The exhibit was filled with profound awe, the air dense with whispers of past times. Sunlight filtered through arched windows, revealing not only the dust motes dancing in its beams but also the meticulous features of Roman emperors etched in arrogant quiet, their marble visages staring out at centuries that had past. Deities from the vanished pantheon stood guard, frozen in metal and ivory during a divine edict or supplication.
A 7-foot-tall statue of Benthesicyme, fashioned from obsidian-black marble and caressed with delicate gold embellishments, stood out in the middle of this sacred sanctuary. It was a striking monument to her intelligence and spirit, a testimonial not to her physical beauty (which she had in abundance), but to the incisiveness of her mind—a rare homage bestowed upon her by one of her many brief suitors who had really respected her keen wit and astute disposition.
Jasmine, always attentive to the subtext, found herself opposite Poseidon's daughter, both intrigued and lured into a wordless discourse with the sculpture. The sea-touched princess most certainly noticed more than just craftsmanship in her obsidian likeness—she saw the quiet strength it represented, a mirror of the lady who passed through their world leaving an irrefutable, if often unheeded, mark.
Gaia, with a playful glint in her eyes, pointed at the statue. "You know, some people say black marble brings good luck... or maybe bad luck, depending on your perspective." What turbulent journey did Beth go through before that statue became her jewel? The tone of her laughter was light-hearted, but when she turned to face Beth, she saw that she was given a tight-lipped expression instead of a smile.
Beth gave a quick nod towards the black statue. "Chance?" Not really. That idiot gave me this huge thing because I caught him messing around with some airheaded barmaid who looked half my age. He mentioned he was making an 'artistic statement' about loyalty. The hopeless romantic. Gave a live cow as a sort of apology next – and honestly, the stable hands were way more excited about it than I expected. She threw out the last word with a bit of icy attitude in her voice. "The inscription should have been: 'To the woman who outsmarted him and his affections alike.'"
Jasmine raised an eyebrow, silently asking if this shade was something you'd usually find in Poseidon's daughter's world. Then, unable to contain herself, she uttered with a hint of mock sympathy, "Well, it's definitely unique. But I guess a life-size portrait of you riding that cow into the sunset would really get people talking!"
Beth could only click back at the annoying goddess.
A faint smile graced Beth's lips, dispelling any hint of bitterness. While the sculptural mastery was undeniable—and I must admit that Apollonius of Athens truly excelled in this instance—it's the sentiment that is more bothersome than the infidelity.
"An artist of such renown, imbuing my essence in marble... yet he immortalised me as a prize won, not a mind involved. She pointed to the intricate details of the statue. The fine lines that delineate thought, the subtle tilt of the head that conveys constant discourse—these were his finest strokes." While a Roman may have depicted victory in a more literal sense, Apollonius infused it with a distinctly Greek essence. " ... Elegant, wouldn't you agree, Jasmine?"
Her eyes sparkled with a mutual comprehension as she gazed at her companion. It was truly a work of art. And one observed by so few. It had a certain closeness to it. A hidden conversation between the artist and herself murmured through the ages, kept from a world that seldom truly recognised her existence. She infused her voice with a hint of sadness. "Perhaps that is the essence of true artistry—seizing the soul even when the subject has forgotten it."
Beth moved agitatedly, the obsidian depths of her statue-twin reflecting a tempest developing in her own eyes. Away from her father's scrutinising attention, she could finally let go of the carefully manufactured neutrality she wore around his court. "Jasmine", she began, her voice a low murmur against the gallery's hushed sanctity, "it's not my place to pry, but why now? Of all times."
She let forth a mournful sigh. Gaia's judgements on romance had been as uncompromising as the ground itself: a frivolous pastime. The coming of Unity and the blending of mortal and immortal worlds sparked an unexpected delight; finally, someone to talk to about something other than world politics. However, that neutral tower, its lofty perch a golden prison, quickly proved tiresome.
The memories seemed to electrify her, temporarily removing the statuesque stillness she had maintained. "He disrupted the monotony. It was as though the ground itself trembled under my feet—intelligence that piqued my curiosity, a spirit unaffected by cosmic weight. A mere mortal, yet..." She trailed off, a rare tenderness in her eyes. "Perhaps even my rigid assertions couldn't quell a force this unexpected."
"So ... love at first sight..." Beth relpied.
Gaia face appeared flush.
A faint rose hue crept onto Gaia's usually impassive cheeks. It was indeed a sight rarely witnessed - the primordial earth goddess, blushing at the mere whisper of such a sentiment. Caught off guard, she stuttered, flustered and a touch abashed, "W-well, not precisely... *sight*, per se. More a...a compelling current, an undeniable pull. It's hardly—" She sputtered, then abruptly cut herself off, a sheepish smile flickering on her lips.
Beth watched the display with quiet satisfaction. A spark of something akin to triumph ignited within her usually impassive demeanor. To make Gaia—impenetrable, earth-shaking Gaia—blush? An unexpected victory indeed. It felt almost frivolous, like prying open a tightly sealed chasm and glimpsing a hidden spring. Emboldened, she allowed herself a fleeting moment of self-satisfied contemplation before looking away, the corner of her lips lifting in a ghost of a smile.
But that momentary triumph was ephemeral. A whisper of displaced air, a shift in the very ground beneath their feet—Gaia vanished from before and reappeared almost impossibly close behind Beth. Before she could register the silent teleportation, Gaia's calloused yet surprisingly delicate hands settled upon her full breasts, kneading them possessively. The touch held a raw earthiness, primal and intimate, erasing the fragile boundary of personal space in an instant. A startled gasp escaped Beth as the stolen intimacy of the moment eclipsed all else, leaving her flush and flustered, the memory of her fleeting victory dissolving like mist before the sun.
Gaia's head settled against Beth's shoulder, a rumbling sigh escaping her chest that seemed to resonate with the very foundations of the surrounding marble. She whispered into Beth's ear, "Carved in obsidian or not, my dear, you still feel most real against my touch." Her voice was low and full of earthy humour.
Beth was left speechless, the snatched intimacy a powerful backdrop to her intellectual triumph just minutes earlier. She was fixed to the spot, defeated but indisputably awakened, Gaia's earth-hued warmth piercing deeper than any chisel or sculptor's vision could. The scene turned from a contest of wits to something far more fundamental and unavoidable.