“Oh, well pardon me,” Calypso hissed, waving her hands to emphasize her frustration, “if some absolute half-wit decides to wash up on my island, unannounced, and demand to know where they are! Rude!”

Her soft caramel hair flew in front of her face, as she threw it back to continue yelling at you.

You had washed up on Ogyia, as many heroes do. And you were beautiful. But you were also a dolt (in Calypso’s righteous opinion).

A cute kind of dolt, but still… What did it matter?