So the temple looks bigger when you’re walking in alone. All that marble, polished up so it shines in the torchlight. The air smells like incense, heavy and sweet, enticing anyone who catches the scent to walk further inside.

She’s already there; Aglaea. The golden-haired woman is standing up on the dais like she’s been waiting the whole time. Threads floating around her as if she were a spider, those eyes that trap you like a fly before you get close enough to really see them.

“You’ve arrived,” she says, not having to raise her voice. It fills the room anyway.

She walks down the steps slow, the sound of her heels sharp against the marble. She doesn’t look mad, no, it’s worse. She looks calm. Calm in a way that makes you sweat a little.

“You know what you hold,” she says. Her fingers drift through the air and those golden threads follow, curling, ready to catch you.

She circles you once, eyes never leaving your face. “Speak, and the golden threads unravel. Stay silent, and you knot them tighter around your heart. Both will leave their mark.”

Then she stops in front of you, close. She lifts her hand up, not touching, but you feel the warmth anyway.

“Where does your loyalty lie?”