*save_checkpoint

*text_image chap_7.png center Chapter Seven
*temp kneeling false
*temp determined false
*temp drewweapon false
*temp hid false
*temp chill false
*temp worried false
*temp flewthere false
*temp breakargusfree false
*temp leftspear false
*temp wanttowin false
*temp incharge false
*temp giveoral false
*temp inmouth false
*temp winghold false


In the wake of his argument with Morpheus, Hermes increases your workload.

*if hermesargument = 2
    @{(ashamed) Not only do you not know what went down between them to make it so, but you made a fool of yourself too, and the memory|If only you'd been more careful, you might know what really went down between them to make it so. The knowledge} torments you still.

    It's why you resolve to
    *goto main42
*elseif hermesargument = 3
    Still, you don't regret interrupting them. 
    
    It was the right thing to do, even if it means you don't know what went down between them. 

    And whether it has anything to do with your newly raised nightmare quota.

    One thing you do know, however, is that you must
    *goto main42
*else
    You have no doubt their feud is to blame.

    Whether you're picking up the slack for Morpheus's supposed slipup or this was always part of Hermes's grand plan is unclear.

    One thing you do know, however, is that you must
    *goto main42

*label main42

*choice
    #Check in on Morpheus; I'm worried about him.
        *set leadup 1
        *set worried true
        *set Morpheus %+5
        *set ruthless %-5
        *set postargument 3
        *set flewthere true
        It's a new feeling, alien as bleeding red. 

        But you can't stop thinking of
        *if (hermesargument = 1) and (queenly = false)
            how shaken he looked after Hermes left.
            *goto main43
        *elseif hermesargument = 2
            how powerful Hermes is, and how badly he could hurt Morpheus if he wanted to.

            It looked like he really really wanted to.

            @{(onledge) Granted, you didn't catch much before you fell, but you did note|That much was obvious in} the way the herald gripped his staff, as though he'd very much like to bash Morpheus over the head with it, the rage distorting his pretty features, the not-so-hidden threat in his voice.
            *goto main43
        *elseif hermesargument = 3
            how angry Hermes looked before he realized you were there. And how Morpheus stood up for you anyway.

            @{(morpheusrift) Yes, you challenged him on it–old habits and all that–but that doesn't mean you want him to get hurt|You'd hate for him to get hurt because of it}.
            *goto main43
        *else
            the sharp edge in Hermes's voice before you chased it away.

            It promised retribution and, as much as you @{(Morpheus < 50) hate|dislike} Morpheus, you hate the idea of him getting hurt more.
            *goto main43
    #Drop in on Morpheus; I need to get to the bottom of this.
        *set leadup 2
        *set demure %-5
        *set postargument 3
        *set flewthere true
        You need answers.

        *if hermesargument = 1
            @{(queenly) Why did he imply Hermes's commands didn't come from Zeus|Why did he take issue with Hermes suggesting he misunderstood his instructions}?

            And @{(queenly) if not for worship|if not by mistake}, why did he over-deliver on sweet dreams?
            *goto main43
        *elseif hermesargument = 2
            What could possibly have made them so mad at each other?
            *goto main43
        *else
            And you will get them through honest means–a good, old-fashioned interrogation.
            *goto main43
    #Take some time to think; I need a strategy.
        *set leadup 3
        *set cunning %+5
        Much has happened since Hermes first sent you to torment Theron, and that's without touching on matters of the heart.
            
        You feel like a piece in a game of petteia. At the mercy of the hand moving it, with a limited view of the board.

        What you gleaned from their confrontation is part of something bigger. You're certain of it. 
        
        You must pull back and get a proper lay of the land before you make your next move.
        *goto main43
    #Take some time for myself; I need a break.
        *set leadup 4
        *set ruthless %-5
        *set chill true
        Much has happened since Hermes first sent you to torment Theron. You feel like an old rag. Functioning, but threadbare.

        A little self-care wouldn't go amiss.
        *goto main43
    
*label main43

Luckily, the opportunity presents itself when you return home from an assignment at the crack of dawn, instead of long after it has come and gone, for a change.

*if (leadup = 1) or (leadup = 2)
    *goto flew
*else
    And you have the perfect @{(chill) pick-me-up in mind|solution for your predicament}.
    
    *choice
        #A mindful walk through the woods.
            *set ruthless %-5
            *set postargument 1
            Being surrounded by nature will @{(chill) be the tonic your cluttered thoughts need|help get your head in the game}.

            Soothed by the idea, you leave the gate behind and head into the mossy woodland circling it.  
            
            Souls perch on cypress and poplar branches, and the air smells of mint and asphodel.

            The deeper into the forest you go, the more @{(chill) at peace you feel|energized you become}.
            *if leadup = 3
                *goto thinking
            *else
                *goto mattersofheart
        #A skinny-dip in the hot springs.
            *set postargument 2
            *set demure %-5
            The warm, healing water will clear your mind and @{(chill) give your body a rest|pave the way for a plan}.

            Soothed by the thought, you take to the sky and head south.

            The springs glitter by the banks of the blazing Phlegethon, tucked at the foot of the mountains Morpheus calls home, surrounded by woodland.
            
            Tartarus looms beyond it.
            *goto hotsprings
        #An energizing flight with the souls.
            *set fitness %+5
            *set postargument 3
            *set flewthere true
            No rushing, no nightmares to deliver, no expectations. 

            Just the breeze on your skin, the souls twinkling around you, and the Underworld's shifting landscape becoming a blur beneath you.
            
            You can't think of a better way to @{(chill) reset your mind|clear your mind–and pave the way for a plan}.
            *goto flew

*label flew

@{(leadup) Eager to see Morpheus|Eager to get to the bottom of whatever is going on|Soothed by the thought|Soothed by the thought}, you leave the gate behind and take to the sky.

*if (leadup = 3) or (leadup = 4)
    You glide past the asphodel fields, following the river deeper into the forest. @{(flightstyle) Graceful as a bird, and just as free|A shadowy comet with nowhere to be and no one to answer to|graceful as a bird, and just as free}.
    *if leadup = 3
        *goto thinking
    *else
        *goto mattersofheart
*else
    The Underworld shifts beneath you. The Lethe, the fields and the forest melt into one another, flashing by in a blur.
    *goto mattersofheart

*label hotsprings
*page_break Dive In

Clouds of billowing steam pinpoint the springs' exact location. The cries of the damned grow louder as you near them, only to fade when you plunge into the white mist, drowned out by the hissing and sizzling of the nearby flaming river.

The steam is so thick, you can barely make out the network of pools stretching before you. But you can tell by the lack of splashing and laughter you have them all to yourself.

You slide out of your @{(style) chitoniskos|chiton|peplos} and sink into the closest pool.

The water is warm and comforting as a hug. Sighing, you lean your head on the obsidian border and close your eyes.

*if leadup = 3
    *goto thinking
*else
    *goto flyingsolo

*label thinking
*page_break

Your mind wanders, combing through recent events and discoveries, trying to make a connection between them.

*if (((hermeslying = true) and (offerings = true)) and (hermesargument = 1))
    *set caughthermes true
    @{(postargument) The trees around you grow thicker. Clusters of golden-capped mushrooms cling to the base of their trunks. They look like rings. Or offerings|Feathers of steam tickle your cheeks|The Erebus Mountains begin to take shape up ahead. Rough obsidian, jagged and glinting. Morpheus's home. And Hypnos's}.

    Then it hits you.

    Hermes was missing from the offerings in the Leukan agora. But Hypnos wasn't. 
    
    Hypnos. The god is responsible for bringing sleep to mortals, yes, but not for shaping it. That's up to Zeus. And, by extension, Hermes. Which is why many cities in Hellas pray to him at nighttime.
    
    But not Leukas. Not most of the remote, patronless corners of the mortal realm you've been sent to recently.

    Is that why the herald is so mad at the Leukans and their Lord? Because he isn't being worshiped the way he believes he deserves? If true, it would cause uproar in Olympus. Not because he's encroaching on another deity's hard-earned worship–subterfuge is practically a divine sport–but because he would be doing so in Zeus's name.

    Without Zeus's sanctioning.

    *achieve ontohermes
    *if postargument = 2
        *goto flyingsolo
    *else
        The realization barely has a chance to sink in before a strange keening snatches your attention back to the @{(postargument) forest|springs|sky–and the land unfolding beneath it}.
        *goto main44
*else
    But so far, all you know is @{(hermeslying) that Hermes is lying and Morpheus is actively ignoring his commands|that Morpheus is actively ignoring Hermes's commands}.

    If not for spite, then why?

    @{(postargument) The trees around you grow thicker. Rings of golden-capped mushrooms cling to the base of their trunks|Feathers of steam tickle your skin|The Erebus Mountains begin to take shape up ahead. Rough obsidian, jagged and glinting}.

    *if postargument = 2
        *goto flyingsolo
    *else
        *goto mattersofheart

*label mattersofheart
*page_break

Your thoughts turn inward without you realizing.

*if postargument = 2
    *goto flyingsolo
*else
    *if theronoutcome = 4
        Towards Theron.
    
        The taste of his lips lingers still, and you can't help but imagine what might have happened if you hadn't dragged yourself away.
        *goto mattersofheart2
    *elseif theronoutcome = 3
        Towards Theron.
    
        How close he was to kissing you. 
    
        How badly you wanted to let him.
        *goto mattersofheart2
    *elseif (theronoutcome = 6) or (theronoutcome = 5) 
        Towards Theron.

        The memory of his rugged hands on your skin, of his reflection in the mirror, chest slick with sweat, face rough with pleasure, @{(demure < 50) makes you bite your lip|brings heat to your cheeks}.
        *goto mattersofheart2
    *elseif theronoutcome < 3
        *if aresoutcome > 3
            Towards Ares and how much you enjoyed your time together, @{(aresresponse) and your correspondence since|and your correspondence since|even if you have kept your correspondence since vague about your potential future together}.
            *goto premain44
        *elseif (aresoutcome > 2) and (aresresponse = 3)
            Towards Ares, and how torn you feel about your time together.
            *goto premain44
        *elseif (aresoutcome = 3) and (aresresponse < 3)
            Towards Ares, and how much you've been enjoying corresponding with him, even if your future together is up in the air.
            *goto premain44
        *else
            *goto neither

*label mattersofheart2

*if aresresponse != 3
    Then there is Ares. Fates know how much you enjoyed your time with him as well, and the correspondence you've shared since.
    *goto premain44
*else
    Then there is Ares. Fates know you enjoyed your time with him as well, but your correspondence since has you questioning what shape your future together might take.

    And whether you want it to be shaped at all.
    *goto premain44

*label neither

And how uncertain you feel about your future.

The idea of marrying Ares doesn't appeal to you.

@{(marriage) But will you go ahead with it anyway?|But it's not like you have any other suitable matches|And love continues to evade you. At this rate, you wonder whether it's your destiny to be kept from it for all eternity.|But that's hardly surprising.}

*label premain44

Then a strange keening snatches your attention back to the @{(postargument) forest|springs|sky–and the land unfolding beneath it}.

*goto main44

*label flyingsolo
*page_break

@{(caughthermes) You sit with the realization, turning it around every which way in your mind until it's as worn and weathered as you feel. The|The} steam grows thicker, clouding your vision.

You rub your neck, gently knead your collarbone. The pressure helps ease the tension in your @{(caughthermes) muscles. Thoughts of patrons, worship and subterfuge dissolve|muscles, encouraging your mind to drift}.

What do you think @{(caughthermes) of in their place?|Where does it go?}

*choice
    *if theronoutcome > 2
        #@{(caughthermes) Theron's|To Theron's} calloused hands tracing the shape of my body.
            *set solotime 2
            *goto theronthoughts
    *if theronoutcome > 3
        #@{(caughthermes) Theron's|To Theron's} lips on mine, his beard rough against my cheeks.
            *set solotime 2
            *goto theronthoughts
    *if aresoutcome > 2
        #@{(caughthermes) Ares|To Ares} blushing in the wake of my touch.
            *set solotime 1
            *goto aresthoughts
    *if aresoutcome > 2
        #@{(caughthermes) Ares's|To Ares's} strong body, pressed close to mine.
            *set solotime 1
            *goto aresthoughts
    #@{(caughthermes) Morpheus|To Morpheus} finally being brought to his knees.
        *set solotime 3
        *set kneeling true
        You had always thought it would be you, not Hermes, who would see it done. 

        You who would look down on him when that perpetual smirk of his was finally wiped from his face. 
        *goto morpheusthoughts
    #@{(caughthermes) Morpheus's|To Morpheus} smirking face, leaning closer to mine.
        *set solotime 3
        *goto morpheusthoughts
    #@{(caughthermes) Of|To} how warm and welcoming the water feels.
        You massage your shoulders, breathing in the steam, the heat, the quiet.

        Until the latter is broken by a strange keening that yanks you back into your body.
        *goto main44
    #@{(caughthermes) Nothing|Nowhere}! I don't have time for this.
        The Fates must think so to, for a strange keening yanks your mind back to your body.
        *goto main44

*label theronthoughts

*set Theron %+10

@{(theronoutcome) na|na|He'd been so close to kissing you. What might've happened, if you'd let him?|The taste of his lips lingers still. What might have happened if you hadn't dragged yourself away?|Memories flood you. Of his fingers digging into your skin. His tongue brushing against yours. His reflection in the mirror, chest slick with sweat, face rough with pleasure|Memories flood you. Of his fingers digging into your skin. His tongue brushing against yours. His reflection in the mirror, chest slick with sweat, face rough with pleasure}.
*if theronoutcome > 4
    *goto flyingsolo1
*else
    Would his hands have worked their way under your @{(style) chitoniskos|chiton|peplos}? Would you have felt his heartbeat, loud and leaping, against your chest? Would you have tasted the salt of his skin on your tongue?
    *goto flyingsolo1

*label aresthoughts

*set Ares %+10

@{(aresoutcome) na|na|If you had kissed, would he have tasted as sweet as the ambrosia cake he loves so much?|Memories flood you. Of his skin, warm and glowing under Olympus's light. Of his fingers gripping your hips and the soft gasping sounds that escaped his lips|His kisses had been as sweet as ambrosia cake}.

*if aresoutcome = 4
    *goto flyingsolo1
*else
    @{(aresoutcome < 5) And if|If} you'd gone further than that, if you'd let him lay you down on the blanket, savor the rest of you, would he have taken his time, been gentle and careful? Or would he have forgone all decorum and devoured you without restraint?
    *goto flyingsolo1

*label morpheusthoughts

*set Morpheus %+10

@{(kneeling) He would glare at you,|His} violet eyes @{(kneeling) as|are as} cruel as his tongue. But the steam must be clouding your judgement as well as your vision, because you can't help wondering what such a cruel tongue might feel like, brushing against yours.

What such long, beringed fingers might do, if they reached for your body.

*label flyingsolo1

Suddenly, you become more aware of the weight of your own hand on the base of your throat, of the steam brushing against your bare skin and your breasts peaking above the water's surface.

*choice
    #I don't hesitate to reach between my thighs.
        *set selfpleasured true
        *set determined true
        *set demure %-5
        There's no leisurely exploration, no coaxing or teasing or dallying. There's only need.
        
        Your thighs are already spread, eager and waiting for you to meet it.
        *goto flyingsolo2
    #I slowly let my hand trail between my thighs.
        *set selfpleasured true
        *set demure %+5
        It follows the curve of your breasts, the length of your navel, leisurely descending to meet the need building between your thighs.
        *goto flyingsolo2
    #My hand remains firmly where it is.
        You lean back against the border, massaging your neck and nothing else. Until a strange keening jerks you forward.
        *goto main44

*label flyingsolo2

You touch yourself just as @{(determined) intently|unhurriedly, at first}. 

Thoughts of @{(solotime) Ares|Theron|Morpheus} guide your fingers.

*fake_choice
    #What if he were watching me while I touch myself?
        @{(solotime) How hard would he blush, then?|How composed would he be, then?|Would he beg for a touch, then?}
    #What if it were his fingers touching me instead?
        What if it were his chest you were pressed against, not the rock, and his lap you were sitting on. Spread like this, his fingers moving up and down and in and out of you.
    #What if it was his tongue touching me instead?
        Would he spread your thighs wider, dig his fingers into your skin as he feasted on you? 
    #What if he were telling me what to do to myself?
        @{(solotime) "Will you make yourself come for me?" he'd ask, polite, hopeful and hungry. Then he wouldn't be able to tear his eyes away from you while you obeyed.|He would be as good at leading you through this as he is at leading everything else. "That's it, Goddess, show me how hard you can make yourself come," he'd say, and his dark eyes wouldn't waver from yours while you obeyed.|You bet he would like that. "Go on, Princess, show me how hard you can make yourself come," he'd say. "Let's see if you can do a better job than I could."}

Fates.

Your lips part and a moan stumbles into the mist. You arch your back, picking up the pace, fueling the pressure building inside you.

Then you hear something that snaps you back to the spring.

*label main44
*page_break What Was That?

The screech tears through the @{(postargument) wood|steam|haze}, kindling your senses.

Only the damned sound like that. So full of sorrow, so full of pain. 

But this cry is far too close to belong to one of Tartarus's prisoners.

*page_break Unless

@{(postargument) The forest starts to shake. The earth trembles, the leaves shudder, and flocks of souls scatter into the sky like startled birds|The ground starts to pulse, ruffling the water's surface and making the stones shake|The woodland circling the mountains starts to shake. You can see the trees shudder all the way up from here, and you have to swerve to avoid a flock of startled souls}.

There's a rhythm to the @{(postargument) shaking|pulsing|shaking}, as though caused by a heavy gait.

Another cry scrapes your ears, driving you to @{(selfpleasured) forget about the heat coursing through your ichor, and act|act}.

*choice
    #@{(postargument) I hide. If danger is coming, I won't let it catch me exposed|I hide. If danger is coming, I won't let it catch me exposed|I land to better assess the situation from a safe–and hidden–spot}.
            *set hid true
            *set stealth %+5
            *set flewthere false
            *goto hidden
    #I summon my weapon. If danger is coming, I'll meet it in kind.
        *set drewweapon true
        *set charm %-5
        *if postargument = 2
            You slide out of the water and into your clothes before your @{(weapon) bident|bow|scythe|sling|staff} appears in your hand.
            *goto weapon
        *else
            Your @{(weapon) bident|bow|scythe|sling|staff} appears in your hand.
            *goto weapon
    #I search for the source. I can hear the distress in it and wish to help.
        *set ruthless %-5
        You @{(postargument) scan your surroundings and realize how far into the woods you wandered. The Erebus Mountains loom over you, and the forest floor has slanted into a hill|scan the nearby treeline, sliding out of the water and into your clothes|hover above the treeline, scanning the horizon}.

        @{(postargument) Morpheus's dwelling isn't far from here. And neither is Tartarus|The cypresses tremble with each wail, startling the souls from their branches. You glide closer, following the wailing|Beyond the Erebus Mountains, the sky above Tartarus is as bruised and coiling as it has ever been}.

        @{(postargument) You grit your teeth and follow the wailing deeper into the trembling wood|Heading deeper into the forest|But your eyes are fixed on the trembling forest}.
        *goto main45

*label hidden

You @{(postargument) scan your surroundings, looking for a tree hollow big enough to climb into, a root tall enough to slip under|slide out of the water slip back into your gown. Even the steam is repelled by the sound, twisting further away the closer it gets|scan the ground, searching for the right spot. Something sheltered so as not to give your position away, but close enough to whatever is making its way through the forest}.

@{(postargument) That's when you realize just how far you wandered. The Erebus Mountains loom over you, their wizened cliff sides walls of jagged obsidian|And it's close enough that, should you launch into the sky, you'll give your position away|You eye the mountains. Their slopes are more like cliffs. A vertical wall of jagged onyx that slices into the wood}.

@{(postargument) Morpheus's dwelling isn't far from here. And neither is Tartarus|So you make for the Erebus Mountains instead|You swoop down, searching for nooks and crannies in the trembling rock}.

@{(postargument) Holding your breath, you slip into a crack in the rock and wait|You reach their wizened cliff side, sandals barely touching the trembling ground. Holding your breath, you slip into a crack in the rock and wait|When you find a suitable one–a crack that goes deep enough to hold you and little else–you slip into it and wait}.
*goto main45

*label weapon

Its weight is a source of both comfort and strength.

Gritting your teeth, you scan @{(postargument) your surroundings and realize how far into the woods you wandered. The Erebus Mountains loom over you, and the forest floor has slanted into a hill|the nearby treeline|the forest, hovering above the treeline}.

@{(postargument) Morpheus's dwelling isn't far from here. And neither is Tartarus|The cypresses tremble with each wail, startling the souls from their branches|Beyond the Erebus Mountains, the sky above Tartarus is as bruised and coiling as it has ever been}.

@{(postargument) You plant your feet|But your eyes are fixed on the ground, your|But your eyes are fixed on the ground, your} weapon at the ready.

*label main45
*page_break

@{(hid) And keep waiting. Then everything stops|Then everything stops}. The realm ceases its shaking, the sound no longer rumbles in the distance. Did you really hear something in the first place? Did the earth really feel like it was about to shatter?

Then you spot him.

Morpheus, hurtling through the forest up ahead. On foot. His left wing juts out a strange angle. Its panes are coated with ichor, his face drenched with panic.

You understand why when you see what he's running from.

A giant, smashing through the trees. Tall as they are, clad in rags and wielding a spear wreathed in flame.

A spear usually locked away in your father's armory.

*fake_choice
    #I gasp.
    #I blink.
    #I freeze.
    *if drewweapon
        #I grip my weapon tighter.

You've never seen a giant in the flesh. 

His fists are boulders, his shoulders a ridge. And his spear…the sight of it makes you finally understand why your father's scar still hurts after all these centuries.

Behind the giant, you glimpse the destruction he's unleashed upon the forest. Where before there was green, now there's a path of nothing.

*page_break

The giant hurls his spear at Morpheus. He ducks at the last moment, avoiding losing his head by the skin of his teeth.

The spear incinerates a tree instead. Shattered bark flies in every direction, but it doesn't pierce the giant's ashen skin. 

Skin poked all over with strange, hollow marks.

*page_break No, Not Marks

Sockets.

The Giant staggers forward, revealing his scarred, eyeless face.

And you realize, then. This isn't just any giant. This is Argus Panoptes.

The giant Hera loved, and Hermes defeated.

*page_break And He Is Pissed

Argus opens his cave-like mouth and the voice that emerges from it feels like a blade dragging down your spine.

"I cannot go back," he roars. "I will not go back. Come, little messenger, set me free."

Morpheus picks up his frantic pace, @{(hid) nearing the mountain. Nearing your hiding spot|drawing closer}.

A single thought pulses through you.

*choice
    *if (criesofdead = 1) or (criesofdead = 3)
        #I can't let a Tartarus fugitive go free.
            *set argusreason 1
            *set ruthless %+5
            But how will you stop him?
            *goto argusprefight
    #I can't let harm come to Morpheus.
        *set Morpheus %+5
        *set ruthless %-5
        *set argusreason 2
        *set worried true
        Whether he released the giant or not, you can't bear the thought of him getting hurt.
        
        But how will you prevent it?
        *goto argusprefight
    #I can't let the realm be destroyed.
        *set leadership %+5
        *set argusreason 3
        But how will you put a stop to such wreckage?
        *goto argusprefight
    *if (criesofdead = 2) or (criesofdead = 3)
        #I can't let Argus return to Tartarus.
            *set dutiful %-10
            *set breakargusfree true
            *set argusreason 4
            He shouldn't have been sent there in the first place.

            Still, he has paid his dues. And then some.

            His suffering ends now. 
            
            But how will you make it so? He does seem rather intent on destruction.
            *goto argusprefight 

*label argusprefight

*choice
    *if argusreason < 4
        #I will wrestle Argus all the way back to Tartarus.
            *if (fitness > 50) and (drewweapon = true)
                *set olympusinfluence %+15
                *set pantheonplayer %+10
                *set worship %+10
                *set argusencounter 2
                Determined, you grip your @{(weapon) bident|bow|scythe|sling|staff}.
                *goto winargus
            *elseif (fitness > 55) and (drewweapon = false)
                *set olympusinfluence %+10
                *set pantheonplayer %+10
                *set worship %+10
                *set argusencounter 2
                Determined, you summon your @{(weapon) bident|bow|scythe|sling|staff}, drawing both comfort and strength from its weight.
                *goto winargus
            *else
                *set argusencounter 1
                *set olympusinfluence %-15
                *set argusspear 7
                *if hid
                    *goto caught
                *else 
                    *set drewweapon true
                    You @{(drewweapon) grip your weapon|summon your weapon, drawing both comfort and strength from its weight}.

                    Determined, you launch yourself at the giant, cutting through the air like a loosed arrow, aiming @{(weapon) your bident|one of your own|your scythe|your loaded sling|your staff} at his heart.
                    *goto lostfight
    *if argusreason < 4
        #I will trick Argus into following me back to Tartarus.
            Trickery was Hermes's chosen weapon against the giant.

            Now it shall be yours.

            Determination flares within you as you @{(flightstyle) spread your wings|gather your shadows|flex your toes}.

            *if cunning > 55
                *set underworldinfluence %+15
                *set trickedargus true
                *set worship %+10
                *set argusencounter 2
                You @{(drewweapon) grip your weapon|summon your weapon, drawing both comfort and strength from its weight}.
                *goto winargus
            *else
                *set argusencounter 1
                *set underworldinfluence %-15
                *set argusspear 7
                *if hid
                    *goto caught
                *else
                    You @{(flewthere) descend|take off}, gliding closer to the giant.

                    You aim to taunt him. Become like a fly buzzing in his ear, until he's so worked up all he can sense is the target you've painted on your back.
                    *goto lostfight
    *if argusreason > 1
        #I will plead with Argus to end this @{(breakargusfree) violence and focus on escaping|violence}.
            Hera had spoken of Argus's fierceness, yes, but also of his kindness and sense of justice.

            Here's hoping she wasn't lying.
        
            *if (ruthless <= 55) and (drewweapon = false)
                *set pantheonplayer %+15
                *set underworldinfluence %+5
                *set argusencounter 3
                *set argusdead true
                Determined, you take a moment to gather your wits.
                *goto winargus
            *elseif (ruthless <= 40) and (drewweapon = true)
                *set pantheonplayer %+15
                *set olympusinfluence %+5
                *set argusencounter 3
                *set argusdead true
                Determined, you wave your @{(weapon) bident|arrow|scythe|sling|staff} away to prove you mean him no harm.
                *goto winargus
            *else
                *set argusencounter 1
                *set argusspear 7
                *set pantheonplayer %-10
                *set underworldinfluence %-10
                *set olympusinfluence %-10
                Still, you've never been one for pleading.

                The word alone fills you with apprehension.

                *if hid
                    *goto caught
                *else
                    You do your best to shake it and @{(flewthere) descend|take off}, gliding closer to the giant.
                    *goto lostfight
    *if argusreason > 1
        #I will command Argus to stop this @{(breakargusfree) violence and focus on escaping|violence}.
            This is [i]your[/i] realm.

            Whatever happens here, does so because you let it.

            *if leadership > 55
                *set argusencounter 3
                Determined, you roll your shoulders and set your jaw.
                *if argusreason = 4
                    *set maverickgoddess %+20
                    *set olympusinfluence %-10
                    *set underworldinfluence %+5
                    *goto winargus
                *else
                    *set pantheonplayer %+15
                    *set worship %+10
                    *set underworldinfluence %+10
                    *goto winargus
            *else
                *set argusencounter 1
                *set argusspear 7
                *set underworldinfluence %-20
                *set olympusinfluence %-20
                You have to repeat it to yourself a few times.

                *if hid
                    *goto caught
                *else
                    Still unconvinced, you @{(flewthere) descend|take off}, gliding closer to the giant.
                    *goto lostfight1
    *if argusreason = 4
        #I will defy both Olympus and the Underworld to help Argus escape, duty be damned.
            You will face your parents' disappointment and Zeus's wrath if you must, @{(parentsrel) even if the former fills you with guilt|and gladly|even if the former fills you with apprehension}.

            *if dutiful < 55
                *set maverickgoddess %+20
                *set worship %+10
                *set olympusinfluence %-5
                *set underworldinfluence %-5
                *set argusencounter 3
                Determined, you roll your shoulders and set your jaw.
                *goto winargus
            *else
                *set argusencounter 1
                *set argusspear 7
                *set maverickgoddess %-20
                *set underworldinfluence %-15
                *set olympusinfluence %-15
                *set worship %-10
                So you have to keep telling yourself, anyway.

                *if hid
                    *goto caught
                *else
                    Determined, you @{(flewthere) descend|take off}, gliding closer to the giant.
                    *goto lostfight1
    *if argusreason < 4
        #I will evade Argus's notice and seek my parents help.
            *set gothelp true
            @{(parentsrel) They'll|As much as it pains you to admit, they'll|They'll} know what to do.

            It's your best shot at @{(argusreason) avoiding a prison break|protecting Morpheus|protecting the realm|not applicable}.

            *if (stealth > 50) and (hid = true) 
                *set maverickgoddess %+10
                *set underworldinfluence %+10
                *set parents %+10
                *set argusencounter 4
                Determined, you tiptoe to the edge of your little nook. 
                *goto gethelp
            *elseif (stealth > 55) and (hid = false)
                *set maverickgoddess %+10
                *set underworldinfluence %+10
                *set parents %+10
                *set argusencounter 4
                Determined, you glance at the giant.
                *goto gethelp
            *else
                *set maverickgoddess %-10
                *set underworldinfluence %-15
                *set argusencounter 1
                *set argusspear 7
                *if hid
                    *goto caught
                *else
                    @{(flewthere) Argus may not be able to see, but that doesn't mean he can't sense you the way he's sensing Morpheus|But, with the forest violently shifting around you, taking off proves far trickier than you anticipated}.

                    Slowly, you begin your ascent, managing to leave the canopy–and the giant smashing through it–behind.

                    Or so you allow yourself to believe.
                    *goto lostfight1

*label winargus

Then @{(hid) you emerge from your hiding spot and|you} @{(flewthere) swoop down|launch into the air}, gliding closer to the hulking giant.

Morpheus grinds to a halt, blinking up at you in horror. "${name}?"

What do you call out in return?

*fake_choice
    *if worried
        #"Are you hurt?"
            *set Morpheus %+10
            "Never mind that," he shouts back. "What I am is hoping you are not, in fact, flying [i]towards[/i] the huge angry giant?"

            You shrug and resume your flight.
    #"Don't mind me."
        *set charm %+10
        "Kind of hard," he shouts back, "when you're flying [i]towards[/i] the huge angry giant."

        You smile ruefully and resume your flight.
    #"Get to safety."
        *set Morpheus %+10
        "I'm not the one flying [i]towards[/i] the huge angry giant," he shouts back.

        You wave him off and resume your flight.
    *if worried = false
        #"Watch and learn."
            *set demure %-10
            "Learn what? How to get myself killed? Because that's what it looks like you're doing," he shouts back.

            You roll your eyes and resume your flight.
    #Nothing. I must stay focused.
        *set Morpheus %-5
Disbelief infringes on his panicked face.

"What in the Fates' names do you think you're doing? Turn back, you fool," he howls, arms flailing. "TURN BACK."

You ignore him and stay the course. Argus's nostrils flare, and though he doesn't have eyes, you can feel his awareness latch onto you. 

The stench of damnation clings to him like smoke and, when his mouth opens, his breath is a gust of wind that threatens to knock you back @{(hid) into the mountain|to the forest floor}.

"What's this, huh? Another little messenger?"

*if argusencounter = 2
    He doesn't give you a chance to reply before throwing a punch.

    *if trickedargus
        You back up enough to avoid his massive fist, but not so much that he might lose your scent. 

        "That's right," you taunt back. "What are you going to do about it?"

        The cry he lets out makes your bones shudder.

        But you refuse to be deterred.

        You zigzag around him like a persistent fly, concentrating on being as much of a nuisance as you can without getting swatted out of the sky.

        It works.
        
        When you begin making your way towards Tartarus, he follows, sniffing the air to keep track of your movements.
        *goto winargus1
    *else
        You duck and slam into the vast swathe of his chest, sending him flying across the scorched wood.
    
        It's like crashing into a mountain. Your bones shudder from the impact, but you refuse to be deterred.
        *goto winargus1
*else
    You lift your chin. 

    "I am ${name}, daughter of Hades and Persephone, Weaver of Nightmares and, yes, member of the Messengers' Council. I wish to @{(breakargusfree) help you leave this place|talk."}

    Argus turns to face you, toppling a few trees in the process. Behind you, Morpheus groans.

    "@{{breakargusfree} Help?" The giant laughs, but it's devoid of mirth. "I am well acquainted with your kind's idea of help, and I would sooner fall upon my own spear than accept it again."|Talk?" the giant roars.}

    @{{breakargusfree} "Then you would be making a terrible mistake."|"Indeed. May I ask why you are} @{(argusreason) not applicable|pursuing my friend?"|destroying my forest?"|and I am willing to swear a Stygian oath to prove it."}

    That seems to catch him off guard. He cocks his head, and though he doesn't have eyes, you get the distinct impression he's frowning at you.
    
    "I…well…I."

    You wait for him to find the words.
    *goto morpheusappears

*label winargus1
*page_break

He may be stronger, but you're @{(trickedargus) more slippery, and able to deftly dodge his attacks|faster. Not only do you manage to deftly dodge his attacks, you even squeeze in a few blows of your own}.

Until he summons his spear. You might've been incinerated by its flaming blade, had Morpheus not called out a warning. 

"${name}! Behind you!"

You dive out of the weapon's path just in time. It returns to Argus's waiting hand, haloed in fire.

It doesn't stay there long, however. He hurls it at you with a bellow that reverberates across the realm.

You swerve and it sinks into the @{(hid) mountain side|ground beneath you} as though it were water, narrowly missing your shoulder.
*goto arguspower

*label morpheusappears
*page_break

Something flickers out of the corner of your eye.

"Utter foolishness," Morpheus mutters under his breath, hovering closer. 

His right wing is doing all the work of keeping him aloft. The left one is limp and, this close, you can clearly make out the chunk missing from one of its panes. The membrane around the wound looks like burnt papyrus, ashy and peeling off at the seams. Ichor gushes from it, leaving behind streaks of gold. 

@{(worried) It's your turn to look horrified|You purse your lips}.

*if argusencounter = 3
    "I don't want to @{{breakargusfree} leave this place|talk}. I want to be free," Argus roars, yanking your focus back to his colossal frame.
    *goto argustalk
*else
    Argus rushes at you with another one of those earth-shattering roars.
    *goto winargus2

*label winargus2
*page_break Focus!

You jump back into action, circling the giant and aiming your @{(weapon) bident|arrows|scythe|pellets|staff} at the softer flesh of his many empty eye sockets. 

@{(weapon) It doesn't|They don't|It doesn't|They don't|It doesn't} pierce the skin, but he doesn't look like he's enjoying it either.

More importantly, it keeps him from summoning his spear.

Morpheus pulls out his blowgun and joins @{(trickedargus) in on the fun|the fight}, firing darts that bury under the giant's skin. They don't put him to sleep like they would a mortal, but they make him sloppy–and easier to @{(trickedargus) lead|wrangle} back to Tartarus.

"This was a terrible idea," Morpheus shouts, zipping past you to avoid Argus's fist. 

*fake_choice
    #"I don't recall asking your opinion!"
        "And yet I very graciously provided it." He bows his head. "You're welcome, Princess."
    #"Thanks for such extremely useless input!"
        He bows his head. 

        "Anytime, Princess."
    #"Go home, then!"
        "And be held responsible for your demise? I don't think so, Princess."
    #"It's working, isn't it?"
        "Only because I very graciously decided to intervene."
    *if argusreason = 2
        #"I was trying to save you, you ungrateful oaf!"
            He places a hand over his heart, as though you wounded him there.
            
            "Ungrateful [i]handsome[/i] oaf. Get it right next time."

You shake your head and @{(weapon) slash at|shoot another arrow at|slash at|shoot another pellet at|thump} one of the sockets on Argus's throat just as the sky darkens around you. 

The cries of the damned become a chorus that rattles inside your skull, over and over. Wind whips your hair and your @{(flightstyle) wings|shadows|feet} strain from the effort of keeping you stable. 

There is no thunder or lightning, but you feel as though you're in the eye of a storm.

A black chasm appears within it. Bottomless and devoid of everything but darkness. Realizing he has been @{(trickedargus) played|bested}, Argus makes a last-ditch attempt at summoning his spear. 

*page_break Throw Him In The Pit

Morpheus locks eyes with you.

You move in tandem.

*if trickedargus
    You, @{(weapon) stabbing at Argus|firing a string of arrows at Argus|stabbing at Argus|firing a string of pellets at Argus|bashing at Argus} to keep him busy. Him, delivering the blow that tips him over the edge.
    *goto tartarus
*else
    Him, firing a string of darts at Argus to keep him busy. You, delivering the blow that tips him over the edge. 
    *goto tartarus

*label tartarus
*page_break Into Tartarus

The darkness comes alive, opening like a mouth. Sharp-toothed and famished.

The more Argus struggles, the faster he sinks into its depths.  

@{(criesofdead) From where he never should've strayed|You ignore the guilt thrashing in your chest|Then he's dragged under, and the darkness grows still anew}.

*if (((argusreason = 2) or (argusreason = 3)) and (criesofdead = 2))
    @{(worried) Morpheus is safe|The realm is safe}. That's all that matters.
    *goto tartarus2
*else
    *goto tartarus2

*label tartarus2
*page_break

@{(criesofdead) Satisfied|Horrified|Resigned}, you leave the storm behind and return to the wood.

What remains of it, anyway.

*achieve jailer
*goto weapondecision

*label argustalk
*page_break

@{(breakargusfree) "I don't understand," you tell the giant.|"I see," you tell the giant. "Shouldn't you be heading that way, then?"}

@{(breakargusfree) Argus huffs out a sigh|You point in the direction of the main gates, but Argus shakes his head}.

@{(breakargusfree) Morpheus clears his throat.|"I didn't say I want to go back," he insists, pointing at the souls fleeing in the distance. "I said I want to be [i]free[/i]."}

@{(breakargusfree) When you look at him, he|Beside you, Morpheus} drags a finger across his throat, pretending to slit it.

"You want to die?" you blurt out.

Argus nods.

Well, that would certainly @{(argusreason) not applicable|keep Morpheus safe|put a stop to all this destruction|keep him from Tartarus}.

"Why?"

"I had already lived a thousand lives before I met Hera, and lived a thousand more in her service. I knew what the price of failing her would be," he gestures towards Tartarus, "and I paid it willingly. But even in that wretched pit I can feel them. The souls of the dead who have drank from the Lethe." Sorrow plagues his voice, his eyeless face, the slumped curve of his gargantuan shoulders. "Haven't you ever wondered what it would be like to shed the burden of immortality? To finally be at peace?"

You have wondered what sweet oblivion feels like, yes, @{(nightmares) but have never longed for its touch|but have never longed for its touch|but would never dare long for it. It's unnatural, and against the will of the Fates|and whether it justifies mortal suffering|and, on occasion, even longed for it}.

"That's what I wish for," he adds, fastening his attention on Morpheus. "And I will do anything to get it."

*page_break

"Good for you," Morpheus says, his tone dangerously close to mockery. "I don't see what any of that has to do with me."

Argus shrugs. "I will not say. I swore a Stygian oath."

"Then break it, you oaf," Morpheus huffs. "That's how you'll get what you want. That's how you become mortal."

Everything stills. The smoke caused by Argus's rampage, the few leaves that still cling to their branches, the ichor in your very veins.

*page_break

"What do you mean?" You ask at the same time as Argus growls, "Surely it can't be that simple."

Morpheus's face darkens. "Oh, it's far from simple. And it will hurt like Tartarus. More, probably. It almost killed my mother outright, when she broke her oath."

You gawk at him, trying–and failing–to make sense of his words.

"Lies," Argus growls.

Morpheus shrugs. But, for once, his face is devoid of scorn.

"Let us go to the Styx. I'll swear an oath by its shores to prove it."

*label motherreaction
*page_break Your Thoughts Swirl

Did Morpheus's mother truly [i]become[/i] mortal?

The revelation makes you

*fake_choice
    *if argusencounter = 3
        #Suspicious.
            *set morpheusmother 1
            Argus is right. This must be some sort of ruse.
    *if argusencounter = 3
        #Curious.
            *set morpheusmother 2
            Why would Morpheus's mother do something like that?
    *if (argusencounter < 3) or (argusencounter = 4)
        #Balk.
            *set morpheusmother 3
            It can't be. The Fates wouldn't allow it.
    *if nightmares < 4
        #Sick.
            *set morpheusmother 4
            It goes against the order established by the Fates.
    *if theronoutcome > 2
        #Think of Theron.
            *set morpheusmother 5
            Could there be a future for you and Theron that doesn't end in eternal grief?
    #Feel for Morpheus.
        *set Morpheus %+5
        *set morpheusmother 6
        The grief he must've felt. The @{(argusencounter) pain|pain|grief he feels still, you realize when you meet his eye|pain}.
    #Want to hug your own mother.
        *set parents %+5
        *set morpheusmother 7
        @{(parentsrel) You|For all your differences, you|You} can't fathom losing her like that. Especially since you don't have to.

Then your father's words come to you unbidden. To break a Stygian oath is to break yourself.

*if argusencounter = 3
    Argus waves his hand and his spear returns to him with a loud, metallic thud.

    "There is no need for that," you assure him, bracing for an attack. 
    
    But it never comes.

    When the giant speaks, his words come out strange. As though he has to force out each one. As though they tear his throat along the way.

    "The herald broke me out. He was the one who promised me freedom, if I killed the little messenger."

    A few things happen at once.

    The giant begins to choke. The smouldering wood resumes its shaking. And Morpheus throws his arms around you.

    "A little warning wouldn't have gone amiss," he snaps.
    
    Argus plummets onto the ground, face first. He would've dragged you down with him had Morpheus not pulled you out of the way.
    
    The giant slams into a boulder, smashing it to bits. His spear slips from his grip as he brings his hands to his throat. You hear the rubble beneath him crumble and crack, though perhaps it's his bones. They seem to be pushing against his skin, rearranging his insides. 
    
    He gags, jerking back and forth, kicking up a cloud of dust so thick it blinds you.
    *goto argusdeath
*else
    *goto postvases

*label argusdeath
*page_break

When it clears, the giant is gone. Where he writhed lies a man, tall and wide and covered in scars. Dust settles on his too-still body, clinging to his rags and collecting in the red divots where his eyes should've been.

Morpheus lands first. You follow, and though the ground has ceased trembling, your limbs have not.

"Argus?" Morpheus calls to him softly. 

The man jolts awake with a gasp. He sits up, pinching and poking at his face, his chest, his legs. You're certain it's hurting him–his fingers leave behind red marks–but all he does is laugh.

"Thank you," he says, smiling at you.

Then he reaches for his spear.

*page_break And He Burns

The flames consume him before he can wrap his hand around the handle, reducing him to ash.

*page_break

You don't know how long you stand there, looming over his remains, Morpheus at your side. 

Long enough to witness something emerging from the mound of ash. The spectre of the man Argus had become, shimmering and wavering like the many dead who await for judgement by Cerberus's gates.

But Argus is already here, and you suppose he's already been judged.

This time, the flames don't burn him when he floats through them on his way to the glittering Lethe.

He kneels by its black shore and drinks from the river. 

As soon as the water touches his lips, he begins to glow. White light flares around him like a halo. When it dims, all that remains is a silver dot, blinking on the Lethe's surface like a star.

A soul.

*achieve freegiant

*label weapondecision
*page_break

"Are you alright?" Morpheus asks.

He actually sounds concerned.

You eye him carefully. He looks paler than usual. Sweat pearls his forehead and his wing is all wonky, as though someone has snapped it in half.

You suppose they have.

*fake_choice
    #I point at his wound. "Are you?"
        *set Morpheus %+10
        "This?" He glances at the mess of ichor and burnt flesh that has become of his wing. "It's just a scratch."

        "C'mon, let's get you patched up."

        There's something you must take care of first, however.
    #I smile at him faintly. "I think so."
        *set Morpheus %+5
        He returns your smile. Tentatively, as though his cheeks aren't used to the movement.

        When he flinches, you think he might be having some sort of adverse reaction to it. Then you remember he's hurt.

        "You had better tend to that," you tell him.

        Before he can reply, there's a crackling sound.
    #I regard him with suspicion. "Since when do you care?"
        *set Morpheus %-5
        He stiffens, and the movement makes his injured wing twitch.

        "I suppose you're right," he declares. But his voice is devoid of its usual cruelty.
        
        In fact, he sounds–and looks–utterly miserable.

        You scoff and turn away from him.
       
The flaming spear glows in the rubble, as though summoning you.

You kneel by it. It's bigger than some of the felled trees surrounding it. 

What do you do with it?

*fake_choice
    *if charm < 55
        #I take it. No one will mess with me if I wield a giant's weapon.
            *set charm %-5
            *set argusspear 1
    #I take it. It should be locked away in the armory anew.
        *set dutiful %-5
        *set argusspear 2
    #I take it. It's proof that Argus did indeed escape and should be removed.
        *set cunning %+5
        *set argusspear 3
    #I take it. Such power shouldn't be left lying around where it could be misused.
        *set leadership %+5
        *set argusspear 4
    *if ruthless < 55
        #I don't wish to wield a weapon with such capacity for devastation. Morpheus can have it.
            *set ruthless %-5
            *set argusspear 5
            *set leftspear true
    *if argusencounter = 2
        #I need nothing but my @{(weapon) bident|bow|scythe|sling|staff}. Morpheus can have it.
            *set fitness %+5
            *set argusspear 6
            *set leftspear true

@{(leftspear) "Keep it," you tell the god|The spear is uncomfortably heavy, and you require both your arms–and all your core strength besides–to keep it somewhat upright. But it doesn't burn}.

@{(leftspear) He shakes his head. "It's yours. You earned it."|It's still hot though}.

@{(leftspear) "Keep it," you repeat, locking eyes with him|You tuck it away into a pocket of shadow and get to your feet}.

@{(leftspear) "Fine." He sighs and flicks his fingers, making the spear disappear into a pocket of grey mist|Morpheus is watching you gingerly}.

@{(leftspear) It's the last thing he does|"We should–" he begins, but he doesn't get to finish the sentence} before he faints.
*goto morpheusplace

*label gethelp

Argus is fully focused on Morpheus, sniffing the air to keep track of his movements. 

@{(worried) You ignore the concern twisting your stomach. It will only slow you down, putting him further at risk|Perfectly distracted}.

@{(flewthere) You slink away|You take off}, @{(flightstyle) barely flexing your wings|shadows whispering around you|wings whispering against your ankles}.

Only when the canopy is a distant smudge do you chance a look back. Argus has halted, flaming spear aimed at @{(hid) the opening of your hiding spot|the spot you left behind}.

He let's the weapon fly. It sinks into the @{(hid) rock|ground} as though it were water.

*label arguspower
*page_break

There's a terrible groan. Then @{(hid) part of the cliff gives way. A mountain as old as the Fates themselves, perhaps older. Crumbling like a sand castle|the earth fractures. Cracks form around the spear, branding the Underworld's ancient surface}.

No wonder Zeus is so adamant about projecting strength. 

No wonder your father has that scar.

*if gothelp
    *goto gethelp1
*else
    *goto morpheusappears

*label gethelp1
*page_break Call For Aid

You hurtle across the realm. Elysium feels impossibly far, and you can't help but worry @{(argusreason) Argus will reach the gate|Argus will destroy the wood|Morpheus will get even more hurt} before you reach it.

Though perhaps you don't have to.

You make a sharp turn and come up on your mother's orchard. You spot her kneeling by one of the younger trees.

She's pruning it. By hand, even though a simple thought would do the trick.

@{(parentsrel) All you want to do is collapse into her arms|You're far too shaken to be annoyed at her insistence on making everything so much harder than it needs to be|You're far too shaken for niceties}. Instead, you land right by her side, tipping over a basket brimming with freshly-picked pomegranates. Some burst as they roll on the grass, staining it red.

"What is it?" She asks, leaping to her feet as soon as she sees your face.

@{(argusreason) "One of the damned has escaped Tartarus,"|"The realm is in danger,"|"Morpheus is in danger,"} you explain. "Argus–"

When you utter the giant's name, her demeanor changes. Sharpens. The shears she was using disappear, replaced by an ornate scepter. 

She waves it and Averna emerges from the shadows cast by the branches on the grass.

"Get the King," she orders. 

The lampad shoots you a worried glance, then retreats back into the darkness. 

Your mother turns to face you. "Show me," she says.

*page_break

You lead her back towards the scorched forest, updating her on the way. Vines carry her through the sky, forming a knotted path.

You hear Argus before you see him.

"Hiding is no use, little messenger. I will snap this mountain in half if I must."

He's hunched over the Erebus @{(hid) mountains. Or what remains of the cliffside after his spear cleaved it|mountains}. His massive hands search the rock, sending stones tumbling onto the earth. 

Morpheus must have found @{(hid) his own nook|a crack} in the cliff side. Not that it's doing him any good, by the looks of it.

"Stay here," your mother commands, in a tone that makes it very clear she'll be turning that scepter on you next if you don't do as she says. "Only approach when I've led him away, and only to help Morpehus. Understood?"

Wreathed in vines, chin raised, hair billowing behind her, she looks fierce.

*choice
    #@{(parentsrel) I nod|I nod, albeit grudingly|I nod}. The Queen knows best.
        *set dutiful %+5
        *set parents %+5
        *goto gothelp2
    #@{(parentsrel) I nod|I nod, albeit begrudgingly|I nod}. Mother knows best.
        *set parents %+10
        *goto gothelp2
    #I argue. I don't want her to get hurt.
        *set parents %+5
        *set demure %-5
        "Mother," you plead.
        *goto miniargument
    #I argue. I'm not a helpless child.
        *set parents %-5
        "Mother," you begin, sounding a lot more petulant than you would like.
        *goto miniargument

*label miniargument

But she cuts you off.

"[i]No.[/i]"

She has never spoken to you like this before. Like a Queen instead of a mother. 

There's no room for questioning, no room for anything but tacit obedience.

*label gothelp2

Her fingers brush your cheek, her gentle touch at odds with the rest of her demeanor.

"Get Morpheus out of here," she orders, "and make sure he's alright."

By the time Argus senses her coming, it's too late. He manages a glance in the direction of his spear, still @{(hid) buried under the avalanche it caused|sticking out of the ground it shattered}, before she slams into his side and sends him flying across the forest.

The roar he lets out makes your bones shudder.

But your mother isn't deterred. She charges at him on a bridge of mossy roots and flowering branches. For a moment, all you can do is watch in awe as she goes head-to-head with the giant, wielding her vines like whips, and encasing herself in a shield of bark whenever he throws a punch.

Then a cough snatches your attention.

*page_break

Morpheus limps out of one the cracks in the rock, covered in ichor. It's coming from a nasty hole in his left forewing.

@{(worried) Worried, you|You do as your mother asked and} go to him.

He blinks at you in disbelief. "${name}?"

You have to hustle to catch him before he stumbles onto the pile of stones. 

*fake_choice
    #"I've got you."
        *set Morpheus %+5
        He looks at you with an expression that's almost tender.
    #"Let's get you patched up."
        *set Morpheus %+5
        He nods then grimaces, as though the movement cost him.
    #"What a mess you've made."
        He snorts then grimaces, as though it hurt him to do so.
    #"Get a grip, will you?"
        *set Morpheus %-5
        He rolls his eyes. Or perhaps they roll out of their own accord. 
        
        He does look like he's in a lot of pain, so it's hard to tell.

You hook your arms under his, careful not to touch his injured wing. 

Before you take off, something flickers in the corner of your eye.

Your father, come to your mother's aid. Not that she needs it. You glance back at the fight to witness her bashing Argus over the head with a tree.

Still, the pair of them will look out for each other. They always do.

@{(parentsrel) Comforted|Sighing|Satisfied}, you set about the arduous task of getting Morpheus home.
*goto morpheusplace

*label caught

You tiptoe towards the edge of your little nook. 

Before you can leave it behind, Argus slams into the cliff face.

You reel back as his huge chest blocks the crevice's opening.

"Hiding is no use, little messenger. I will snap this mountain in half if I must."
                
He's talking to Morpheus. He must've found shelter within the cliffs too. 

The knowledge does little to stop fear from thrashing in your veins. @{(argusreason) How are you meant to put him back in Tartarus if you're too afraid to face him?|For him, for yourself.|For the realm, for yourself.|How are you meant to break him out when you can't even face him?}

You hear his nostrils flare, the scrape of stones tumbling down the wall where his massive hands search the rock.

Fighting to gather yourself anew, you grip the rock behind you. 

But it's damp, and your palm slides against it with a sharp, whistle-like sound.
*goto lostfight1

*label lostfight

Then a massive fist collides with the earth, causing an eruption of mud and leaves.

The force of the impact throws your balance. You reel back, choking on grit and dust.

@{(worried) But all you can think about is Morpheus. Your stinging eyes search the debris|Your eyes sting, your breath snags}.

@{(worried) Relief floods you when you find him–on his knees, coughing but unharmed. It doesn't last long|By the time you catch sight of Argus again, it's too late}.

*label lostfight1
*page_break

You don't have time to react.

One moment, you're @{(hid) standing in the cave|airbound}. The next, you're bound by Argus's huge fist.

@{(drewweapon) You struggle to keep hold of your weapon|You scramble for your weapon} as he lifts you closer to his eyeless face. It's no use. He tightens his grip on you and you feel your @{(weapon) bident|bow|scythe|sling|staff} slip from your grasp. 

It plummets into the cloud of smoke settling over the forest.

"What have we got here, huh?"

@{(argusreason) You pound his knuckles with your fists, but you accomplish is tiring yourself out|You glance at Morpheus, still coughing on the ground, and yell at him to flee. Or try to, anyway|You open your mouth, desperate to save what remains of the wood|"I'm here…to…help…you…you…oaf," you try to choke out}.

Argus is squeezing your lungs too hard to do anything but wheeze.

@{(argusreason) "A fighter, I see," Argus laughs.|"A soft heart, I see," Argus laughs, tilting his head between you and Morpheus.|"A soft heart, I see," Argus laughs, following the direction of your gaze|"Help?" He laughs, but it's devoid of mirth. "Your kind only know how to help themselves. There is only one good thing about the likes of you."}

You can almost feel your divinity dwindling away with every limping breath. 

No wonder Zeus is so adamant about projecting strength. 

No wonder your father has that scar.

Argus shrugs. @{(argusreason) "More enjoyable to crush."|"Easier to crush."|"Easier to crush."|"You're very easy to crush."}

*page_break Crush?!

He raises his fist and the world tilts. 

In the distance, Morpheus calls out your name.

Then Argus slams you into a boulder with enough strength to split it in half. Or perhaps that was your skull. 

Hard to tell, when you can't seem to move and your vision is so blurry. You blink once, twice. It's enough to make out Argus towering over you, blazing spear aimed at your heart.

You've never been afraid of death before.

*fake_choice
    #I shield my face.
        *set scar 1
        *set injured true
        Instinct takes over and you lift your arms against the heat.
    #I look at the forest.
        *set scar 2
        *set injured true
        Most of the surrounding woodland has been reduced to cinders, but there are a few mossy poplars still standing by the mountains. 

        You anchor your gaze on them and think of their evergreen scent.
    #I twist away.
        *set scar 3
        *set injured true
        But all you manage is a writhe.

Then something–No, [i]someone[/i] drags you out of the spear's path. 

The blade sinks into the rock beside you as though it were water, narrowly missing your heart. 

But not your @{(scar) shoulder|neck|thigh}.

The stench of burnt flesh clogs your senses, stifling your scream.

Pain clasps you with an intensity you didn't know was possible. There's fire under your skin. Inside your veins, melting your bones.

Your whole body burns, but it's worse around your @{(scar) right arm|throat|right leg}.

"Hold on, Princess," Morpheus whispers, gathering you in his arms and lurching towards the trees.

It's the last thing you hear before everything goes dark.

*page_break

Darkness.

Deep and shimmering like the Lethe's surface.

It's all you know, and all you are.

*page_break

The darkness moves, wavering like a shadow.

Sometimes it dissipates enough to make out fragments. A meadow dotted with poppies. A network of caves on the slope of a pitch-black mountain. Morpheus's ichor-splattered face.

There are voices. His and someone else's. Averna, you think. 

And there is pressure on your @{(scar) right arm|throat|right leg}, setting it ablaze.

"Hold her down," Averna says.

"She can't die. You can't let her."

You would've laughed at how scared Morpheus sounds if you weren't hurting so much.

"Hold her down."

*page_break The Darkness Swallows You Anew

You jolt awake in a bed that isn't yours, wearing a chiton that doesn't belong to you.

Alone.

The scent of medicine lingers in the room. Yarrow, ambrosia and sulphur. But you can still taste ash beneath them.

Out of their own accord, your fingers reach for your @{(scar) shoulder|neck|thigh}. The skin feels tender–and ridged.

Your heart pounds against your ribcage as you
*if scar > 3
    toss the covers aside and reach for the looking glass on the nightstand. You lift it and gasp. 
    *goto scarcheck
*else
    you yank the chiton up and gasp.
    *goto scarcheck

*label scarcheck
*page_break

The scar is like a crescent moon. Silver and with a gentle curve to it. 

It begins @{(scar) at the edge of your clavicle and traces the line of your shoulder|in the corner of your chin, tracing the line of your jaw before dipping down your throat|below your hip and traces the line of your outer thigh}.

The sight of it makes you think of

*fake_choice
    #Failure.
        *set dutiful %+5
        If @{(argusreason) Argus was stopped|Morpheus is safe|the realm is safe|Argus is free}, it's no thanks to you.
    #Morpheus.
        *set Morpheus %+5
        If it weren't for him, who knows what would've become of you.

        Nothing good, that's for sure.
    #Your parents.
        *set parents %+5
        Facing one giant was hard enough.
        
        How in the Fates' names did they manage to defeat a whole army of them?

You press down too hard on the scar and wince.

The wound may have closed, but the memory of it is still fresh.

*label morpheusroom

@{(injured) Sighing, you|You} look around, taking in your surroundings for the first time.@{(injured) This must be Morpheus's room. Or rather, Morpheus's cave. It smells like poppies and smoke, for one. And there's|And come up against} a ridiculous marble bust of the god, keeping watch on a nearby pedestal.

Only Morpheus would have a statue of himself guarding his bed.

It must be old, for it has lost all traces of paint, leaving the marble beneath exposed. The stark white suits Morpheus's features, however, even if they have been defiled.

Whiskers have been drawn in black ink across his high cheekbones, and horns adorn his brow, making him look like a cross between a cat and a satyr.

*fake_choice
    #I glare at it.
        *set Morpheus %-5
    #I shake my head at it.
    #I roll my eyes at it.
    #I marvel at it.
        *set Morpheus %+5
        What he doesn't know won't stroke his ego, so, @{(injured) with a final glance around to ensure you're alone|after ensuring he's sitll asleep}, you allow yourself a moment to admire his face, as handsome in marble as it is in the flesh.

Then you turn your attention to the rest of the sprawling chambers.

Everything, from the vaulted ceiling to the outcrop of rock that doubles as a balcony, is polished marble. Smooth, gray stone streaked with purple, blue, and orange that makes you feel as though you're inside a twilight sky.

Ribbons of water run down the wall at the far end of the cave, dripping into a small, glossy pool that seems specifically torch-lit for preening. There's even a comb inlaid with pearls and a box full of gold beads carefully arranged on a rock by its lip.

The center of the room is dominated by a massive hearth. Judging by the abundance of plush cushions, thick rugs and musical instruments strewn around it, Morpheus is fond of entertaining by the fire. 

Likely while sat on the most imposing chair, the one that presides over the others, and looks suspiciously like a throne. Elegantly curved, with moths and poppies etched into the stone and piled high with plush cushions.

*page_break How Presumptuous

Shaking your head, you wander over to the marble desk facing the cave's mouth. 

It's piled high with neatly-rolled scrolls. So meticulously organized, you get the distinct impression that, were you to snoop through them, Morpheus would be more disturbed about you messing with his system than you sticking your nose where you shouldn't.

Two scrolls are laid out plainly on the desk for anyone to see, however.

Identical messages appear to be rendered in each. One in Hermes's sprawling handwriting, and another in Morpheus's neat script.

*fake_choice
    #I study them closely.
        *set cunning %+5
        *set readscroll true
        [i]Refrain from visiting Leukas this eve. Zeus wishes for their Lord to be punished further,[/i] they both read. 

        You frown. The message itself isn't surprising, but why would Morpheus want to copy it? The question lingers on your mind even after a collection of painted vases catches your eye.
    #I mess with Morpheus's system.
        *set messedwithsystem true
        *set ruthless %+5
        You rearrange the scrolls, basking in the wicked glee doing so brings you, then move on to a nearby collection of painted vases.
    #I respect Morpheus's privacy–and his system.
        *set Morpheus %+5
        A collection of painted vases catches your eye instead.

They are tucked away in a corner off the main area,  and appear to tell a story.

It begins with a wedding. Hypnos's wedding, to a lovely nymph with moth-like wings and long, flowing hair. Morpheus's mother. Pasithea, you believe her name @{(argusencounter) is|is|is. Or, you suppose, was|is}.

They smile at each other adoringly as they make their vows by the river Styx.

No. Not vows. 

*page_break Oaths 

Their marriage is a happy one, at first, full of feasting and dancing and games.

Then something changes. Hypnos grows distant. He no longer smiles at his wife. In fact, he barely looks at her, no matter how hard she tries to capture his attention. She plays the lyre for him, presents him with elaborate gifts, holds her hand out to him, pregnant and desperate.

It continues like that, her vying for his attention, him witholding it, even when a babe with little moth wings enters the picture. And though the child's presence makes the nymph smile again, she never regains the glow and glee from those early vases. 

And it breaks her. 

You pause by the vase where it happens, studying it closely. First, cracks form in her chest, spreading to her neck, face and wings. The next depiction shows her shattering. After that, a woman stands among the shards of the goddess. Wingless and frail. 

Mortal.

*if argusencounter = 3
    *goto postvases
*else
    *goto motherreaction

*label postvases
*page_break

The rest of the vases show Pasithea growing old and grey. Until, finally, she's in her deathbed, with only a young Morpheus by her side.

He holds her hand as she takes her last breath.

"Getting the jump on me, Princess?"
*goto main46

*label morpheusplace
*page_break

Morpheus lives in a cave. 

Well, a network of caves. Carved into the other side of the Erebus mountains, overlooking a meadow dotted with poppies.

They come into view after what feels like an eternity of lugging him across the sky while he jolts in and out of consciousness. 

"My chambers," he croaks, pointing at the opening nearing the mountain's peak. By the time you land on the outcrop of black rock, he's passed out again.

*page_break

With great effort, you haul him into his chambers and onto the enormous bed, @{(worried) lying him down on his stomach as gently as you can|plopping him down on his stomach} to examine the leaking wound. If it hadn't been caused by a giant's weapon, it would've long healed.
        
Alas, a steady stream of ichor spills from the opening, and the tissue surrounding it is coated in thick clumps of golden ash.

"We need to stop the bleeding," Averna says behind you. 

You turn and find her stepping out of a pool of shadows, carrying a tray piled high with medical supplies.

"Your parents sent me," she explains. @{(gothelp) Relief washes over you. They're ok|News of Argus's escape attempt must've reached the acropolis}, then. "Apply pressure on the wound."

Averna tosses you a bandage. You follow her comand

*fake_choice
    #Eagerly. I want Morpheus to be alright.
        *set Morpheus %+10
    #Eagerly. I want Morpheus to @{(argusencounter) not applicable|tell me what he knows|explain why Hermes sicked Argus on him|tell me what he knows}.
        *set diplomacy %+5
        And he can only do that if he's awake.
    #Eagerly. I want Averna–and thus my parents–to know I can handle myself.
        *set parents %+10
        She'll be reporting back to them. @{(parentsrel) You won't let them down|You refuse to make a fool of yourself|You better behave}.
    *if dutiful < 55
        #Begrudgingly. I resent being told what to do.
            *set dutiful %-5
    *if worried = false
        #Begrudgingly. I resent having to help Morpheus.
            *set Morpheus %-10
            *set ruthless %+5
            At least he doesn't seem to enjoy it.
 
Morpheus whimpers and shivers, causing ichor to seep through the bandage and stain your fingers. 
Still, you don't let up. Not until the bleeding has slowed enough for Averna to take over. 

The room fills with the scents of yarrow and ambrosia as she gets to work, caking Morpheus's wing in salves and pouring tonics down his throat. 

She moves with a calmness that's almost eerie, unfazed by the carnage.

Only after he's settled and has fallen into a deep, peaceful sleep does she slump onto the bed, worry sinking into her face.

"Are you alright?" you ask her.

She gives you a weak nod. Then the sight of your ichor-drenched self makes her frown.

"Here." She hands you a damp cloth and a fresh @{(style) chitoniskos|chiton|peplos}. "I'll feel much better after you're both cleaned up."

*page_break

You duck behind a divider, glad to have something to do besides @{(worried) fret|hover}.

When you return, Averna lingers by Morpheus's bedside. Her things are neatly packed and shadows gather at the hem of her dress. 

"He needs rest, but when he wakes, ensure this is applied generously on the scar." She sets a jar of ointment down on a nightstand.
*if (argusencounter = 4) or (argusencounter = 2)
    Then, watching you carefully, she adds, "What happened?"

    "If anyone–other than Morpheus–knows the answer to that question, it's my parents."
    
    They would've wasted no time interrogating the giant after @{(gothelp) neutralizing|you neutralized} him.

    "Argus refuses to talk," Averna clarifies. 

    [i]Come, little messenger, set me free.[/i]

    That's what Argus had bellowed when you first spotted him smashing through the woods. But what did he mean?

    "I think it best you stay here," Averna states. "Wait for Morpheus to wake and find out what he knows. I must update your parents."
    *goto alone
*else

    The sudden sound makes Argus's mortal body, small, scarred and scorched, flash across your mind. "I must report back at once. In the meantime, they want you to stay put–and keep a close eye on him. This issue requires maximum discretion."
    *goto alone

*label alone

She doesn't give you a chance to protest. 

"You have the spear?" she asks, shadows gathering around her like a cloak.

*if argusspear < 5
    "I do."
    
    Averna nods, relieved. "Thank the Fates. Hold on to it, will you? And keep it safe."
    *goto alone1
*else
    You gesture toward Morpheus. 

    "He does."

    "All the more reason to watch him."
    *goto alone1

*label alone1

Then she vanishes into the dark, leaving behind wisps of black smoke that fade when you run your fingers through them.

*page_break

Sighing, you scan Morpheus's. So long as he's unconscious, you have free reign of his chambers.
*goto morpheusroom

*label main46
*page_break

You whip around.

Morpheus @{(injured) leans against a doorway you hadn't noticed before, a tray of food in one hand and a steaming cup in the other|is up and looking surprisingly fresh}.

His left wing is no longer wonky and ichor-drenched. But a big, gnarly scar twists through the otherwise pretty pattern etched into its panes.

The same pretty pattern that used to adorn his mother's wings, when she still had them.

*fake_choice
    *if injured = false
        #"Glad to see you're feeling better," I quip.
            He flexes his wing, testing it.
    *if injured
        #"Thanks for patching me up," I smile.
            He tilts his chin down.
    #"How bad does it hurt?" I ask.
        He flexes his wing, testing it.

        "It's a little itchy," he @{(injured)  admits. "Yours?"|admits.}

        @{(injured) "Same."|"That's good. It looked positively dreadful earlier."}
    #"Must you always be on the defensive?" I sigh.
        *set Morpheus %-5
        He merely shrugs.
    #"Love what you've done with the place," I deflect.
        "What can I say? I have impeccable taste," he says smoothly.

Then he @{(injured) saunters over to a table and sets down the plate and cup|arches his back, lifting his arms in a cat-like stretch, causing the sheet wrapped around his waist to slide down his hips}.

If he has any opinions about you learning @{(argusencounter) of his|of his|more of his|of his} mother's fate, they don't show on his face.

*if injured
    "I brought you some food, and some nectar too. Thought you might be hungry. You…lost a lot of ichor."

    His eyes flicker towards your @{(scar) shoulder|neck|hip}, and the scar you feel pressing against your skin

    You leave the vases behind and reach for the cup. The nectar is warm and lightly spiced.
    *goto catchup
*else
    "I suppose I should thank you," he ventures, flexing his scarred wing. Which reminds you, it's meant to be slathered in ointment.

    "This has to go on it," you cut in, leaving the vases behind and picking up the jar Averna left behind. "Doctor's orders."

    He lifts an eyebrow. Then he leans back on the bed and stretches out his wing.

    "Be my guest."
    *goto main47

*label catchup
*page_break

"I am also meant to ensure this is generously applied to your scar." Morpheus produces a jar of ointment. "Averna's orders."

"I thought I heard her voice."

He nods. "Your mother came to check on you also."

You almost choke on your drink. 
    
"So they know what happened?"

"They know Argus escaped Tartarus, and that he attacked you. Persephone was not pleased."

The image of your the Queen storming into the cave and finding you injured and unconscious makes you shudder.

"Did he reach the gate?"

@{(argusreason) Shame grips you. [i]You[/i] were meant to stop him|As much relief as Morpheus's safety brings you, you can't help but hold your breath|Shame grips you. [i]You[/i] were meant to protect the realm|Hope grips you. Yes, he almost ended you–and Morpheus, for that matter–but that doesn't mean he doesn't deserve to be free}.

He shakes his head.
    
"I don't believe he was trying to. Your parents stopped him before he could flatten the Erebus range. Had a good go of it, though. The only reason they aren't here now is because they're questioning him." 
    
And, you assume, doing some damage control. Zeus won't be pleased that the only prison secure enough to hold his enemies failed.
    
He holds up the jar. "May I?"

*label main47
*page_break

Does he mean @{(injured) to apply it himself|for you to apply it}?

You tsk at his @{(injured) nonchalance. He raises an eyebrow, and a smirk dangles|raised eyebrow, and a smirk dangles} at the edge of his lips.

This must be a dare, you decide. Another one of his twisted games, designed to get under your skin.

*choice
    #And I'm all too willing to play along.
        *set Morpheus %+10
        *goto ointment
    #And I'll be damned if I lose.
        *set Morpheus %+5
        *set wanttowin true
        *goto ointment
    #But I refuse to play along.
        *set Morpheus %-5
        You @{(injured) wrench the jar away from him. "I'll do it myself."|chuck the jar at him. "Do it yourself."}

        He snickers, as though he expected as much. 
        
        As though you played right into his hands.
        
        *if injured
            *set nurse 1
            You ignore him and set about applying the ointment.

            @{(scar) It's a bit of a struggle, but you manage to contort enough to|You avoid poking your eye out and|You lift what you assume is one of his chitons–inky black and feather soft–and} coat your @{(scar) shoulder|throat|thigh} in Averna's concoction.
            *goto arewefeelingit
        *else
            *set nurse 2
            Grinning, he bends his wing and begins coating the scar in Averna's concoction.

            He manages to look dignified while doing it too, with his neatly sculpted chest bared and his silver hair glinting under the torchlight.
            *goto arewefeelingit

*label ointment 

@{(injured) "Go ahead."|"Fine."}

@{(injured) For|You grab the ointment and kneel by his wing. For} a moment, he seems stunned. As though he didn't expect you to take him up on the offer. As though he doesn't know what to do with himself now that you have.

You smile triumphantly, certain it means you're @{(wanttowin) already winning|playing the game right}.

*if injured
    He exhales sharply, then approaches you like he might an empusa.

    Gingerly, lest it bite him.

    But also keenly, like he might enjoy it.

    *if scar = 3
        *set nurse 3
        Then he kneels at your feet, and you allow him to lift the hem of what you assume is one of his chitons.
        *goto arewefeelingit1
    *else
        *set nurse 4
        Then he lifts a hand to your scar and pauses. Only when you nod does he bring his fingers to it.
        *goto arewefeelingit1
*else
    *set nurse 5
    He nods, giving you the go ahead, and you dip your fingers in Averna's concoction before bringing them to his scar. The tiny, overlapping scales surrounding it bristle at your touch. 

    They're impossibly delicate, unlike the flesh the spear cracked. That feels raw and rough, a trail of grit in a sea of silk.

    Beside you, Morpheus is still as a lake.
    *goto arewefeelingit

*label arewefeelingit1

Averna's concoction is cool against your skin, and his touch unexpectedly gentle.

*label arewefeelingit
@{(nurse) You can feel Morpheus watching your every move|He looks up at you|He looks up at you|He looks down at you|But you can feel him watching your every move}.

When you meet his gaze, it makes you want to

*choice
    #Close the distance between us. He's a nuisance, yes, but an irresistibly handsome one.
        *set Morpheus %+10
        *set morpheusfeels 1
        You lick your lips and @{(nurse) finish up. You can't help but regret not letting him play nurse|he finishes up. You can't help but regret not playing nurse for him|he finishes up. When he gets to his feet, you force yourself to pretend you don't miss the brush of his fingers against your thigh|he finishes up. When he takes a step back, you force yourself to pretend you don't miss the brush of his fingers against your skin|finish up. Then you take a step back, forcing yourself to pretend you don't miss his proximity}.
        
        Fates, this is what Pandora must've felt like, before she opened the jar that unleashed doom upon the world.

        Tempted beyond all common sense. Tempted to the point of recklessness.

        You shake your head in an effort to right it.
        *goto main48
    #Put some distance between us. He's a nuisance, and I can't tell if I want to slap him or kiss him.
        *set Morpheus %+5
        *set morpheusfeels 2
        *set rude true
        Is it both? Is it neither?

        Fates, your thoughts are maelstrom, and he's the vortex.
        *goto notfeelingit
    #Put this feud behind us. He's a nuisance, but he would make a fine ally, if not a friend.
        *set Morpheus %+5
        *set morpheusfeels 3
        You get the sense he might want that too. There's a softness in his gaze. Not quite surrender–you doubt he's capable of [i]that[/i]–but an easing, at least.
        *goto notfeelingit
    #Get this over and done with. He's a nuisance, nothing more, nothing less.
        *set Morpheus %-10
        *set morpheusfeels 4
        *set rude true
        @{(worried) You might have been concerned about his wellbeing before, but now that you know he's safe, you're eager to get back to what matters|Whatever that wistful look of his is saying, you couldn't be less interested in hearing it}.
        *goto notfeelingit

*label notfeelingit 

You purse your lips and @{(nurse) finish up|he finishes up|he finishes up, promptly stepping away when he's done|he finishes up, promptly stepping away when he's done|finish up, promptly stepping away when you're done}.

*label main48
*page_break

@{(nurse) You set the ointment down. He gets to his feet|He sets the ointment down and gets to his feet|He sets the ointment down|he sets the ointment down|You set the ointment down. He gets to his feet}, eyeing you warily.

"I know Olympians will do anything to grow, let alone keep hold of, their power." He @{(injured) waves his hand at your scar|bends his wing, testing it}. "But I must admit even I was surprised at Hermes's gall."

*if argusencounter = 3
    Hermes, who broke Argus out of Tartarus. Hermes, who promised him freedom if he got rid of Morpheus.

    @{(caughthermes) Hermes, who is very likely punishing mortals to up his own worship|Hermes, who is responsible for the realm being in tatters}.
    *goto main49
*else
    It isn't exactly shocking to hear him accuse the herald of releasing Argus. @{(caughthermes) You yourself suspect him of doing far worse|His disdain for him is obvious}.
    *goto main49

*label main49

*if caughthermes = false
    Still.

    "He went to all this trouble, risking his position in the Council, not to mention his position in the pantheon," you say,
    *if hermesargument = 1
        "to get back at you for overdelivering on sweet dreams?"

        @{(queenly)  His lips press into a thin line|He narrows his eyes at you, piecing together how you might have gleaned such intel. You can't tell if he's annoyed or impressed}.
        *goto main50
    *else
        "to get back at you after some petty squabble?"
        *goto main50
*else
    Does Morpheus suspect the same? Is that why Hermes sicked Argus on him?

    "Why did you overdeliver on sweet dreams?" you ask.

    @{(queenly)  His lips press into a thin line|He narrows his eyes at you, piecing together how you might have gleaned such intel. You can't tell if he's annoyed or impressed}.
    *goto main50

*label main50
*page_break

@{(caughthermes) "I was testing him," he admits, then clenches his fists.|He clenches his fists. "It's more than that."}

"The balance between dreams and nightmares is off, I can feel it. Have been feeling it for quite some time," he adds. "After you brought up the Lord of Leukas's concerns, I did some digging. And I noticed that Hermes has been rewarding patronless cities for pouring nightly libations in his name–after he sends you to torment them. Over and over, until they get the message."

@{(caughthermes) The message to worship him in exchange for peaceful dreams|You remember the Leukans, tiredly muttering to themselves about Hypnos's good will. But Hypnos only [i]brings[/i] mortals sleep. He doesn't [i]shape[/i] it. That's up to Zeus. And, by extension, Hermes}.

"When I disobeyed his orders, I expected him to be mad. I didn't think he would…." Morpheus trails off, looking at you with a strange expression.

"What about your father? He isn't mad that Hermes is stealing worship from him?"

Mosts deities would be calling for ichor if they discovered such a thing, and they would be well within their right to.

Morpheus's laugh is hollow and humorless. "Please. I doubt he's noticed a difference."

*fake_choice
    #"Truly?"
    #"Harsh."
    #"Doubtful."
    #"Impossible."

Morpheus pins you with a look that manages to be pitying and withering at the same time.

"He's barely awake long enough to complete his duties," he snarls. "There are only three things my father cares about. Lazing, nectar, and nymphs. In that order. It's probably why Hermes targeted his worship in the first place."

Still. That doesn't explain why Hermes would do such a thing.

Is it simply a matter of greed? Or is something else at play? 

You feel as though you're standing on quicksand. 

One wrong move and you'll sink. It might not kill you, but it wouldn't be pleasant.

*page_break

"What happened to not indulging mortals' unending arrogance?" you ask him, remembering his disdain for Odysseus. 

He rolls his eyes. 

"I was obviously referring to heroes. Or rather, the Olympians' little pawns. I may be heartless, but that doesn't mean I think mortals should be exploited without impunity. Especially when we're the ones being manipulated into doing the exploiting."

His gaze flickers to the vases. To his mother.

"Zeus doesn't want it advertised, what happened to her," he says softly, "after she broke her oath. He fears it will encourage deities to trick one another into breaking oaths on purpose."

His silence feels like an invitation. You accept it by asking

*choice
    #"What oath did she break?"
        He holds your gaze.

        "She stopped loving my father."
        *goto morpheustalk
    #"What was she like?"
        *set Morpheus %+10
        He hesitates, as though looking for the words.
        
        "She loved music," he begins when he finally finds them. "The lyre was her favorite, but she could pick up any instrument and play it as though she had spent years mastering it. She was a skilled artist, too. She was the one who painted the vases. Even the last one, before it…happened."

        He has to unclench his fists and take a deep breath before continuing. "She was very competitive. Everything had the potential to become a game. But she could also be very reserved. Folk often mistook her quietness for demureness. My father certainly did. But I think she preferred to let music and art speak for her."
        *goto morpheustalk
    #"Was she punished for it?"
        *set Morpheus %-5
        He regards you coldly.

        "What could be a worse punishment than becoming mortal?"

        @{(morpheusmother) You suppose he's right|You suppose he's right|You suppose he's right|You suppose he's right|You worry your lip. Would it really be so bad, to live once to the full, instead of a thousand times over mediocrely?|Watching a loved one die, when they could've lived forever, perhaps|Watching a loved one die, when they could've lived forever, perhaps}.

        "She didn't mean to break her oath, then?"

        He shakes his head.
        *goto morpheustalk
    *if morpheusmother = 5
        #"What was her mortal life like?"
            That surprises him. He gives you a wary look, as though trying to decipher why you might have asked [i]that[/i], of all things.

            "Fleeting," he finally answers, "and full of sorrow. Perhaps her experience would've been different, if she had chosen her fate. But she didn't mean to break her oath. To leave me."
            *goto morpheustalk
    *if morpheusfeels = 3
        #Nothing. I have all the information I need.
            *set Morpheus %-5
            *set morpheusoutcome 2
            *set noextravases true
            *goto leave
    *if morpheusfeels = 4
        #Nothing. I'm not in the mood for a sob story.
            *set Morpheus %-20
            *set morpheusoutcome 1
            *set noextravases true
            *goto leave

*label leave

The vases paint a clear enough picture.

@{(rude) He doesn't need to relay it|There is no need for him to relive it}.

Besides, you have a lot on your mind as it is.

*label leave1

"Anyway," Morpheus sighs, picking up on your @{(rude) irritation|restlessness}. "@{(injured) I had better get going|You had better get going}. I have work to do and, unlike you, I can't order a servant to do it for me."

"Yes, well, try not being a despot. Helps retain staff," you @{(rude) snap|tease him}, approaching the mouth of the cave.

*if morpheusoutcome = 2
    He rolls his eyes.

    Before you take off, @{(injured) you turn around and smile|he calls out}.

    @{(injured) "I truly am thankful. For the intel," you say, then nod at your scar, "and for keeping me whole."|"Thanks for keeping me whole."}

    @{(injured) He nods, lips twitching upward. You|You} shake your head and leap off the rock.
    
    *choice
        #Continue to the next chapter.
            *finish Chapter 8
        *if (not(choice_randomtest)) #Restore to the previous checkpoint.
            *restore_checkpoint
*else
    You're gone and in the air before he has the chance to come up with a retort.
    
    *choice
        #Continue to the next chapter.
            *finish Chapter 8
        *if (not(choice_randomtest)) #Restore to the previous checkpoint.
            *restore_checkpoint

*label morpheustalk
*page_break

You glance back at the wedding vase. At Hypnos's fond smile, and Pasithea's adoring gaze.

"She swore to always love him, he swore to always care for her. I suppose that should've tipped her off. It was reckless of her, to make such an oath. But she was young and besotted, and my father does a very convincing impression of an attentive god."

He certainly had you fooled. You think of all the times he came to the acropolis bearing gifts to apologize for his wayward son's behavior. He never failed to play with you and Zagreus, to remember a servant's name, to treat your parents with anything other than perfect deference.

*page_break

"She clung to her love for him for as long as she could. Cared for his legion of illegitimate children, hoping that loving them would be like loving extensions of him." Morpheus's voice sharpens as his anger flares. "It wasn't enough."

"What of his oath? Surely such behavior was in breech of his own vows?"

"Not according to the Styx. It's not like he swore he wouldn't grow bored of her, the same way he grows bored of everything and everyone." Rage at his father and grief for his mother battle for control of his expression. "You know, he doesn't even feel bad about it. He refers to what happened to her as 'unfortunate', and that's when he doesn't forget it happened in the first place."

"I used to make a point of reminding him. As painfully and as often as possible." He shrugs before adding, "didn't make a difference."

He grows quiet, but his face is still at war.

You feel your heart

*choice
    #Soften. I can't blame him for being so sharp-edged.
        *set Morpheus %+10
        *set ruthless %-5
        *if (morpheusfeels = 3) or (morpheusfeels = 4)
            *set morpheusoutcome 2
            *goto preleaving
        *else
            *goto preleaving
    #Give a little. Perhaps redemption is within his reach.
        *set Morpheus %+5
        *set diplomacy %+5
        *if (morpheusfeels = 3) or (morpheusfeels = 4)
            *set morpheusoutcome 2
            But first, you must deal with the mess Hermes has made.

            "Thank you for telling me," you say.

            He nods gratefully.
            *goto leave1
        *else
            *goto preleaving
    #Harden. This doesn't justify his cruelty towards me.
        *set Morpheus %-10
        *set charm %-5
        *set rude true
        All this time, all he has done is tease, taunt and torment you.

        You're not about to forget that just because he has a tragic past 
        *if morpheusfeels = 4
            *set morpheusoutcome 1
            he has decided to wield against you.
            *goto madatmorpheus
        *else
            and a pretty face.

            *if morpheusfeels = 3
                *set morpheusoutcome 2
                *goto madatmorpheus
            *else
                "You deserved better. Both of you," you tell him. "But that doesn't mean you get a pass for the way you treat others. The way you treat me."
                *goto preleaving

*label madatmorpheus

"She deserved better," you concede. "But that doesn't mean you get a pass for the way you treat others. The way you treat me."

*label preleaving

@{(rude) He has the decency to look sheepish|Who knows how you might've reacted, in the same circumstances?}

@{(rude) "You're right," he sighs.|"You deserved better," you tell him. "Both of you."}

*if (morpheusfeels = 1) or (morpheusfeels = 2)
    @{(rude) The admission doesn't quite quell your anger. But it does make something else settle between you|He nods gratefully and something new settles between you. Understanding, and something else}.
    
    *if morpheusfeels = 1
        Something that makes the ichor in your veins thrum with anticipation.
        *goto preromance
    *else
        Something you can't quite decipher.
        *goto preromance
*else
    *goto workaround

*label workaround
    
*if morpheusoutcome = 1
    You lift your chin and something heavy settles between you.
    *goto leave1
*else
    @{(rude) The admission doesn't quite quell your anger, but it's a step in the right direction, at least|He nods gratefully and something new settles between you. Understanding, and the foundations of a truce}.

    Sadly, building on it will have to wait, for you have a giant mess to fix first.

    Emphasis on the giant.
    *goto leave1

*label preromance
*page_break

@{(rude) "Why are you telling me this, anyway?" you ask.|"I'm grateful you told me, but why now?"} All this time, all he has done is tease, taunt and torment you. What has changed?

"Because I loathed watching you and your family fall for my father's act, after what he'd done. And I used to think it meant I loathed you. That it was hatred what made me crave the glint in your eyes when you're mad and contrive to seek it out. What made me look for you in the skies, in every stupid feast and even in the dreamscapes I wove. What made me think of you, all the time. Then I saw @{(argusencounter) that spear coming down on you|you throw yourself at a Fatesforsaken giant|you throw yourself at a Fatesforsaken giant|you emerge from the rubble to save me from a Fatesforsaken giant} and I realized how wrong I was."

The words make you feel dizzy. He must've laced them with poison.

You wait for him to continue. To explain himself further. Maybe even @{(rude) beg for your forgiveness|take you in his arms}.

But he doesn't. He simply stands there, handsome face drawn.

*page_break Is He For Real?

Rage crashes into you, sweeping any thoughts of @{(rude) Argus, broken oaths and old grief|redemption} away with it.

You square up to him, close enough for his scent to coil around you like a snake. 

"So you discovered you don't hate me. Am I supposed to congratulate you?"

He has the nerve to look confused. "That's not-"

But you're too angry to let him finish.

"Do you expect me to fall to my knees with gratitude? Maybe throw a feast to mark the occasion? Hey everyone, Morpheus has decided he no longer despises me, let's all shower him with praise. Well, I have news for you," you snarl, poking his chest. "It's [i]never[/i] going to happen."

You would've kept ranting. Fates know you have no shortage of material. But somewhere between the poke and the promise, the space between you narrows to a breath and before you know it….

*choice
    #He's kissing me.
        *set morpheuskiss 1
        *gosub_scene subroutines morpheuskiss
        *goto morpheuskiss1
    #I'm kissing him.
        *set morpheuskiss 2
        *gosub_scene subroutines morpheuskiss
        *goto morpheuskiss1
    #We're kissing.
        *set morpheuskiss 3
        *gosub_scene subroutines morpheuskiss
        *goto morpheuskiss1
    #I have to stop myself from shaking him.
        *set Morpheus %-10
        *set morpheusoutcome 3
        *set unsureaboutmorpheus true
        You step away from him, getting a hold of yourself.

        The distance seems to hurt him more than your frustration.

        "I just wanted you to know," he says.

        Whatever madness possessed you to think you might want to come remotely close to kissing him has long vanished.

        Bitterness takes its place. 

        "I don't know what I'm supposed to do with that."

        Before he can say anything else, you turn your back on him and flee.
            
        *choice
            #Continue to the next chapter.
                *finish Chapter 8
            *if (not(choice_randomtest)) #Restore to the previous checkpoint.
                *restore_checkpoint

*label morpheuskiss1
*page_break

"A feast would be nice," he rasps, bringing his mouth to your throat.

You can feel the smugness in every kiss he bestows there.

"You are vile," you breathe. It's more gasp than insult.

He smirks into the crook of your shoulder before leaning back to fasten his eyes on yours. 

"Tell me you want me to stop, then. Tell me you don't want this, don't want [i]me[/i] the same way I want you."

There is no mockery in his face. For once, he's serious. Unguarded.

It's almost unsettling.

What do you want?

*choice
    #I don't want him to stop and I'm not too proud to admit it.
        *set diplomacy %+5
        *set Morpheus %+15
        "Don't stop," you breathe.

        He catches your face with one hand and the small of your back with the other, pulling your body to his.
        *goto morpheuspresex
    #I don't want him to stop–but I would rather die than admit it.
        *set Morpheus %+15
        *set ruthless %+5
        So you don't. 

        Instead, you throw your arms around his neck and pull his body back to yours.
        *goto morpheuspresex
    #I don't want @{(morpheuskiss) him to stop kissing me|to stop kissing him|us to stop kissing}–but that's all I want for now.
        *set morpheusoutcome 4
        *set justkissedmorpheus true
        *set Morpheus %+10
        "Just shut up and kiss me."

        He catches your face in his hands and obliges. 
        
        And you can't help but think that this is it.

        This is what sweet oblivion feels like.

        *choice
            #Continue to the next chapter.
                *finish Chapter 8
            *if (not(choice_randomtest)) #Restore to the previous checkpoint.
                *restore_checkpoint

*label morpheuspresex

Your lips meet and you press into each other as though bound.

It makes you painfully aware of how hard he is. He lifts you up and you hook your legs around his waist, magnifying that awareness and drawing a low moan from the back of his throat.

Who's the smug one now?

But you're too preoccupied to say it aloud.

His wings brush your knees as he carries you over to the throne. He sets you down beside it and breaks the kiss.

"What will it be, Princess?" He twists @{(hair) a strand of your hair|one of your curls|one of your braids|the knot of your head scarf} around a long, ringed finger. "The royal treatment, I assume. Or perhaps it's the opposite you crave. Perhaps you wish to shed the title, indulge in a little debasement."

He is toying with you, of course.

You could put him in his place, start calling the shots. Or keep him on his toes by doing just the opposite.

So, what will it be?

*choice
    #I want to take charge; I push him onto to the throne and get on my knees.
        *set incharge true
        *set morpheusoral 1
        *set giveoral true
        *goto dominate
    #I want him to take charge; I get on my knees beside the throne.
        *set morpheusoral 2
        *set giveoral true
        *goto submit
    #I want to take charge; I push him onto his knees and sit on the throne.
        *set incharge true
        *set morpheusoral 3
        *goto dominate
    #I want him to take charge; I sit on the throne and spread my legs open for him.
        *set morpheusoral 4
        *goto submit
    
*label dominate

He goes down easy.

As though he knew you would want to lead. As though he's very much looking forward to it.

@{(giveoral) "I was under the impression you were never going to fall to your knees with gratitidue."|"If I had known this is what being a loyal subject entailed, I would've sworn fealty long ago."}

His voice is thick with lust, but he still manages to sound extremely pleased with himself. 

*page_break That Won't Do 

You @{(giveoral) press a hand into his chest and feel him tremble beneath it. "Did you see me fall?"|catch his chin between your thumb and index finger. "Such a clever tongue. Will it hold up, I wonder?"}

@{(giveoral) His throat bobs and he shakes his head|His throat bobs}. You lean in closer, relishing the way @{(giveoral) his heart jerks against your palm|trembles against your fingertips}.

@{(giveoral) "That's what I thought." You nudge his skin with your nails. He licks his lips. "Don't get smart with me. Gratitude has nothing to do with this."|"I guess there's only one way to find out," you add.}

You @{(giveoral) give his chest a shove|let go of his pretty face} and begin removing @{(injured) the chiton you're wearing. [i]His[/i] chiton|your tunic}. Gradually, leisurely, allowing his gaze to sear into your bare @{(demure > 50) skin. A blush threatens to creep into your skin, but you keep it at bay|skin}.

*if giveoral
    "This is about pleasure," you add, nodding at @{(injured) his tunic|the sheet wrapped around his waist}. "Your turn." 

    He shucks it off and lays back on the throne. "Do with me as you please."
    *goto give
*else
    "What a shame," he breathes.

    You lay back on the throne and beckon him closer. The kiss you press to his lips is harder and hungrier than the others.
    *goto recieve

*label submit

He doesn't move, other than to stare down at you as though he can't believe his eyes, at first.
        
Then as though he really, really wants to.
    
"What title?" You beam, revelling in his bewilderment.

He bends slighlty so he can catch your face between his hands.

You revel in that, too. Yes, you're playing him at his own game. But you can't deny how much you enjoy the way he towers over you, the cold bite of his rings against your cheeks, the illusion of being at his mercy.

*page_break Of Being His

@{(giveoral) "I was under the impression you were never going to fall to your knees with gratitidue," he says|"Are you playing tricks on me, Princess?"He asks}.

His voice is strained, but he's never touched you this gently, or looked at you with such reverence. 
        
@{(giveoral) "I didn't fall," you point out, making him smirk. "Besides, this has nothing to do with gratitude. This is about pleasure. And what I want, is to give it to you."|"If by playing tricks you mean offering myself up to you to do with as you please, then yes."}

A shiver goes through @{(giveoral) him. Emboldened, you add. "Or better yet, I want you to take it from me."|him.}

He freezes and for a terrible, endless moment, you fear he won't indulge you. Then he reaches for the neckline of @{(injured) the chiton you're wearing. [i]His[/i] chiton|your tunic}. 

"In that case," he says, tugging until the @{(injured) knots|pins} at the shoulders come loose.

*if giveoral
    Then he kisses you, hard and hungry, before he settles into the cushioned throne.

    @{(demure > 50) A blush warms your face|Anticipation ripples through you} when he shucks off @{(injured) his chiton|the sheet wrapped around his waist}.

    He shoots you a wicked grin and leans against the moth-carved back, wings splayed. "Begin."
    *goto give
*else
    He kisses you, harder and hungrier than before. 
    *goto recieve

*label give
*page_break

You slip his cock in your mouth. @{(incharge) He inhales sharply, gripping|His hands tighten around} the arms of the throne.

@{(incharge) You hold his gaze as you|He watches you} suck him. Slowly, at first. @{(incharge) Teasing|Getting used to the length of him}. When you pick up the pace, @{(incharge) he closes his eyes and throws his head back, baring his throat|he grips the throne harder}.

@{(incharge) "Fates,"|"That's it,"} he grinds out.

@{(incharge) You may be the one on your knees, but he's the one at your mercy|Your gaze flickers to his fingers. He sees and brings them to the nape of your neck}. @{(incharge) Especially after you palm his base, moving your hand in tune with your mouth|"Will I take my pleasure from you now, Princess?" He asks, stroking your hair}.

@{(incharge) The deeper and faster you go, the more he unravels|He waits for you to nod before he drives himself deeper into your mouth}.

Your own pleasure builds between your thighs as he @{(incharge) gives himself over to you|uses his hands to guide you}. You moan against his cock, lapping up every @{(incharge) soft little grunt that escapes his lips|bit of praise he offers}.

@{(incharge) "I'm going to…." He sighs, and it's both a warning and a plea|"I'm going to come," he tells you, releasing his hold on you}.

*fake_choice
    #I want him to come in my mouth.
        *set inmouth true
        @{(incharge) You keep going, feeling his whole body reverberate before|You bring his hands back to your head and palm his base, feeling it reverberate before} he comes into your mouth.

        You drink him down, closing your eyes and savoring this @{(incharge) victory|moment} as much as you're savoring him.

        When you pull away, you smile up at him @{(incharge) triumphantly|sweetly}.
    #I want him to come on my chest.
        You pull your mouth away and straighten so that your breasts rest on top of his cock.

        "Fates," he @{(incharge) repeats|groans}.
        
        @{(incharge) Smiling triumphantly, you keep|He cups your face again as you begin} pumping him with your hand. One, two strokes and he spills onto your breasts with a choked gasp.
    #I want to make him come with my hand.
        You pull your mouth away and @{(incharge) keep|begin} pumping him with your hand.
        
        @{(incharge) You keep your eyes on his as|He cups your face again then throws his head back right before} he comes, onto himself and down your fingers.

*page_break

@{(incharge) He sinks back onto the silk cushion, catching his breath and staring at you like he can't quite believe what just happened|He leans forward and rests his forehead on yours, catching his breath as he skims his thumb across your jaw line}.

After he has taken a moment to recover,
*if inmouth
    @{(incharge) you climb into his lap|he pulls you into his lap}.
    *goto postoral
*else
    he grabs the @{(injured) chiton|sheet} he discarded earlier and @{(incharge) waits for you to nod before cleaning|uses it to clean} you up.

    When he's done, he tosses it aside again and @{(incharge) you climb into his lap|pulls you into his lap}.
    *goto postoral

*label recieve
*page_break

Then his mouth is tracing the hollow at your throat, the curve of your breasts, the shape of your stomach.

Silk presses into your @{(flightstyle) wings|shoulders|shoulders} as you arch your hips, urging him downwards.

He grins against your @{(incharge) hip bone, but he doesn't deny you. He wouldn't dare.|hip bone. "Someone's a little impatient."}

@{(incharge) He kneels between your thighs and parts your lips before slowly dragging his tongue along your center|He takes his time, nipping and teasing his way along your inner thighs until he finally, mercifully, drags his tongue along your center}.

@{(incharge) Clever, yes. And wicked, too|Oh, Fates}.

*fake_choice
    #I bury my hands in his hair.
    #I grip the arms of the throne.
    #I rock into his mouth.

@{(incharge) Guiding him right where you want him|It is no longer an illuison. You are well and trully at his mercy}.

@{(incharge) You let him work|And he knows it. Groaning, he works} you into a frenzy, finding a rhythm that has you panting and writhing against his tongue. You cry out when he slips it inside you, @{(incharge) almost losing control|but he doesn't let up}.

@{(incharge) Emboldened, he|No. He} cups your rear and lifts you to him so he can drive his tongue even deeper.

You @{(incharge) don't hold back, meeting his strokes with your hips and|give yourself over to him completely,} moaning as you come against his mouth.

*page_break

You sink back into the cushions, catching your breath while Morpheus skims his thumb across your knee, @{(incharge) smiling|smiling triumphantly}.

@{(incharge) "Come here," you command|"Come," he says softly}.

@{(incharge) He does, scooping|He scoops} you up and @{(incharge) taking|takes} your place on the throne before placing you on his lap.
 
*label postoral

Sideways, 
*if flightstyle = 1
    *set winghold true
    so that your wings are spilling over one side of the throne–and brushing against his–and your feet are hanging over the other. 
    *goto postoral1
*else
    so that you're draped around him like a chiton.
    *goto postoral1

*label postoral1
*page_break

He holds you close, and it somehow feels more intimate than what you've just done. 

What you might yet do.

@{(morpheusoral) "If I am smart with you again, will you torment me some more," he ventures|"Do you have more to give, Princess?" He ventures|"Have I proven myself a loyal enough subject, or do you require further confirmation?" He teases|"What other tricks are you hiding, I wonder?" He ventures}, nuzzling the crook of your shoulder.

@{(giveoral) He is hard again, and the need that has been building between your thighs from the moment your lips touched grows into an ache|He is hard still, and hunger lingers in his gaze when it presses into yours}.

@{(morpheusoral) "Try it and see," you|"Always," you|"I'm afraid further confirmation is needed," you|"One or two. Want me to show you?" You}, tease, desperate to @{(giveoral) relieve it|satisfy it}.

How do you?

*choice
    #I move to straddle his hips and lower onto his cock.
        *set morpheusoutcome 5
        *set Morpheus %+10
        *if virgin
            *set virgin false
            A flash of pain reminds you that you haven't done this before. It is only fleeting–you are a goddess, after all–but you must've flinched, because Morpheus brings a hand to your cheek.

            "Are you alright?" he asks, scanning your face. @{(injured) Then his eyes flicker to your scar, and concern pinches his features|His own is pinched with concern}.

            "Yes," you reassure him.
            
            Not that he listens.

            "We can stop." He reaches for your thighs as though to lift you off of him. @{(injured) "You are injured, we shouldn't have pushed it this fa–|"We don't have to–"}

            You clench around him and the words die on his lips.

            @{(incharge) "Stop talking."|"That won't be necessary."}

            He nods so fast, it almost startles a laught out of you.

            The pain may be gone, but the feeling of him inside you is its own kind of torment. One you suspect can only be relieved with movement.
            *goto penetration
        *else
            You both let out a gasp. 

            But the relief of having him inside you soon turns into a torment, one that can only be remedied with movement.
            *goto penetration            
    #@{(giveoral) I spread my legs and bring his fingers to my center|I shift to one side and wrap my hand around his cock}.
        *set morpheusoutcome 6
        *set Morpheus %+10
        *if giveoral
            @{(incharge) You keep your hand on his, guiding his strokes|You give yourself over to him}.

            @{(incharge) It isn't long before you're|He drags out each stroke, until he has you} panting and writhing against his fingers.

            You cry out when he slides them inside you, @{(incharge) almost losing control|but he doesn't let up}.

            @{(incharge) Emboldened, he|No. He} cups your breast and picks up the pace, driving you into a frenzy.

            And as you come, holding onto him as tightly as he's holding onto you, a single thought pierces through the pleasure pulsing through your body.

            This is what sweet oblivion feels like.
            
            *choice
                #Continue to the next chapter.
                    *finish Chapter 8
                *if (not(choice_randomtest)) #Restore to the previous checkpoint.
                    *restore_checkpoint
        *else
            @{(incharge) You drag out each stroke. Then, just before you think he might actually start begging, you pick up the pace|"Show me how you want me to stroke you," you tell him. He places his hand over yours, guiding it up and down his cock}.

            @{(incharge) "Fates,"|"That's it,"} he grinds out.

            His lips find yours and you slip your tongue into his mouth until he throws his head back with a choked gasp.

            @{(incharge) "I'm going to…." He sighs, and it's both a warning and a plea|"I'm going to come," he tells you, his fingers tightening around yours}.

            He comes with your name on his lips, spilling onto himself and down your fingers.

            After, when he has cleaned you both up and you hold onto each other sprawled across the throne, you can't help but think that this is it.

            This is what sweet oblivion feels like.
            
            *choice
                #Continue to the next chapter.
                    *finish Chapter 8
                *if (not(choice_randomtest)) #Restore to the previous checkpoint.
                    *restore_checkpoint  

*label penetration
*page_break

So that's what you do, bracing your hands on his shoulders as he snakes his arms around your waist.

@{(incharge) You think about taunting him. About dragging out each plunge|You think he might taunt you. Hold onto your hips as he drives you up and down his cock, dragging out each plunge}.

But @{(incharge) you're done playing games. And, judging by his fierce grip on your hips, as though he's having to stop himself from guiding them, so is he|he's done playing games. It's just as well–so are you}.

@{(incharge) So you ride him|"Don't hold back, Princess," he commands. You oblige, riding him} hard and fast while his fingers dig into your skin and his tongue sweeps your mouth. 

And as you come, a moment before he does, holding onto him as tightly as he's holding onto you, a single thought pierces through the pleasure pulsing through your body.

This is what sweet oblivion feels like.

*choice
    #Continue to the next chapter.
        *finish Chapter 8
    *if (not(choice_randomtest)) #Restore to the previous checkpoint.
        *restore_checkpoint