trouble keeping up with his jabbering. He’s far too close for comfort and his breath reeks of pure alcohol. Up until now, Aetos had been quietly observing his surroundings from where he is perched upon his shoulder but now he can feel him shifting his weight on his talons, growing uneasy.

The witch for her part is practically beaming at his misery and she greets Dionysus with a polite smile. “Good evening to you, Lord Dionysus. I’ve been great, thank you for asking. In fact,” she claps her hands for emphasis, “I’m doing much better now that we’ve crossed paths.”

Liar, she could not care less for this drunk’s celebration, for he knows that she sees it as an affront to the war efforts enacted by her family. Nothing but a waste of manpower and resources, in her eyes. The only benefit to her comes from the occasional boon this drunk can burp up.

She continues, a wicked smile growing on her face. “For you see, Prometheus here told me personally that he yearned to attend your celebration. Despite his previous reluctance at your invitation, he hopes you will forgive his offense and allow him to partake in the experience.”

This witch…

He doesn’t manage to get a word in because Dionysus’ exaggerated gasp cuts him off.

“Shut up, he didn’t say all that! Prometheus, my man! This place welcomes everybody, and by everybody I mean everybody, even arsonist titans like yourself!” Dionysus moves to pat him in the shoulder in what he must think is a reassuring gesture, but Aetos has decided he’s had enough and snaps at the god’s hand with a high-pitched scream. Dionysus reacts just in time to avoid being bitten.

“Whoa whoa who’s your plumaged friend here? Wait a minute, those golden feathers…wait wait wait don’t tell me… By my Father’s beard, is that you Aetos!? Whaaat?” He let’s out a snort. “Well, what do you know, it seems our animal friends can really come in any shape and form, like ravenous liver-snatching birds! You must have gotten tired of having the same meal every day, huh, buddy? Guess Prometheus finally let you have a rest,” He pauses for a millisecond. “Come to think of it, how did you get off the mountain, Prom?”

Prometheus doesn’t speak immediately, having temporarily tuned off of the conversation. Before he comes back to, Dionysus starts again. “Ah, no matter, let bygones be bygones, that’s what I always say! So you stole some stuff from us and got pecked at for a little while–big deal! You are here now so things worked out in the end, right? And that is cause for celebration, am I right or am I right, everyone?” He raises a cup, hollering at the surrounding guests who mimic his gesture with a cheer.

“Oh, but where are my manners? You two are all dry! Here,” Dionysus reaches for two wine goblets held by a waiter-shade on a trey. “Helps yourselves, there’s more where that came from.” Prometheus looks down at the drinks then glares at the god, unmoving. The princess for her part, places her staff under her arm and gracefully accepts both goblets in hand.

“Thank you, cousin. We are grateful for your hospitality,” she smiles.

Dionysus offers back a crooked smile. “Why, you are very welcome! Anyways, go ahead and make yourselves comfortable, and be sure to let me know if you need anything stronger, yes?” With a wink, the god of wine turns back to his entourage and blends into the crowd from whence he came.

Prometheus eyes a tall-necked bottle of what he presumes must be some type of alcoholic drink on one of the tables. He feels a sudden urge to smash it on Dionysus’ head.

Even prior to his imprisonment, when he was still in the good graces of Olympus and a traitor to his own kind, Prometheus already could not stand the god of wine. His naturally impetuous attitude mixed with a blatant disregard for anything that forced him to put down his drink made for an unbelievably frustrating character to deal with. Prometheus would often choose to avoid him whenever he could.

“I would have never guessed you relished in public humiliation, titan,” the witch looks up at him with a far too wide closed-lips grin across her face. Prometheus doesn’t entertain a response, choosing to scowl down at her instead.

She begins walking towards a vacant spot in a corner where the glowing lights don’t quite reach and the loud laughter from the other guests is slightly more muted. “Why don’t we pay heed to his suggestion and sit down at least? I’m still waiting on you to tell me why you chose to come here of all places.”

You will remain waiting, then.

As they walk, Aetos is once again shifting his weight on his shoulder. Prometheus extends his gloved hand and the eagle hops on to it. The enclosed space of the party was already making him anxious and the snap at Dionysus earlier could have had a bloodier conclusion. Aetos gives him a determined look and Prometheus nods. He launches Aetos upwards into the open ceiling and he flies off through one of the crevices, likely to hunt some unfortunate prey somewhere on the mountain.

He turns back to where the witch is now standing, having stopped to look up to the spot where Aetos disappeared. Her eyes shift to give him a quick look before resuming her walk. He follows.

The goddess sits on a small cushion on the floor of the corner she picked, placing the goblets of wine on between them. He sits next to her at what he deems an acceptable distance for bitter rivals like themselves. Sitting like this, he towers over her just as much as he does while they stand. The witch let’s out an irritated sound before she stands up and pulls over a stool and sits there instead. He still towers over her, much to her annoyance. He allows her to see his amused smirk.

A whine is heard and the witch turns to look at her hound familiar who now lays her head on the goddess’ lap, ears flat and big green eyes pleading for something.

She lets out a soft laugh, petting her head. “Alright, alright, you can go girl,” and with that the dog sprints towards the pool in the middle of the chamber. She splashes into it before emerging with a rubber toy in her maw, the nymphs around her cheering and praising her.

So far, his earlier premonition had been accurate. The vision had showed the conversation with Dionysus taking place though, just like every one of his visions, the soundscape of the environment was completely silent. Had the titan known what was going to be said, perhaps he would have braced for it, if not outright try to avoid the god of wine from the beginning. Though admittedly it would have done little to prevent the outcome.

But it is around this point where things start to get blurry. Instinctively, he puts his mental guard up, ready for whatever may come.

“So,” the witch begins, reaching for her drink on the floor, “are you going to tell me why you wanted me to come here with you? Or am I going to have to punch it out of you as I often do most things?”

“Do your worst,” he scoffs back.

She raises an eyebrow, unimpressed, but otherwise doesn’t move other than to take a swig of her wine. “Very well, would you at least tell me how long I am to stay? I have a monster to push off of this mountain waiting for me at the Summit, if you must know.”

Her eyes are on him but Prometheus looks everywhere but at her, scanning the room, waiting to see what could happen that his vision is reluctant to show. “You will remain here for as long as I require you to. Then you will be free to leave.”

The princess is quiet for a moment before speaking again. “And am I supposed to take your word for it? For all I know you could keep me here for nights on end just for your amusement at watching me fail my mission.”

He doesn’t turn to look at her, uncaring at her words. “If I wanted to watch you fail at your mission, as you claim, we would be battling atop this mountain in this very moment as is our nightly routine, Agent of Change. Besides,” he continues, “it will do your family good not to depend on you for their protection for a few whiles.”

“They don’t depend on me, Titan,” she says, visibly irked at his comment. “I am simply helping them protect their home from literal monsters.” There’s venom in her words there.

“Oh?,” now he turns to gaze at her. “And whose fault is it if not theirs that these monsters are bringing down their fortress?” he responds. “They are simply getting what has been coming to them for ages, nothing else. And they will fall.”

Prometheus would usually not entertain aimless arguments from anyone, but for all her flawed views of the world and her family, the princess has a pull about her that he cannot describe, much to his chagrin. His body acts without him noticing, because he ghosts a hand over his wine on the floor before picking up the goblet and swishing its contents around. His cold gaze is locked with her vexed one.

“Not as long as I have a say in it, they won’t,” she spits back. “And when we succeed at driving back Typhon and unmaking Chronos for good, the gods themselves will put you back in that mountain from which you should have never crawled out of.” She scoffs, “Why, I just might have some suggestions for Lord Zeus on how to deal with a traitorous wretch like you.”

He laughs a scornful laugh and takes a big gulp of his drink nearly emptying it, his liver be damned. Prometheus is far from the sentimental type but something about her being the one to say it brings back memories he would rather leave buried. “I would love to see you lot try. And you just might. But you won’t succeed, just as I have foreseen.”

She takes a swig of her own goblet and lets out a derisive laugh, “You call me the the ‘Agent of Change’ yes? Who is to say I won’t change your destiny? I will not hesitate to go against everything your blasted visions have shown you all throughout your pitiful existence, if I must.”

That last part isn’t a question, but a statement. This is precisely why she is the Agent of Change he foresaw all those eons ago.

Prometheus is about to respond something about how that’s not how his foresight works but the words suddenly die in his mouth. He starts feeling strange: his head feels lighter; his tongue heavier in his mouth; and there is a constant buzz in his head. He looks into his nearly empty goblet and begins to see double. He groans and slams it down on the ground in frustration with more force than he intended, startling both the goddess and himself.

It suddenly strikes him just what a fool he is.

Melinoë doesn’t expect the sudden movement of the titan slamming the golden goblet against the stone floor. Its subtle but it seems neither did he from the way his shoulders tensed.

She readies herself, bolting upright and reaching for her staff she’d leaned against the wall. However, she soon realizes the wine must have been stronger than it initially let on, because the sudden movement makes her lightheaded, being forced to steady herself against the titan’s bicep. She’s immediately about to remove her hand from where it had landed, as though it had been singed, but realizes it doesn’t matter because the titan pays her no heed.

Prometheus is covering his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes locked forward and dimmed, brows scrunched in concentration as if he were trying not to throw up.

This up and close, Melinoë can’t help but notice just how much broader than her he is. Her extended hand looks tiny splayed on his arm and she is convinced that, even with both hands wrapped around it, she would not be able to encompass it.

Even while sitting down and leaning forward, he is still slightly taller than she is standing at full height. She had also never noticed just how sharp his jawline is or how the brightness of his eyes had been hiding an iris she didn’t know was there or how his eyebrows, even while hidden by his bandages, furrow in annoyance, or the bob of his throat as he tries to swallow the nausea away.

Her body reacts before her brain catches up.  She slowly starts creeping closer and closer to him, trying to get a closer look, until she’s practically fully leaning her body against him.

It seems this might be the titan’s limit, even in his sorry state, because he gets visibly annoyed by this closeness the witch has imposed onto him.

Without a warning he grabs her by the waist and sits her on his lap. With and undignified yelp from her, she is now sitting with her back to his chest and facing the rest of the party, his chin landing on top of her head.

For a moment, she doesn’t make an attempt to escape. Instead choosing to let her brain catch up with what just happened. She finds out very quickly, however, that he runs very, very hot, even without his flames ignited.

“Hrmm…too hot…” Melinoë whines as she squirms on his lap, trying and failing to get some distance between her and the titan. Prometheus is practically leaning his full weight on her, making it a chore to do anything.

As she squirms, she hears a deep groan and feels a shudder from behind and his hand flies to her waist, stopping her. His hand encompasses nearly her entire waist and she can barely move, his grip firm. She then feels the reason why he may want her to stop.

Maybe it’s the wine or the party going around her but they are in a pretty dark corner and it’s not like anyone is paying them any mind.

She stops moving and his grip on her loosens until he removes his hands entirely. As quick as her fogged senses allow her, she raises her arms to perform her cast, pinning back and binding his hands and feet to the floor. By the time he notices what’s happening its far too late, the potency of the drink he had making him sluggish.

She takes the opportunity to grind against him.

Slowly.

Savoring the moment for herself.

Prometheus breaks her out of her reverie when he starts humping his hips upward to meet hers but she turns to give him a stern look. “I took pity on you, titan, so unless you want to be completely bound, you will cease right now.”

He growls in frustration but complies, settling for biting at her shoulder and lapping at it where he drew blood. The sting of pain makes her hiss.

She looks down on the hourglass sigil and frowns as though it had both insulted her personally and brought back memories of people she would rather not think about at the moment. With a swift movement, she rips it off entirely, along with pulling the rest of the waist-covering and pants down his knees and off completely. His member springs free, palpitating under her gaze. She takes it him hand, giving it a few pumps before grinding her entrance against it, thumbing at the tip where precum is starting to form.

It’s far too big for her, of course, but she takes pride in her resourcefulness as a witch. Nothing an incantation can’t handle.

But that’s for later. Right now, she has something else in mind. She squirms out of Prometheus’ lap to kneel in front of him. She meets his eyes which, from the looks of it, have been staring intently this whole time and are dimmer than usual, certainly dimmer than they were just a moment ago when he was badmouthing her family. His eyes are drilling into hers, face red and his expression a…a pained one? A pleading one? She can’t quite tell.

Melinoë crawls up his body until she reaches his face and kisses him, shyly at first, as though she wasn’t just doing what she was doing merely seconds ago. He takes the initiative and bites hard on her lower lip, which she takes as all the affirmation she needs.

She wiggles her hands under his bandage and leans over his shoulder to undo the knot at the back of his head. In this position, her chest is right at his mouth level and Prometheus takes the opportunity to lick, suck, and finally bite down on her thinly clothed nipple, his mouth almost encompassing her entire breast. The sting makes her jump, but she succeeds in taking the gauze off, his expression showing a mischievous, crooked grin at her annoyance.

But she will have the last laugh.

With a whisk of her hand, the cast lays his legs flat across the floor and spread wider, giving her enough space to sit comfortably in the space between his thighs. She sits back until she’s laying on the floor, her legs spread over his hips, giving him full view of her core and, oh, he has her in her sights, that much she can tell.

With his bandage on one hand, her folds in the other, Melinoë closes her eyes, brings the gauze to her nose and inhales the musky scent as she begins working herself.

She’s usually not one to seek her own pleasure in a place as densely populated as is this particular corner of the mountain. At the Crossroads, where her privacy is dependent on a few fabrics hanging from the canopies of the trees and Dora choosing not to manifest herself at her tent unannounced, she would usually take some sort of precaution.

But perhaps it’s something about the wine that’s making her feel bold on this very night. Or perhaps it’s the Fear in the air giving her goosebumps and causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand.

Or maybe…just maybe… It’s something about how her fire-stealing companion takes deep breaths. How his voice shudder as he lets the air out, a whine threatening to push through… Maybe that is what’s giving her all the encouragement she needs for now.

Melinoë wants to please herself, sure, but what she wants most is to put a on a bit of show for her audience. She makes sure Prometheus sees when she smells the gauze again, the musky smell of blood and sweat not the most pleasant, yet almost as inebriating as Dionysus strongest wine in that moment.

She plays with her clit, rubbing her middle finger up and down, circling it slowly, then more rapidly before slowing down again. She angles her hips upwards, making sure he can get a good,  hard look. Taking her bitten breast in hand, she uncovers that section of her chest, before pulling down the rest of the fabric, fully exposing herself to the warm air of the party. Usually the quiet type during these types of activities, Melinoë makes an effort to be more vocal, letting out moans just loud enough for him to hear and no one else.

“Mmm…ah! Yes...”

There is no need for her to look as her splayed legs on his hips begin to snap up the slightest bit in his petty attempts to chase his own pleasure with nothing to provide reprieve. She opens one eye to take a peek anyways.

It’s hard for her to tell from the angle where she’s laying at and his hair being all over his eyes, but Prometheus has averted his gaze, if not closed his eyes all together.

That won’t do.

It’s not like she knows what he is like in an intimate setting. Perhaps what she’s about to do would be considered cheating in another context, but it’s not like there’s any rules between them. Plus, here she is trying to put on a show for him and he’s not paying her any mind.

“…Gods…Prometheus…” she sighs his name for him to hear.

Prometheus head snaps back to look straight at her, their eyes meeting, his painfully neglected cock visibly twitching.

Perhaps she can give him a hand with that.

As she herself nears completion, she begins caressing his shaft with a flame-licked feet in tandem with her fingers at her folds.

Prometheus tenses suddenly.

“W-wait, don­–!”

His spend spills over, making a mess of his pelvis and her foot. Something about his blissed-out expression as he came is enough for her to tip over the edge as well.

When Melinoë comes back to she sits up to find a panting, hunched over Prometheus, at least as hunched over as the bindings at his hands and feet allow. When he looks up, his countenance can only be described as that of a man—no, a beast scorned.

“You…blasted…witch! ” he pants.

Melinoë finds herself almost feeling bad for putting him through that.

Almost.

It seems his climax sobered him back to reality, if only for a moment. But the hazing effects of Dionysus’ drinks are still very much present and his cloudy eyes and reddened face and chest betray that.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Prometheus is still rock solid after that, his lap a mess of white streaks mixed with the small hairs there. Without saying a word, she rolls up the head bandage and stores it in a nook on the inside of her belt. Right after, she kneels in front of him and begins to lap at his length. There’s far too much for her to clean but she does her best.

The witch locks eyes with the titan as she does so. The cleanup soon turns into something much more obscene, if that were possible. Bobbing her head up and down, she takes in as much as she can which, admittedly, isn’t much. She makes up for what she can’t reach using her hands, which even together can just barely encompass around his length, fiddling with his sack here and there, letting his cum act as lubricant.

As she sucks him off, he holds her gaze. His head and shoulders leaned back against the wall. Red eyes dimly glowing behind the shadows formed by unruly blue curls falling over them. Mouth agape, low groans emanating from his throat every now and then, exhaling puffs of steam. It seems even the oppressively warm environment of the god of wine’s endless feast can’t quite deter the biting cold of the mountain.

For a moment, she thinks she has him pliable. The Titan of Foresight fully at her mercy. Less of a titan capable of mass destruction and more of a puny man acting on his most basic instincts.  

But as she becomes distracted when she tries to reposition to give her knees some reprieve–

“Missed a spot, princess,”

He takes the opportunity to snap his hips upwards, his length hitting the back of her throat. Hard.

The impact makes Melinoë gag instinctively, causing her a fit of coughing and wheezing. When she recuperates, Prometheus is smugly chuckling to himself.

“You…!,” hot tears well-up in the corner of her eyes.

Melinoë immediately binds his hips to the ground, but the titan does not care, clearly satisfied with his actions. Experience has taught her to never turn her back on her prey. Especially if that prey is a drunk titan who hasn’t been fully contained yet. An embarrassing rookie mistake she will not make again.

The witch stands up, her fierce eyes glaring at the titans’ directly. He dwarfs her in size, sure, but she still has him where she wants him.

Once again, she uses her magick, this time to bind his head and torso to the wall, his entire body fully bound at this point. This way, she can still move his head but he himself can’t lift it or turn.

She stares into his eyes, mere spaces away from his still-snickering lips. She is so close she can almost see her reflection in his red eyes. She inches closer, bracing her arms around his neck. The titan closes his eyes and purses his lips just a smidge.

How much of this moment has he forseen, Melinoë wonders.

Before she can connect their lips, her ghostly hand sneaks to the back of his scalp and pulls to the side, biting down on the side of his neck.

Wincing, she feels him instinctively trying to pull back to no avail. With a smirk, she bites down again, drawing blood this time and licking it away before kissing the spot, some of her green lipstick smearing off in the process.

She keeps this process going down the length of his neck down to his clavicle. His muscles, tense each time she bites, before relaxing once again. His cock jumps and twitches whenever she pulls at his hair, something she makes a mental note of. She feels more than she hears him make a noise in the back of his throat with each handful of hair she pulls. Melinoë can’t help but wonder if this fact could be implemented against him as a battle tactic…

No point in figuring that out right now, because she would be damned to admit it but those noises from the titan, that are only increasing in volume each time, are going directly to her groin.

Instinctively, she rubs her legs together seeking some form of relief. But nothing escapes the titan’s notice, even bound like this.

“Is there something you are after, Agent of Change?,” the smug tone clear.

The titan has always had a rather self-congratulatory air about him, even in their nightly quarrels at the top of the mountain. If he isn’t blabbering incessantly about some future or other that may or may not come to pass, he is trash talking the gods. She is aware he mostly does this to goad her into battle and get her blood pumping. Quite foolish on his part given than most nights this works in her favor as she emerges victorious from their clashes, even with a high dose of Fear in the air.

Yet something about a single potent drink has unmade the titan. He is unbearable, his inhibitions burned away by an unassuming wine goblet. Is this an effect of having a more delicate liver than the average immortal? It would be endearing if it wasn’t almost hilarious how a man of his built can get intoxicated by drinking what would barely affect any of the other satyrs and nymphs, let alone a goddess like herself.

Endearing.

A word she would never imagine herself associating with the titan.

Perhaps the drinking tonight has taken a bigger toll on her than she cares to admit.

Ultimately, she ignores his taunt and gets to work. They are both still worked up, after all. No point in drawing it out.

Melinoë is not used to chanting incantations while under the influence. Her casts have become second nature, yes, but enchantments take a little bit more out of her, especially without a cauldron to rely on.

Melinoë glances to where Descura is laying just a couple of steps away, veiled in the Madame Circe’s aspect.

The witch thinks back on how Madame Circe completes her own enchantments, seemingly only using her crystals and her years of knowledge of their craft, to alter her own bodily functions and that of Melinoë’s every other night when they cross paths.

She isn’t an expert in the Madame’s kind of magick but Melinoë can improvise.

She walks to where Descura is and thanks the Fates she took the shape-shifting enchantress’ aspect on this night. Holding it in one hand and hovering her skeletal hand over the large, pink crystal atop the staff, she concentrates.

Prometheus watches her keenly, waiting on her next move. She can feel his stare burning the back of her head.

Melinoë inhales deeply then slowly exhales, letting Descura into her mind and read on her desires.

“Damname aision!” the witch chants.

A bright pink glow emanates from the crystal, the staff rising from her hand and suspended in the air for a few seconds, a ball of intangible pink light washing over the witch and settling into her belly before dimming back to her natural state. Descura floats down and Melinoë catches her and taps her forehead against it, as if thanking her for cooperating before placing it back down on the ground and strutting back to Prometheus.

To his eyes, nothing looks different. Still the same witch that has been deliciously torturing him all night.

“What did you–,” but she stops him when her lips meet his.

She kisses him with intent, like he might burn away right under her fingers at any minute. Prometheus wastes no time kissing her back, the strain of his muscles under his skin betraying how much he wants to lean into her, to no avail. But he more than makes up for it, sucking on her lower lip and offering open mouth kisses to her jaw when she allows.

Even sitting down as he is, Melinoë still has to pull his head down and raise her heels slightly to meet his lips comfortably. Soon enough, her calves start cramping from the strain. So she steps atop of his thighs to give her some height.

Now it’s her turn to look down at him. A flick of her ghostly hand pushing his fringe off of his face reveals the intense eyes of the titan. Ever since she displayed herself as she did in front of him, she hasn’t taken her eyes off of her for a second. Like a predator stalking his prey, biding his time and waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

Melinoë brings her hand down to where his scar begins just below his left shoulder and starts tracing her way down. She immediately notices  that the skin there becomes bumpier and more disfigured as she traces her fingers further down, where Aetos must have done most of the damage.

A permanent brand of his punishment for his affront against the gods. One that he himself doesn’t allow to fully heal.

He deserved it, she finds herself thinking almost immediately. As if pondering too much on the thought will reveal too much. Unveil the true ugliness and brutality of his punishment at the hands of her family.

He deserved it. He deserved it.

He deserved it not only for the act of stealing from Olympus itself, but for being so foolish as to have the gift of foresight on his side and not using it to his advantage to avoid the violence against him he must have known was coming.

Still, against her better judgement her mind can’t help but wander off and ponder. Ponder on how helpless he must have been in that situation, chained down against his will just like he is right now. A vicious bird of prey coming down each day or night to feast on him, gnawing at his very soul, the core of his intelligence and emotions, perhaps not that different from what she herself is doing at this moment.

Long before she was but a twinkle in her mother’s eyes, he was already in chains, begging for a death that would never come for a deathless like him.

Melinoë must have let her guard down because the titan seizes the moment pushes against her casts, biting down and sucking just below her jaw, leaving a mark there. Whether he noticed her lost in thought, she cannot tell but she immediately reinforces her hold on her magick.

In retaliation for his insubordinance, she brings a foot to gradually make its way up his length, lightly kneading at his tip.

Prometheus sucks in a breath and shudders but steadies himself, leaning into her ear.

“You will have to try harder than that this time,” he whispers softly.

Oh, she can do plenty more than try.

With a final bite to his lip she takes a step back. She moves her hands to her back to undo the clasp on the back of her belt, letting it fall along with her saffron dress and her purple pouch. Then, she undoes the knots on the back of her gorget. Turning around, she offers the strings to Prometheus’ mouth. Getting the message, he bites down on one of the twines and she leans forward to undo the knot, pushing the pauldron off and to the side with the rest of her clothes, but not before she fetches a bottle of nectar from her bag.

Covered in only her arm-and-leg silvers, she can’t help but envision Aphrodite herself in her war regalia. Not that she can compare to her beauty or grace, but nonetheless it makes her feel more confident in a way.

A funny notion, considering how just a few moments ago she was splayed on the ground, exposed and pleasuring herself in front of her enemy.

The witch steals a look from the titan, who up until that point had been looking her up and down and though she were his last meal. With her back facing him, she lowers herself and takes him in hand, gives him a few dry pumps before pouring some nectar on his length and letting it run down, spreading the liquid and warming it up with her hand, giving it a quick taste.

A visible shiver runs down the titan’s spine, his brow furrows and his eyes close in concentration.

He’s quite sensitive, isn’t he?

Then again, being chained to a mountain with no contact to any other living being besides a vicious eagle probably has left him pent up for an eon or so.

What a shame. Here she was hoping he would outlast her for once.

Once Melinoë is satisfied with her work, she pours some nectar on her own fingers, inserting them into herself with a few pumps before aligning herself with is cock, her back facing his chest, and slowly but surely lowering herself.

He tries to vocalize something, a warning perhaps, but before he can get a coherent word out their hips have already met and she has already fully seated herself snuggly against him.

She turns her head up to look at Prometheus, who gives her a puzzled look. She in turns smiles roguishly and darts her eyes to Descura on the sidelines. He glances to the staff and back at her and immediately realizes.

“What a resourceful little witch you are,” his eyes glint intensely, some of their red color coming back.

Melinoë shrugs a shoulder coyly and turns her head forward trying to to play it off, though there’s a bead of sweat threatening to run down her forehead. Yes, her enchantment has definitely helped in the whole not dying while trying to take a titan-sized cock situation, but it’s still a very tight fit and she still needs to take it slow and concentrate to avoid hurting herself all while keeping her casts in place.

She braces her arms on the stone floor in front of her and raises her hips as far as they will go before lowering herself once again, trying to get used to his size. Again slowly, up and down, up and down.

There’s no rush after all.

It’s a torturous pace she sets, both for herself and the titan above if his groans and straining muscles against her magick are any indication. Stroking her folds and pressing on her clit also helps with the strain, centering her and helping her relax.

She just needs but a few more moments, she’s almost gotten used to his size. Just a little bit more…

Melione hears it before she sees it. The telling mirth-filled laughs from a satyr followed by a  giggling nymph getting louder. She was so concentrated in the act that she barely catches them approaching from the corner of her eye. The nymph chasing the satyr playfully, both towering over her in size, even if she weren’t practically sitting on the ground. The two creatures don’t even seem to notice her as they run towards them.

On instinct, she pushes herself backwards against Prometheus’ chest and pushes her legs inwards. Trying to make herself smaller and protect her head.

From behind her, a pair of arms hugs her closer, long legs scrunching inwards to protect hers.

The satyr and the nymph run by, almost tripping on them, but otherwise not even noticing they were there. Melinoë thought this would be a quieter spot, though it seems every creature here is hellbent on filling every corner of this chamber with their endless celebration.

Suddenly it hits her.

A cold sweat runs down the nape of her neck.

In the blink of an eye, she swings her arms up to cast but just as promptly, a large ungloved hand pulls them down and behind her back, tying them up with what she recognizes as a thick-leathered glove from touch alone.

She is pushed forward to the ground, landing on her chest and knocking a gasp out of her. Before she can attempt to get up or gain some leverage, he presses her down with his body. A deep voice in her ears whispering.

“I’ll take it from here, princess,”

With a burnt hand holding her waist and a scarred wrist around her shoulders, he lifts her lithe body and begins rutting against her entrance, trying to enter her but failing by virtue of in his drunken, dizzy state.

“You brute, stop…!” Melinoë gasps, his clasp around her chest unforgiving.

She makes a last-ditch attempt at kicking back on his abdomen, aiming for the wound on his liver. He stutters for a second, hissing in pain but does not let on.

Once Prometheus sets his cock properly by her folds, he presses in in one swift motion and Melinoë sees stars behind her eyes.

The sudden stretch is too much, bordering on painful. She knew he would be big, but there’s is a difference between testing the waters and being plunged into them against one’s will.

Curling his body inwards, the top of the titan’s head braces against the ground as though he were begging for forgiveness from the gods themselves. He begins to buck his hips frantically like wild beast in heat.

The pace Prometheus sets is uncompromising. Melinoë continues to kick where she can to no avail before giving up and saving her strength for the right moment.

He makes noises she’s only ever heard him make during battle, though these are more akin to whines than anything else. He lets out the occasional moan into the space above her head, Melinoë both hearing and feeling the rumblings on his chest.

The titan is set on chasing his own pleasure and satisfying his more basic, animalistic needs. Perhaps not too dissimilar from mortals themselves, always chasing a feeling and not considering the bigger picture.

But Melinoë can sense his true intentions.

To get back at her and the torture she’s been submitting him under all night.

Melinoë is encompassed by the titan on all sides. She doesn’t need to turn her head to know as much. Not like she can actually move her head much, if at all, and she’d rather not pull a muscle in her desperation to find out.

She hates feeling so small, so impotent. Like the game animals she would hunt alongside Artemis in her youth. Poor, helpless things.

But Melinoë is not like those animals and she will be damned if she lets the flame thief of all beings get the better of her.

Still… Agh, how could she be so careless? Letting herself be caught off-guard by the titan.

Again.

Even so, when the satyr and nymph ran by and she covered her head, he could have taken that opportunity to shove her off him or push her down right away.

Yet he didn’t. Prometheus tried to shield her with his own body, instead.

Probably trying to prevent any scuff marks on his new toy, her more cynical side chimes in.

It’s not like she was in any mortal danger and it’s not like him protecting her once gives him permission to use her like this.

Melinoë can barely recall how she wound up in this predicament, the remains of the wine still dizzying her thoughts. All she remembers is getting closer in proximity to the titan, leaning closer and closer to him. Next thing she knows, she is using him to please herself before losing her grip on her casts and ending up under him like some sort of glorified pleasure toy for him.

Without warning, Prometheus drags her out of her thoughts when he adjusts his grip on her and shifts his position with a groan before continuing the same unrelenting pace as before.

The lewd smacking of their hips the loudest noise in the space under the titan, the music and conversations of the party goers now mere background echo.

Melinoë can barely hear herself think. It’s as if Prometheus wants to put her through the same experience and she did to him. To make her unable to think of anything but the here and the now.

In this new position, the rough pads of his burnt fingers have easy access to her swollen clit and he wastes no time letting her body know. He begins flicking at the nub relentlessly, wringing out a couple of moans out of her. Melinoë swears she feels a rumble of laughter on her back, much to her annoyance.

Also, in this new position, she is still in the same spot as before though even lower to the ground. Is he trying to crush her or something?

Except this time her head is hanging much, much lower to the ground to the point she has to strain her neck upwards to avoid hitting her head on the stone with each unforgiving snap of their hips. If she had her arms available, perhaps she could brace herself more comfortably, but alas.

Melinoë kicks at him in the space between where his thighs are parted below her. She kicks his inner thighs and wherever she can reach to get his attention.

All of a sudden, the titan on top of her stops and she feels him letting go of her waist for a split second, a cold breeze sneaks into the oppressive embrace as he raises their bodies for a moment before caging her in again and continuing his ministrations.

Below her is now a long, plush cushion the size of her torso. The same cushion she had sat on when they first arrived at this dark corner.

Pshh. How considerate on his part.

Prometheus’ assault on her clit grows more and more extreme, as if dead set on crumbling her resolve. And gods the growing pleasure mixed with his the intense heat he exudes is making her dizzier than the wine itself.

But she refuses to budge. She is not losing this battle. She won’t give in yet.

He lets out an audible groan of frustration. Melinoë can’t see his face but she can’t help but smile at the thought of the vexed titan.

The witch then feels the hand caging her shoulders slowly crawl down. His one hand can extend across the expanse of her chest easily, so he effortlessly fondles both breasts almost simultaneously. He soon settles for one of them and pulls and prods at the nipple there until it is hard and perky before moving on to the other.

Melinoë hates to admit it but she can feel the heat slowly pooling in her belly, threatening to spill over at any moment. All it would take is a well-placed thrust or a flick of his hand with just the right amount of pressure to unwind her.

She can imagine how good that would feel. To let go of her better judgement and relax like everyone else around her, even if her choice in partner for the night wasn’t the smartest.

But something is keeping her from letting go, keeping her from fully surrendering herself to pleasure. To the titan.

Pride.

Her own blasted pride, she finds. Her biggest weapon and, more often than not, her own undoing if her current predicament isn’t an immediate give away of the fact.

Here she is, the supposed ‘Agent of Change’ as he so nicely labels her, at the mercy of the titan that desecrated Olympus for the sake of mortalkind.

She should have taken Descura and speared him through whatever remained of his liver earlier. Make him suffer for his transgression eons ago and now. For standing in her way every blasted night when she travels to Olympus.

Reaching a temporary pact with a titan? How stupidly ignorant of her. There is no such thing as  reaching an honest agreement with a wretched thief like him.

“…Melinoë,” barely a pitiful whisper.

She can’t recall ever hearing him call her by her name.

While she is busy plotting how to end him, he is already breaking on top of her and he might just drag her down with him, along with her stupid pride.

She braces herself and moans as he jerks his finger on her clit, falling off rhythm as his own composure loosens. It feels hot, so hot that it’s making her feel demented, forced to bite the pillow to avoid outright screaming.

Melinoë takes a peek below her, however she can manage, at the area where his hips have not let on their relentless assault. She is startled to find that in that dark space small licks of blue flame have sparked, dancing around his fingers. As hot as they are, to her surprise, the flames don’t burn her. In fact, they make her feel warm and cozy. The flames follow diligently wherever he touches, wherever he strokes.

Something about that visual, that feeling, is what tips her over.

Melinoë flails hard against her bindings, against the titan and against anything in her wake. The intensity of the orgasm pulling her muscles taut and making her throat hoarse from the sounds that escape her. Prometheus holds her through all of it, never relenting his pace on his hands or his hips.

Somehow, he is still not done with her. How on earth she was able to make him come earlier with nary a touch is beyond her.

He keeps going, though his movement are becoming erratic.

Melinoë is so, so sensitive but her strength fails her and she can’t gather the strength to push him off, and soon enough he manages to squeeze another orgasm out of her and she sobs. No longer does she care who listens to her whimpers, whether that is Prometheus, the satyrs and nymphs, or her family atop the mountain.

And then finally, finally, Prometheus himself unwinds. He goes still suddenly, a whine more akin to a scream escaping from his throat. He pumps inside of her with a few strong, off-beat thrusts, before his muscles relax and he loosens his grip on the witch under him.

Melinoë whimpers when his cock is freed from her slit. She can already feel his cum spilling out of her, a lewd image she is sure. The flow becomes even heavier when her earlier incantation loses its temporary effect, making her shudder in the aftermath.

Prometheus lays her down gently and undoes the tight knot binding her arms. Melinoë just lays there, still under him, for a few more seconds. Trying to catch her breath and letting blood flow back into her tingling flesh arm. With her ghost arm, she begins cralwing upward and turns to face the titan, the stone floor cool on her back. He relaxes his legs, still caging her in with his arms at her sides.

This is the first good look she’s gotten of him since he essentially imprisoned her under him.

Prometheus is a mess in every sense of the word: hair sticking to his forehead and cheeks; the flush on his face going down to his chest is now even more pronounced than before; his mouth is agape, still trying to catch his breath and his eyes are glazed over with pleasure and something else. Likely the lasting effects of the drink that have yet to dissipate.

All of this caused by a single, common goblet of wine. Or as common as wine fermented by the hands of the god of madness can be.

Melinoë caresses his cheek with her bony hand and combs the sticky curls away from his eyes. He could really use a haircut. Then again she did take his head bandage away earlier…

Prometheus closes his eyes and lets out a whimper, leaning into her touch, appreciating the cool touch of her ghostly appendage to his flushed face. The semi-permanent harsh lines of his brow softening and disappearing as he relaxes.

Melinoë didn’t notice earlier, but his eyelashes are quite long.

How pretty.

At that moment, he appears less like a beastly titan and more like a man. Almost meek in his presentation.

Prometheus leans down and presses a kiss against her forehead, then her temple, then her cheek, as though he is testing the waters. As though he is asking for forgiveness of his earlier actions.

But why would he? He has no commitment to her. No obligation to make her feel loved or cared for. Melinoë can’t discern where the wine ends and the titan begins. How much of the events of this night happened because he either wanted or foresaw it or because of his inadvertent excess is beyond her grasp. Though, the answers to that hardly matters at this point.

Still, for a fire-stealing titan who was shackled to a mountain for eons, he sure knows how to trick his way into playing the role of a kind and passionate lover when the situation calls for it. And Melinoë is going to revel in this opportunity for as long as she can.

She gently guides him towards her mouth and weaves their lips together, wrapping an arm around his neck and playing with the short strands of hair at the nape of his neck, the other holding his face and fiddling with one of his earrings. Prometheus reciprocates straight away and they stay like that for a while, kissing and nipping at each other.

He kisses like he fights: never letting on, never letting her catch her breath. He’s suffocating. It’s like he wants to consume her or melt into her and become one. She can’t tell what he wants because she can never tell what goes on in that twisted head of his.

With a final gasp they break away, looking at each other with half-lidded eyes, breathing each other’s air. With a small bite to her lower lip, Prometheus breaks free from her hold and begins making his way down her body.

Kissing her neck, her shoulders, paying special attention to the bite mark he left early and licking away the dried blood there. It stings a little but a good way.

Prometheus continues his journey downward, kissing and sucking at one of her breasts, then the other, then her stomach, until he arrives at the mess he made of her. He inspects it with an inquisitive look. Then, while locking eyes with her, he lowers himself to bury his tongue into her still-pulsating entrance.

Melinoë cannot keep quiet, let alone keep her eyes locked with his. The image of the titan licking his own spend is just too much for her to bear. The sounds and soft moans he lets out as he sucks and laps at her core border on vulgar.

“Ah…Prom–shit! Prometheus, you… D-don’t– don’t do tha–ahh!”, her whines fall on deaf ears.

She is still so sensitive from earlier yet can feel the heat building and rising quickly. The fact that his tongue is so big certainly isn’t helping, either. At first, she weakly tries to push at his forehead, attempting to shove him off and relieve some tension. But then he starts lapping and sucking at her clit harder, and harder, then–

Without a warning, she comes once again. The intensity of it pulling a cry from Melinoë ’s throat, hot tears stinging at the corner of her eyes.

Her chest heaves and her vision blurs for a second before it registers as her own tears spilling over.

Prometheus comes into view and leans down to gently wipe them away with his thumb, his face wet from her own release. She moves to cover her eyes with her arms. It’s just too much.

Finally, as if that hadn’t been enough, the titan inserts a burnt, languid finger into her. She takes a peak to say something but before she can protest, he scoops some of his spend mixed with his flames and her release and licks his finger, never breaking eye contact with her.

All she can do is let out a strangled whimper, new tears threatening to well-up.

The titan moves in as if to kiss her.

Melinoë is exhausted. She’s about ready to return to shadow, and now that her arms are free she could do just that except…

Except what?

Why hasn’t she done so? What is she waiting for?

…Ah.

Perhaps the maddening effects of the wine had a delayed effect on her because she finds herself wanting more. More from the titan that has already given and taken so much from her this eve.

Yes.

Of course, that must be it…

Oh well, who is she to fight back against the will of gods.

She lifts her arms, ready to welcome him in until–

Prometheus collapses right on top of her, his head landing next to hers, nearly knocking the wind out of her with his massive size.

This snaps Melinoë back to reality.

“Titan?,” she groans in pain.

He doesn’t respond.

“Prometheus?,” she taps him on the head.

Nothing.

With whatever strength she can muster, she crawls out from under him. This proves more challenging that she cares to admit, given the state of fatigue her body is under.

Once she’s out, Melinoë kneels next to his head and brings an ear to his face where she makes out the faintest sound of a snore. She lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

Finally free from the confines of the titan and exposed to the cooler air yet again, she can feel herself sobering up.

Melinoë looks around her, surveying the room. The party is still going on as usual. No one even seems to notice they are there, despite the giant titan faceplanted next to her.

Now that she’s paying proper attention to her surroundings, there’s a plethora of nymphs and satyrs in their respective corners, giggling to each other and unaware of those around them. They are clearly basking in each other’s company if the loud moans barely drowned out by the music and surrounding conversations are anything to go by.

Bashful, Melinoë looks away and back to the titan.

Prometheus hasn’t moved at all save for the subtle raise and fall of his back showing he’s breathing, his expression that of utter peace and relaxation.

Melinoë recalls how her cousins would oft describe the titan prior to his imprisonment. A pacifist, Apollo had claimed and Ares had mocked. Athena even mentioned sharing amicable conversations with him.

If it hadn’t come from the mouths of her family on Olympus, she would have never believed it. This is the same titan with whom Melinoë comes to blows every other night. Not once has she sensed in him an inclination towards finding a non-violent resolution to their scuffles. Just now, he bent and prodded her like she was nothing to him.

This man before her, pliant and with a soft countenance about him, however…

She just might be inclined to believe in his kinder nature, buried somewhere deep in his soul that has yet to be crushed by gods or torn to shreds by a bird of prey.

“Ughh… I really shouldn’t have taken that drink…,” Melinoë groans to no one in particular.

The night is still young in the infinite party atop the mountain but she still needs to continue her climb and face Typhon.

Melinoë prods at Promethus in an attempt to wake him up, but he doesn’t even stir. She tries again harder this time and again, nothing.

Leaving him here is always an option. Would serve him right.

She surprises herself with such an ill-willed thought and disregards it as soon as it emerges.

Melinoë finds it hard to believe that any nymph or satyr would dare come anywhere near if she were to leave. Frankly, the titan fits right at home with the scenery of some of the other guests who have already toppled over and drunk themselves into a stupor.

Even so, it doesn’t feel right to leave him unattended.

Against, her better judgement she makes her choice. Looking around, she spots an empty stone bench near the balcony that oversees the side of the mountain.

“Excellent,” Melinoë smiles. It’s probably for the best that he sobers up as soon as possible and the cool night air should help a little. Though she’d rather not have him wake so soon that she can’t sneak her way out of what is bound to be an uncomfortable conversation. That will have to be a problem for her future self.

Melinoë knows he’s far to heavy and carrying him isn’t an option, so she scooches to his side and tries to turn him like a log. Though, she might as well be Sisyphus trying to push a blasted boulder up a hill because he simply won’t budge.

The witch stands and groans, hands on her hips and exasperated.

Come on…Think, Mel…

Once again she scans the room, finding Descura nearby next to her and Prometheus’ discarded clothes. And idea springs to her mind.

But first, she looks down at herself.

Oh, right.

As she steps into her dress, her leg movement soon reveals that Prometheus didn’t clean all of himself off of her. A shudder runs down her spine as what’s left of his cold semen runs down her inner thigh. She grimaces, but she’ll have to wait for the fountain chamber before the Summit to clean herself properly.

After dressing herself, she grabs Promehteus’ clothes as well as Descura and begins looking around for Hecuba. Nearby, the hairless dog is getting pampered by a group of nymphs who coddle her incessantly, pet her head, and scratch that infernal itchy spot on her back she can never quite reach.

With a loud whistle, Hecuba’s ears perk up and she immediately jumps from the arms of one the nymphs to run to where her witch companion stands. Melinoë kneels to praise her and give her a scratch behind her ear.

“Good girl, Hecuba. Now would you give me hand with this?,” pointing a thumb at Prometheus.

Hecuba gives Prometheus what can only be described as a wide side-eye, but otherwise understands and complies with the witch’s request. Obediently, the dog stands next to him.

Raising her arms, Melinoë activates her magick. Two pink casts manifest themselves: one under herself and one under Hecuba and the sleeping titan. Melinoë then instructs her to follow.

As Hecuba moves, the pink cast follows under her by virtue of a well-chosen boon on the witch’s part earlier in the night. And as the dog trudges, the titan is dragged along with her.

It takes a good amount of concentration on Melinoë ’s part to keep their witch-familiar link up. From her dragging gait, she can sense Hecuba also straining in her effort to keep moving forward while hauling a dead weight, even with the aid of a god-given boon. Melinoë makes a mental note to reward her with a fresh batch of Witch’s Delight as soon as they arrive back at the Crossroads.

A few more awkward steps later, they finally reach the balcony and Melinoë can drop her cast and let her lungs take air in, Hecuba panting at her side. This corner should be a nice spot for Prometheus to sober up without the oppressive energy of the party hanging over him.

Melinoë leans down and, in her defense, makes an honest an effort to dress him and not leave him exposed as he is. The plan soon fails, though, as even with Hecuba helping her maneuver him all they manage is pulling one leg through his pants.

“Argh…blasted…giant…Titan!…,” she smacks him with a grumble.

Giving up, she settles for sitting him against a stone pillar with the help of a quick cast and wrapping a nearby blanket around his waist.

It’ll have to do.

Hecuba nudges at Melinoë ’s leg. The witch looks down to find the dog holding onto an empty urn with her teeth, tail wagging.

“Aw, how thoughtful of you Hecuba,” she smiles at her loyal familiar.

Melinoë doesn’t know how Prometheus handles the aftermath of drinking. It probably wouldn’t be very becoming of the Titan of Foresight to puke all over himself when he awakes. A suppressed laugh breaks through her lips at the thought of it. But alas, she won’t be around to see it if that will come to pass.

Taking the urn, she places it within arm reach of him.

With that she arrives at a conundrum: should she stay to wait for him to regain consciousness or should she move up and along the mountain?

Perhaps I should wait until he stirs, at least…

As if on cue, a high-pitched screech is heard above the open roof of the party chamber. It is then that Aetos flies over and graciously perches on the balcony ledge, his beak and front of his plumage stained in what can only be fresh blood. He glares at her, clearly dissatisfied with the close distance between his master and the witch.

“Ah, Aetos, did you have a nice meal? I was wondering when you were coming back,” she exclaims, unamused.

Aetos begins screeching at her, raising his wings to make himself look even bigger in an effort to drive her back. Admittedly, a giant golden eagle covered in blood is an unnerving sight.

Melinoë would rather not incur the wrath of the eagle with so many innocent bystanders around, so she takes a step back and creates a gap between her and the sound-asleep titan.

Once the distance is satisfactory, Aetos flies down and gaits to where Prometheus rests against the pilar, inspecting him before glowering back at her.

Melinoë takes that as her cue to leave.

“He will be okay; he just needs to rest. I promise,” she assures him. That’s what she thinks, at least. But he’s a titan, after all. Historically, they are a hard breed to take down.

Whether this is a satisfying answer to the eagle or not Melinoë cannot say, because she turns around to leave, Hecuba keeping a vigilant eye on him in case their feathered foe decides to attack. There’s no point in sticking around if Aetos won’t let her near Prometheus.

Melinoë walks over towards the exit, Hecuba in tow. Once she arrives at the threshold, she turns to steal one last glance at the titan.

He stirs lightly in his spot, his brow furrowing slightly before smoothing back down. It seems he might awake soon.

Before she turns back around to the door, she notices the group of nymphs from before walk towards where Aetos and Prometheus are. The same group of less-than-sober-nymphs who were doting on Hecuba earlier.

Before Melinoë has half a mind to walk over to warn the women, Aetos himself makes it very clear that he will not tolerate anyone near him nor Prometheus for that matter. The eagle sends the nymphs screaming and scurrying away with some well-placed cries and flaps of his massive, blood-stained wings.

Melinoë can’t contain her laugh as she steps over the threshold and continues her ascend towards the Summit.

There is a ringing headache manifesting in his head.

That’s the first thing he takes notice off, followed by the sounds of faraway voices and lively music.

Prometheus rouses from where he leans against what feels like cool stone at his back. He slowly blinks before his more primal instincts take over, snapping his head up and darting his eyes, sweeping his surroundings.

It takes him longer than he would prefer but he eventually recognizes the chamber as Dionysus’ party, vibrant as ever.

In the foreground of his vision, Aetos is perched on the rim of an urn with his back to him, scanning the room attentively. The eagle turns to give him a stern look as he hears him shifting.

Now that he’s more alert, he can feel his entire body aching in a way he hasn’t felt in a long, long time. As he repositions to sit more upright, he feels a soft thin cloth slip from his lap and the cool night air steals a shudder from him.

Befuddled, he looks down to find his clothes mostly gone, an ankle pushed through one of the pant legs.

Further inspection reveals a white, crusty mess between his legs and two small scorch marks on top of his thighs that resemble feet.

Confused, Prometheus smacks his lips. There is displeasing taste in his tongue that causes him to grimace. He attempts to stand up but his body soon reveals that is a big mistake.

A cold sweat quickly settles in his forehead before doubling over and falling on a knee. His eyes dart around him quickly before snatching the urn Aetos is perched upon, pushing him away and emptying the contents of his stomach in it.

Aetos makes a squawking noise, clearly unappreciative of the sudden shove.

He is left panting but as he finishes, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand to reveal streaks of green staining his knuckles. He frowns, bewildered as he inspects the buttery substance.

Suddenly, flashes of a saffron-veiled goddess flare through his mind looking down on him with a smile.

What…

…What did she do to me?

A flash of the same goddess under him, fully exposed, tears in her eyes and a wailing expression.

A drop of sweat runs down his face.

What…did I do to her?

He looks around, searching for the witch to no avail.

As he scans the room, he starts to remember the truce stricken with the witch for the Night, arriving at the party and discussing with her. And at some point, a goblet of wine was in his hand and he drank from it as the conversation grew more heated.

How careless of him, to let his feelings get the better of him, especially in a battle of wits that would ultimately be of little to no consequence for the future he seeks to bring about.

He hasn’t even foreseen the aftermath of his interactions with the witch following this night. How or if whatever happened will come into play in the immediate future. He has gotten no new flashes of visions in his mind so far so here he hopes that is somehow a good omen. Though, past experiences have demonstrated to him this is hardly the case.

Aetos nibs at his abdomen as if in retaliation for pushing him earlier.

Prometheus flinches from the pain, but moves to scratch at his crown nonetheless.

“Apologies, my friend,” he winces.

If the witch isn’t around, then he shouldn’t linger. No point in permitting his mind to wander while he is in such a pitiful state.

Prometheus drags himself–more like crawls–to a nearby empty bench where he manages to pull himself up, sit down, and put his clothes back on. He will need to look for a spring around the mountain that he can use to clean himself up and recover.

The titan makes another, albeit slower, attempt at standing up, his legs shaky like that of newborn fawn. Once he’s settled on his feet, he calls on Aetos to perch on his gloved arm, touching his forehead against his.

“Thank you for looking after me, Aetos” he thanks his familiar, who simply squawks back at him before Prometheus sends him up into the skies again.

As he trudges towards the exit, his notices his fringe keeps falling on his eyes no matter how much he pushes it aside. Only then does he note that the bandage he wears around his head has gone missing.

“Nngh… Back already…”

The rains return to the Crossroads and from the shadows the goddess of nightmares emerges.

A satisfactory victory against Typhon and an eventful visit to Olympus later, Melinoë is back home. With a sigh, her magick dissipates and she lands on her feet on the wet stones. She turns to confide in Frinos, who is clearly having a wonderful time with this weather.

“You knew I could do it, didn’t you Frinos?,” Melinoë smiles at her amphibian companion.

As she kneels down to pet and kiss his forehead, something drops from within her belt. What she picks up is a rolled-up gauze.

Melinoë isn’t one to steal from others. Not even from the thieving Titan of Foresight.

Though, surely he no longer has use for a dirty dressing like this. There would be no point in attempting to give it back. He would more than likely seize the opportunity to rub it in her face how she supposedly ‘stole’ from him.

Melinoë gives Frinos one last pet before leaving him to enjoy the downpour and moving to shield herself in the tent. Dora is nowhere to be found. Peering outside the tent reveals a lively Crossroads. Some shades seek shelter from the rain under the canopies of the trees, most not caring given their intangible state.

Stepping back into the tent, the rolled bandage sits heavy on her hand. It’s probably for the best that she discards it. She’d rather not have anything that reminds her of that wretched titan near her, especially in such a personal space as is her tent.

There really must be a dissonance between her thoughts and her actions as of late because, before she realizes what she’s doing, she’s bringing the bandage up to her nose and inhaling the musky scent.

The witch is transported back to the prior night. The party, the drinking, the titan pliant under her, cloudy red eyes. Then he was on top of her, holding her down like she might return to shadow at any moment. And then he had kissed her and kissed his way down to her–

A deafening thunder is heard outside.

Melinoë blinks once, twice, then peers down at her dress. Nothing out of the ordinary there, except…

She pulls at the fabric to smell it.

A scent that isn’t entirely hers, mixed with the telling musk of a man.

Without a word, Melinoë takes her dress off, along with all her silver regalia and her ever-burning laurel crown. She neatly folds the saffron fabric and tucks the rolled gauze in the middle of the folds. Opening one of the drawers in her dresser, she pushes the clothes all the way to the back before closing it.

From a different drawer, she pulls out a clean dress and a towel which she wraps around her torso. She kneels down to get some bath salts from her discarded purse before stepping out of her tent and making her way to the hot springs, letting the rain commence the cleansing process.

They say never to bathe alone but the princess has much to think about.