I wanted to present myself to Ares as simply as possible, for I feared he could make a tool of torture out of anything made of metal. I was honestly terrified that he might scar my yet unblemished body. Or worse. Oh, I knew he could do worse. Eros complied by removing me of every embellishment Hermes had provided and gave me a plain white chiton. The one thing from Hermes I kept was the sandals, as I made my way from Eros’s chambers toward those just down the hall from his mother’s that belonged to the god of war.
