#roadstocross

        Tea’s form laid on the large velvet couch in the center of her studio apartment littered with filming equipment and make-up. Presently it was all just clutter as the young woman, unaware of her true potential, hung her head to the side as she watched the Duke of Hasting just destroying his wife all over their estate in the show Bridgerton that played on the screen of her television. “Regé-Jean Page is a god,” she uttered to herself, irony totally lost on her.

         Just as things were getting particularly spicy in the rain there was a knock on Tea’s door. “Egon, you don’t have to knock, I told you that,” she insisted, pulling her silk pink robe up over her shoulders in an attempt to be modest. Having already received a pleasant delivery from Hermes in the morning she figured the only person stopping by would be the boy she had grown up with according to a litany of false memories, and now lived in her building - who was actually her son Phobos, his own memories lost as well.

           “If I’m doing anything it’ll be...locked,” the pause in her words was simply because when Tea opened the door it wasn’t Phobos, or Egon as he was now. “You are not my neighbour,” Tea acknowledged.

“Is there anything more pitiful than that of the celebration of worship? It seems we’ve all been consumed by it, and yet...so very greedy by parties standards.”

it was a really quiet night as she closed the restaurant for the day. Pythia felt her head heavy, she was tired and her legs hurt from standing upright for so long. after a while, she noticed a shadow just on the edge of her vision and she turned around to see someone very familiar, her memories of the past flooding to her, a goddess standing right before her eyes, she had to keep herself together. she did not know if she remembered anything, so instead he puts on her best smile.

“we are closed at this moment. do you need help?” she asked.