CHAPTER 7
In the wake of Asmodeus Hedone’s descent, the High Council convened and declared that desire, though acknowledged, must be constrained.
Marriage was elevated beyond tradition; it became the sacred vessel through which passion was permitted, and all indulgence outside its bonds was deemed dangerous and profane.
Thus were the first laws enacted to regulate Lust: devotion must guide the heart, and obedience must govern the body.
Snippet from “The Book of Natural History” By Priestess Antonella Killora
Lyra stared up at the textured ceiling, the harsh overhead light glinting off its white surface.
For the last week, the rare moments she dared to peek outside the house were met with a blinding flash of cameras and the insistent murmur of voices.
Her mother, a frantic whirlwind of perfumes and powders, insisted on full hair and makeup before Lyra could even risk a glance through the curtains.
Outside, a persistent, low hum of activity filled the air from the reporters camped out on the street, their watchful eyes like a tangible weight, tracking her every shadowed move.
I went from a social pariah to a monkey in a cage.
Could this actually be real? I might be a goddess one day, and until then I am on display for the world to pick me apart.
The idea was taking root, and the more she had time to think about it.
Maybe they aren’t making a joke of me. Right now, all she had was time, since she was tired of having a camera shoved in her face.
Or having to listen to questions she had no answer to.
“Why you?”, “What are you goddess of?”, and so many more, even some that were much more invasive.
Since that night a week ago, she had not heard from any of the gods.
She felt alone, with no one to talk to and no one who would understand.
Her mom was telling anyone who would listen how proud she was of her daughter.
While her father kept grumbling about the reporters trampling his yard and ruining his altar to Petro.
Her brothers had come by multi-times this week, even they were in on lecturing her about how important appearances were and her attitude problem.
The more everyone talked ‘at’ her, the less she listened.
She rolled over, the soft cotton of her sheets a familiar comfort against her skin.
Her fingers fumbled for her phone, the glass beneath her finger.
The screen’s bright light cut through the dim morning light filtering into the room.
As she aimlessly scrolled through the glowing notifications, a sharp, red icon caught her eye—a message request. Opening it, she checked to see who it was.
It was Adrian. Lyra’s breath hitched. Adrian.
After all this time? A deep sigh escaped her lips, laced with a decade of resentment and curiosity.
The same boy who had so publicly shattered her life was now sending her a private message.
What could he possibly want after all these years?
Her curiosity piqued, so she clicked on the message thread.
Adrian: Hey Lyra. Long time no talk.
She hesitated, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. Her heart, which had been so fragile in his presence years ago, was now armored with cynicism.
Lyra: Hello.
The reply was immediate.
Adrian: I saw the news. Crazy stuff. I know it’s been a while, but I would love to catch up. Dinner tonight, maybe?
Lyra scoffed, a dry, bitter sound. Dinner. Funny timing. He is probably only interested in what’s in the news, not actually me.
Lyra: I can’t. With all the media surrounding the house, I can’t exactly step out for a casual dinner.
Adrian: I can help with that.
She hesitated, uncertain if she should humor him till he shows his true intentions or if she wanted to hear his plan out so she could escape her media imposed prison.
Lyra: How?
Adrian: You’ll see. Be ready by 5pm. I’ll be over.
She glanced at the clock on the wall. The bright digital numbers glowed a stark red, reading 10:00 AM. “Great! I have seven hours until I hear this master plan.”
Lyra finished drying her hair, the faint scent of orange blossom wafting around her.
She ran her fingers through the soft strands.
Her eyes scanned the colorful fabrics hanging in her closet, eventually landing on an airy sundress that said, ‘I look good, but I just threw this on’.
She slipped it on, the fabric swishing softly against her skin.
With a quick swipe of lip gloss that added a subtle shine and a touch of mascara, she completed her look.
He is not interested in me. He’s only interested in the attention that comes from being around me.
I will not fall for his charm or his dumb face.
She told herself the mantra over and over as she looked at her phone.
She pulled up his profile, and a sigh escaped her lips.
He’s even more handsome now than he was back then.
Why couldn’t he have gotten a face that matched his personality?
A sharp rap on the front door jolted her from her reverie.
“Coming!” her mother yelled, a sharp, echoing yell slicing through the quiet of the hallway.
“Just let it ring,” her father growled. “It’s probably just more reporters.”
“I got it,” Lyra yelled back. Dad’s probably right; it’s a reporter.
The old wood of the front door groaned as she eased it open a sliver.
Through the narrow gap, she saw Adrian standing on the porch, his silhouette stark against the muted afternoon light.
But he wasn’t alone. Next to him stood another ghost from her past, Clara, her former best friend.
Oh, look, two nasty people found each other. They’re probably dating.
Clara, clad in grey athletic wear that hugged her form, a faded baseball cap shadowing her startlingly bleached blonde hair, clutched the strap of her gym bag.
The faint scent of strong flowery perfume.
Behind her, Adrian’s face was a mask of smug satisfaction, a self-satisfied grin stretching across his lips as he pushed the door wider.
"Took us long enough to track down the goddess,” Adrian said, pushing past Lyra into the house.
Clara's gaze darted away from Lyra as Clara roughly shoved the gym bag into Lyra’s hands. “Put these on. Now.”
Lyra’s eyes, wide with confusion, flickered between the two.
A faint rustle accompanied her as she opened the bag, her fingers brushing against the items within.
She pulled out a baseball cap, a pair of chunky glasses, and a surprisingly heavy, bleach-blonde wig that tickled her nose with a faint chemical scent.
She then peered back into the bag, the same grey sweats and black tank top Clara had on.
"A disguise?” Lyra asked, lifting an eyebrow.
"Look, they’re watching your house for you,” Adrian explained, gesturing vaguely toward the curtained window. “They’re not watching for a generic Earth-worshipper going out for a run with her friend. You put that on, you match Clara, and we walk right past them."
Lyra looked at Clara, who still hadn’t met her gaze.
She sighed, recognizing the absurdity of the situation.
Her ex-boyfriend and ex-best friend were offering her a chance to be normal for an hour, even if it was just a cynical publicity stunt for Adrian.
She shrugged, grabbed the wig, and pulled her long hair up beneath the cap.
The dark brown strands felt heavy, tucked away.
She changed quickly into the borrowed clothes.
When she looked up, Adrian was watching her, his brown eyes assessing, but no longer with the haughty disdain of high school.
Now those eyes were looking at her with an intensity that felt dangerously like calculation.
"Perfect," he said, the corners of his mouth lifting into a self-satisfied smile that crinkled the edges of his eyes. “Now, let’s go out for a bit to eat"
The door creaked open, and a blinding strobe of camera flashes erupted, a chaotic dance of light and shadow. She flinched, a knot of anxiety tightening in her stomach as the sudden glare assaulted her eyes.
“Oh, it’s someone else,” one male reporter groaned.
The sudden silence of the cameras was palpable.
Lyra kept her head bowed, too scared to look up, the thick-rimmed glasses and baseball cap casting shadows over her face, while the blonde wig felt scratchy and unnatural against her scalp.
Adrian, radiating smug confidence that seemed to hum in the air, led the way, his arm a warm, light pressure on her shoulder.
The press pack, a dense, roaring wave of disappointment, pulsed just beyond the Nymphaea’s manicured front yard.
"Keep walking,” Adrian murmured, his voice a low rumble, a warm breath tickling her ear and making her flinch. “Don’t look up."
Lyra nodded stiffly, her gaze fixed on the rough, cool concrete of the driveway beneath her feet.
As they reached the street, the camera flashes stuttered—a few reporters glancing up, then immediately looking away. They were searching for the auburn-haired girl from the videos, not the generic blonde. They were dismissed as quickly as they were seen.
A wave of relief so sharp it was almost painful washed over Lyra. For a few steps, she was back to being a nobody. She never thought she would miss it as much as she did now. The public scrutiny was worse than just living with her parents’ disappointment.
"See?" Adrian said, his tone triumphant as they passed the reporters and turned down the quiet side street. “Easy. They’re looking for a pretty little goddess, not a blonde nobody."
She frowned at his words. Did he really just call the person he used to help me a nobody?
Part of her wanted to defend Clara, but then she remembered how Clara had treated her in high school and decided to keep her mouth shut.
It’s probably better to let him play his hand than call him out where I can get caught by the media out in public.