"My, my parents? The Lethe? But I. I don't understand, I!"

Mosaic's stomach turns to ice. A moment later it disappears entirely with a horrible swooping sensation, as if she'd suddenly been dropped off a cliff. She tumbles head over tail into the blackness beyond the hangar, spinning so fast the colors of the room melt into a single into a single indistinguishable blob that is something like the color red, and something like mist and the vague shape of what dreams maybe look like. It feels as though her ribs are going to implode from the stress of it all. She cannot breathe. She is hyperventilating. She is spinning, spinning, spinning, hurtling faster and faster and the air is every smell at once but also none at all and--

She lowers her head, and looks at the ground. She has not moved a single pace. Her knees have not even buckled. Her muscles ache and whine as though she'd run the length of the ship and back again, except... none of the rest of her agrees. Her lungs do not sting with the pleasant exertion of a sprint. Her fur is smooth and her dress is pristine, not a thread out of place. There is no sense of accomplishment, no adrenal rush, no happy tiredness that comes from the use of her great strength. She is pristine. She is the height of decorum. She is

hollow.

"I had... always hoped. I-- my first memory is of a kiss, and then a breath of air that I'd never tasted before. So I'd, I'd hoped that meant I was as young as my memories. A statue brought to life, maybe, or since everyone always calls me a demigod maybe one of your children built me out of, of, feathers and bones and a, a..."

She falters. Her breath hitches, and to her surprise she feels a spot of wetness rolling down her cheek. She lifts a hand to wipe it away, only to find her fingers have curled in toward her palm and pressed her claws against her own flesh. She pries them open with great effort, and by the time she is able to tend to her tears they have multiplied five fold. 

"I think I hate her," she says while looking at the goddess, "This child of monsters. The woman who washed herself clean to make me. How could she have thrown herself away like that?! I shouldn't exist at all! A child of privilege and still! She! Couldn't she get [i]anyone[/i] to lover her? [i]She's[/i] the reason my heart tears itself in half every time Ember leaves to be with her pack. Or the ship. She's the reason everyone's smallest triumphs feel like rocks scraped over my skin. She... She was a coward. And a bitch. I hope she's dead. I hope I'm all that's left of her."

Her hand trembles as she reaches for the goddess' outstretched fingers, but when they touch she stops as if commanded. Mosaic's grip is more gentle than the kiss of a spring rain on the petals of the flower. She deftly places her fingertips around the jewels and does not disturb their arrangement even one bit. She holds without squeezing. And she begs without speaking.

"I'm sorry. It's wrongheaded and weak to expect that every time a god blesses you with their presence you will be taught something nice. I just, I don't want to be a monster. Even if one is part of me. Isn't that why someone gave me my name? I... please, tell me. Tell me what it looks like. I'm so afraid. I'm so scared, Lady Hera, but I don't..."

With effort, Mosaic chokes a sob down to nothing. She breathes in deep, and releases it in a slow, controlled stream.

"I don't want to end up the way she did."