The end of winter was fast approaching, the days gradually warming and Hades had just received an invitation to Olympus for a Spring Festival - for himself and also for Dinah.  Her lack of enthusiasm took him slight aback - “Surely you’d want to celebrate with your best friend, and spend some time getting to know my brothers and family?”  He asked trying to get to the heart of the problem - and Dinah, feeling a little boxed in - the request was reasonable enough but still...

“A) Last time I went to Olympus it didn’t really end well for me, what with reliving my death and then being dragged back here.  B) I don’t have anything to wear.”

Hades sighed - he thought something like the first, “My love, Reason A doesn’t apply as this time I’m going with you and there are few who would defy me in person. As for the other,”

“Maybe I could help with the lady’s other reason,” the offer made in a stranger's voice caused both to turn.  Approaching the thrones where they sat was a woman wearing a gown of shimmering silver, as she came closer it was obvious that she had an unearthly beauty, but to Hades’ senses there was no aura of godhood or immortality to her.

“Who are you?” He demanded, “How did you gain entry to my realm?”

The woman smiled, “I am Lady Aryn, a clothier who dresses royalty and I walk to wherever my services are required, whatever realm that may be.”  She bows formally to Dinah, “Dark Lady, it would be a pleasure and an honour to design for you a gown.  Perhaps we could consult privately?”

Thinking that it couldn’t hurt to at least hear this lady Aryn out, Dinah leads Aryn through the twisting halls of the palace to her rooms.  She shuts the door and a little ungraciously invites Aryn to sit.  Aryn does so, asking “My Lady, what would you be looking for in a gown?”

Dinah shrugs, “there isn’t a gown that can make this pretty.” She says as she removes the leather collar, showing Aryn her death scar.  Aryn looks considering at the scar - there’s no pity in her gaze, just an understanding that eases Dinah.  She whistles, a little four note phrase which causes a large-ish trunk to appear, kneeling she half turns to pull out some fabrics from the case.  Dinah gasps at the sight of Aryn’s back; her backless gown revealed a host of heavy scars, thick and ugly.  Aryn turns around to face Dinah her hands full of material, and smiles just a little.  The understanding is mutual - this is not someone who would dismiss her worries or someone who judges perfection to be beauty..

Aryn comes over and hands her a sample of beautiful black velvet, sinful and elegant.  Dinah gets more and more enthusiastic as Aryn brings out more fabrics, each more intricate and stunning than the last. “I think we could do an undergown of the velvet, and then see this silk-gauze?” Dinah ran her hand over it marveling at the way the fiery red and gold caught the light.  “Well we will put a layer of this between the velvet and this black organza so that every time you move fire will seem to be sparking around you.”

She sketches a design out on some paper, a high collar of velvet “embroidered with tiger rubies to pick up the red-gold theme and so you don’t have to worry about a necklace,” and then flowing down, form-fitting with careful folds of the fiery gauze to emphasise the waist and bust with more shimmering colour.  “I think perhaps light sleeves in just the organza, if you are comfortable with that, as I think your vine tattoos are lovely.”  Dinah nods, and thinks the design looks amazing, and then goes a little wide-eyed as Aryn whistles a far more complex melody than before, creating an illusion of the dress that’s solid enough to touch “Go ahead, try it on,” she invites Dinah.  “Side-zip closure,”  

“Hold up,” Dinah said, “a zip closure? That’s pretty damn modern.”

“Yes, it is,” agreed Aryn, “I find that sometimes women just want to be able to put on a pretty dress without help, even if they are fortunate enough to have servants to assist them with dressing.  I’m all for the advances of modern times.”

Dinah tried on the illusory gown, it shifted and shaped itself to her as she thought about what Lady Aryn had said.  Aryn vanished the illusion of the dress when it had settled, turning it back into a sketch, this time complete with a list of measurements.  “Do you only do gowns?” Dinah asked.

“I can make most kinds of clothing, what I can’t those I work with can - was there something else you wanted?”

Dinah requested jeans in black and dark blue denim, and some nice blouses to go with them because she gets a little sick of wearing skirts all the time, reassured as Aryn smiles “Easily done - did you like any fabrics I had here for the tops?”.  After deciding on three that Nemo had as well as a request for a purple silk, Dinah she shyly admits to having another request but she “doesn’t want to say it, because as much as I love Hades, he’s probably eavesdropping on us.”   (Hades is indeed spying on them, after nearly losing Dinah he now hates having her out of his sight, especially with someone he doesn’t know.)  Aryn whistles again - a short melody that Dinah would swear had chords in it.  “There, now we are safe from eavesdroppers but Lord Hades should still be able to sense your presence and take reassurance from that.”

Hades is not pleased at all but he knows that sometimes he’ll just have to live with it, and this is one of those times.  He wonders just who the hell this “Lady Aryn” is and is grumbling to himself when Abby poofs in to visit her friend.  She immediately volunteers to go see what’s going on, after all she is definitely not going to let anything happen to Dinah.  Hades grumbles but realises that this is his only potential way of finding out what’s happening.  Abby goes to Dinah’s rooms, entering without knocking, takes one look at the very sexy, forest-green nightgown that Dinah is trying on and immediately demands to be let in on the session - after reassuring Hades that everything is perfectly fine.

Aryn is in her element, happy to have two beautiful women to craft for and comes up with a gown design for Abby as well – an elegant off the shoulder gown in a shifting pale aqua satin that has overtones of golden iridescence, and at Abby’s request promises to embroider a interlinking pattern of suns in gold thread and heliodors around the hemline.

After much laughter and fun, Aryn creates a set of lingerie for both girls with the materials she has on hand – the forest-green nightgown for Dinah and a dark blue satin babydoll for Abby and teaches them the whistle pattern that vanishes clothing when pushed with their will.  “It’s useful if you wear something fragile and you don’t want it to get ripped,” she says with a smile.   When Abby raises an eyebrow and asks if it can be used on another person’s clothing, Aryn doesn’t reply but her smile gets wider and her voice whispers in their minds *only if they wouldn’t mind*.  Taking her leave, Aryn promises to return in a week’s time with the gowns and other clothing.

After the week has passed Aryn stops by the Underworld temple first to drop off Dinah’s dress. When she tries it on, it’s unsurprising to see how perfect the fit is.  The collar of fire rubies glow bright and rich, and as she looks in the mirror, Dinah sees a subtle layer of black on black needlework over the organza; she doesn’t recognise the patterns but they are beautiful.  As she looks closer in the mirror at them she sees Aryn’s smile, “Those are patterns of protection and peace, simple charms but perhaps more effective for that.   Dinah turns around and is enthusiastic in her thanks When she runs out to Hades to show off the dress, his jaw drops in a way that is quite satisfactory for both ladies.  They invite Aryn to stay for a meal, but she can sense they would rather be alone, so she uses the excuse that she has to go drop off Abby’s outfit.

Stepping through the doorway to Olympus Aryn tips her face up to the light and smiles. A deep humming note seals the doorway and a second light note reveals the direction of Apollo’s temple a compass light floating off to the northeast, where she presumes the goddess of Spring can be found.  She begins to walk, enjoying the beauty of the surrounds means she doesn’t pay attention to where she was going and bumps into someone.  “I’m sorry,” she apologises, and starts to walk by.

“Do you know who I am,” the man said, his voice like thunder.

Aryn turns around and looks at the irate god, “I’m afraid I do not, sir,” she said, still polite.  

“Mortals are not allowed to roam Olympus freely; how did you get here?” demanded Zeus, irked because this young upstart did not recognise him.

Aryn shrugged, “I came to deliver a dress, that is all.”   Her placid tone doesn’t appease the god of thunder and without warning a lightning bolt streaks down towards her.  The woman (who should have been consumed utterly by the fire) raises a fist in time to have the bolt strike it. The electricity runs over Aryn, sinking within her bones.  For a brief, brief moment it appears in her eyes as she looks at the chief of the Gods.   It fades within her, the power of it rippling through her blood, along her nerves.  “Forgive me, my Lord.” She said, her voice unshaken by the display of temper, “I may not know who you are but surely it is frowned upon to destroy innocent life?”  Zeus has the grace to look slightly abashed.  A slight smile plays upon her lips, as she turns once more to continue on her way.  Over her shoulder she calls back to the god “Everyone has secrets, and it a dangerous game to presume that someone is mortal because they look it.”

Arriving at last at Apollos’ temple, she enters the open door to be hit with a burst of power like the sun – She sighs a little as she absorbs what she can and redirects the rest into the marble beneath her feet.  Within seconds of the power fading, Apollo has her by the throat and demands to know what she’s done to Abby.

“I haven’t done anything!” Aryn exclaims, “I delivered Dinah’s dress first.  You better take me to her.”  Apollo frowns but then releases her, striding off in the direction of the back halls, Aryn follows, trotting to keep up.  She is a little frightened; her senses are saying something terrible has happened, and she takes deep breaths - knowing that she can and will fix this.

Apollo flings open a door into a room; Abby is deadly still on the bed, wearing a dress that is similar in colour to the one Aryn designed, but it is missing the delicate embroidery - and thus she can prove that it is not her dress causing this.  She kneels by the bed – taking Abby’s hand and spooling out her healing power, she discovers the dress had been coated with a very nasty poison that sunk through the skin into the blood causing immense pain to the goddess and that Abby’s spirit, having already been Faded once has returned there again to avoid the pain.   Swearing viciously, Aryn sends out her power, a blast of opal fire that leaves her grey and shaking, Apollo kneels by her, steadies her and then asks what the hell she’s doing.  Grimly she tells him that the power she expended would keep Abby’s spirit safe and guide it home – that she herself would have to be dead before Abby would Fade completely.  When he raises an eyebrow in question, Aryn responds with “This Fade, it is similar to a place I know called the Greylands.  I did the same thing there once…”  Her voice trails off and she stares into space for a moment.  Apollo doesn’t press and Aryn quickly comes back to herself.

Then she tells him that the next bit will be messy – that she can fix this but it will not be easy or pleasant.  Apollo is doubtful - but still, “you’re the best hope she has.  If Abby doesn’t wake up I will kill you.” Aryn seems unconcerned by the threat - she is carefully cutting the poison dress off of Abby, once it’s off completely she destroys it with the leftover energy she still carries from Apollo’s blast earlier.  “The poison is in her blood – I can get it out but you have to trust me.”  

“For now.” In a swift motion Aryn pulls out her trunk, which she opens.  The first thing she removes is the dress she had created for Abby hanging it up on a hook out of the way, and on seeing it Apollo is taken aback by its magnificence.  Turning to the god, Aryn glances at his tattoo and asks “Do you play the harp?”  He nods, and then she rummages through her trunk before removing a beautifully crafted lap-harp.  There is a beautiful mosaic pattern inlaid within the wood and the strings are the finest silver.  She passes it to Apollo, who takes it with gentle hands.  The chord he plucks rings clear and true.  Aryn smiles a little and tells him to play songs that remind him of Abby; reminding him that music is a powerful magic.

As he begins to play and sing, Aryn draws one of the small knives from the hairclip she wears.  Cutting open her palm she scores open Abby’s as well. Apollo starts up towards her, but she is humming softly, and he can hear the rhythm of healing in her song.  Sitting back down he picks up the melody and she glances approvingly at him as she clasps hands with Abby.   She screams – Apollo watches in horror, still singing, as the whip scars on Aryn’s back revealed by the low cut of her dress re-open and gold liquid (her blood - he realises that this woman’s blood is golden) seeps, then bleeds freely from the wounds. Power flows from Aryn into Abby – she is chanting to the rhythm of the music in a language he’s never heard in all his years.  She is calling - blood to blood, you and I, from death to life, from yours to mine

Drawn by her power, the poison flows from Abby into Aryn, she pulls at it all, determined not to leave even a microscopic particle behind.  She wishes fleetingly for her sister, whose strength was always in healing, whose ability outshone hers immensely.  She keeps chanting, her voice roughens with pain, as the poison works into her blood.  The wounds on her back now bleed an oily green mixed with the gold.

Ever so gently she trickles fire into Abby’s veins, cleansing them and chasing the darkness of poison into herself. After what seems like an eternity with every minute increasing the pain, she murmurs a different phrase and seals the cut on Abby’s hand. She is sweating, but manages to tell Apollo – “Call her back, she’ll answer”  As Apollo takes Abby’s hand and calls her name, Aryn closes her eyes and with less care and more power, blazes fire through her own veins – the oily blood pouring out of the open scars on her back.  With the little power she has left she contains the tainted blood into a ball of pulsating green.

Apollo looks up as he hears her shout a word at the ball – “E’valo”, but nothing happens, she is spent and weak from the purging of a large amount of her blood. She shouts again, “E’valo,” and still nothing happens.  Abby’s eyes flutter open at the second cry, and reassured by this Apollo throws a ball of power to Aryn, as she cries out a third time “E’valo!”  This time, the word backed by the power of the god ignites the poison and destroys it in a rush of white hot flame.

At the edge of her strength, Aryn whistles faintly, cloaking her back in an illusion, and getting to her feet, she bows to the god and goddess who is now sitting up in bed, “I will leave you two alone.  El shi plisa.”  She walks out of the room, closing the door behind her as she hears Abby ask Apollo what happened.  Once she is a little way down the corridor blackness waves over her vision, she drops to her knees waiting until it passes, then slowly she makes her way to the gardens.  She hopes to find a pond or fountain - as weak as she is, she will need the water to heal.  Dropping the illusion to save energy she stumbles.

Hands catch her, and hold her steady.  “Oh my,” exclaimed a dark haired, dark skinned nymph, “what on Olympus happened to you?  Aella, go find Akeso and ask her to come help.”  Aryn rouses a little “Don’t bother the goddess for my sake, I just need to get to some water.”  Looking bemused, the nymphs escort Aryn to a nearby fountain, she settles on the seat, her hair falling into the water, the copper streak bright against the ink black waves .

She groans a little, and murmurs words too soft for the curious nymphs to catch.  The scars on her back start to heal over, and satisfied that she was telling the truth about being able to heal herself, the nymphs entertain Aryn as she heals with stories and music.  One of them vanishes briefly before returning with a salve for Aryn’s back.  “These scars are very old,” Iante said as she carefully applies the salve over the now-closed wounds.  Aryn is touched by the kindness,

“Yes,” she replied, “many years have passed since I first gained them.  But there is no power that can remove them from existence.”  “I’m sure that some of the gods here could, and you must be worthy or you wouldn’t be in Olympus.”  Aryn smiles at the naive optimism of the nymphs.  “It is alright.  Everything has a cost.” “All done,” says Iante and Aryn thanks her.  With a whistle her dress shifts and reforms over her back.  She stands and bids farewell to the nymphs.