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“Your horns!” Melinoë cried in dismay, and then immediately clamped her mouth shut.
Moros glanced curiously at her from the other side of the baths. “What about them, Princess?”
Melinoë cursed herself furiously as she pretended a great fascination with the bubbling water of the springs. She hadn’t meant to express her disappointment in Doom’s changed appearance so vocally, but seeing as how her companion was still staring at her in confusion she made a vague gesture to her own forehead. “It’s just…pardon me, Lord Moros, but I’ve always thought that your horns were a natural extension of yourself. I didn’t realize that they were purely decorative.”
“Ah.” Moros swept a damp hand over his forehead thoughtfully, as if just registering their absence. “My sisters suggested the ornamentation…perhaps they thought that my previous presentations didn’t carry the appropriate gravitas of my position.”
“Horns don’t really strike me as the symbol of Doom, though…” Melinoë mused. “I’ve always imagined something far more imposing.”
Moros laughed, the low sound carrying across the surface of the water. “You may be the first to maintain such an opinion. The majority of mortals look upon me and resign themselves to their fates quite speedily. They think the horns are horrifying enough.”
“I don’t think they were horrifying,” Melinoë said indignantly. “I think they’re rather fetching.”
Blood and darkness.
Stunned, Moros blinked owlishly at her, and if she had ever wondered if the personification of Doom himself ever blushed, the dread princess had her answer now as her own face flamed a matching shade of crimson. In a panic, the princess submerged herself deep into the water’s depths. Headmistress would never let her hear the end of it once she caught wind of her deplorable manners, Melinoë thought in despair. Such behavior did not befit the image of the Crossroads, let alone the Princess of the grim Dead herself…!
A strange, muffled sound broke her out of her despair. Melinoë resurfaced with a gasp to find her companion folded over himself, shaking slightly. She frowned as she swam closer. Did she offend her guest to such a degree that he was convulsing?
“Lord Moros…?” she ventured nervously. “I apologize, that was inhospitable of me, I must beg your forgiv—”
Halt a moment. Doom was laughing.
Melinoë stared in pure incredulity as Moros glanced up at her, his hair clinging to a face taut with amusement. “Not…not at all, Princess,” he finally worked out a gasp, “I’ve…why, I’ve never been told such a thing in my immortal life. I’m touched, honored even.”
“You’re welcome…?” she said with some uncertainty as Moros stretched back against the smooth black stone of the baths, still chuckling.
“I’m rarely afforded attention at all, let alone compliments, due to my line of work,” he pondered softly. “It’s…ah…a new feeling. Not an unwelcome one at all.”
“Oh, good,” Melinoë heaved with relief. “If I had offended you, Lord Moros, I don’t know what I would’ve done.”
“It’s quite alright, Princess,” Moros soothed. His eyes closed in contentment as the warmth of the water worked its magic upon his body. Tentatively, Melinoë sank closer to him, allowing herself to also relax as he finally peeped open a violet eye to regard her shyly.
“If I’m ever afforded the opportunity to visit here again,” Moros ventured, “I’ll bring some of my trappings. For the atmosphere, you understand.”
“For the atmosphere,” Melinoë repeated dumbly. Good gods. Small wonder Headmistress had warned her of him. Inviting a fell harbinger feared by all did nobody any good and Melinoë had proof of it now as Moros continued to gaze at her through the steam of the baths.
Oh, but she was doomed.
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