"That's, uh, a really good question. I don't... know? I think my sister sent me. Maybe. She wrote me a note, anyway."

Redana would not have needed the protections of this miracle spell. Her smile would have done enough for the whole thing, and turned whatever awkward babble that spilled from her lips into a refreshing stream of good company and earnest intentions. She'd have walked right up and asked what needed to be asked, because it was her birthright to ask and to know and somehow she'd been such a good person that she'd managed to flip the script around and put herself lower than everybody else anyway. Could any other Human have managed that? Could even Nero have--?

Bella winces. It is not jealousy or fear that strikes her body into the shape of the cringe. No, it's just embarrassing as fuck to be here like this. What is she supposed to do with her hands? With her tail? With her -- fuck! Yeah, great, the humility in her heart, how wonderful. Don't worry sister, she's got that in spades, there's not a trace of arrogance anywhere inside of her she could summon under the direct gaze of Hera, of all people. Not her. Never her. But that doesn't...

It would still be... nice. If she came off as cool? A visit to Olympus should be a wonder, a miracle of profound and reality defining importance. For Bella it feels more like a prolonged flopsweat. If she doesn't manage to get something to drink she might literally die while she's here just from the sheer terror of it all. All she can perceive is the peril on either side of the path she needs to walk down. It's all death, from here to eternity. It's worse, even, because she is directly in the realm of the gods and interacting with them on a level [i]they[/i] fully understand. They wouldn't kill her at all, they'd turn her into a new myth. On top of whatever more literal thing they metamorphosed her into.

She coughs. Her tail droops around her ankles, and she forces herself to match the posture of the Queen of the Gods. She owed that much and more besides. She pushes her ears into perfect poise and alignment atop her head. She smooths her hair and adjusts her outfit until it fits as stylishly as she can manage. She does not allow herself to hide the clothing's celebration of the things that make her Mosaic. To wear her imperfections as honors: that's what it meant to mirror Queen Hera. She couldn't think of any other way to show respect. 

She licks her dried lips with every last ounce of decorum she can muster.

"There's a lot," she turns her eyes up to watch the cage that Aphrodite builds around them, "I'd want to say to you. Here where it matters, I mean. I'd love to cook for you, if I could. Even above Dany you're the one I'd most like to serve a meal. That's a dumb dream I've had since I was a little kid and I saw the first prayer of my life get answered. But I was sent here. I didn't earn this. So I just..."

The paper in her hand is rough as it crunches and wrinkles in the face of her nervous fidgeting. The ink on it feels oily on her skin, but even as it rubs off onto her the message stays as clear as when she first noticed it. Bella watches the Queen of the Gods across the infinite reaches of space and the horrible infinity of this awkward silence, and closes her eyes.

"The thing my sister Vesper wanted from me was that I ask you. Um. About your son."