Nanshe opened her mouth and then abruptly snapped it shut again. Her head was still registering that it was Morpheus, her Greek Mirror, the one she recalled most fondly with gentle desire lingering in his eyes. There should have been no reason why his mere appearance confused her, but it did. She couldn't think why.
And then she couldn't think on anything at all but the gut-twisting jolt his words sent into her. She sealed her lips firmly shut, turned them white with the effort, just to keep from letting go of the sound rising in her throat. It was a desperate thing, one she didn't, couldn't burden him with. He was happy. He was happy. He didn't need... shouldn't have to...
"I didn't," she blurted out, with less grace than a two-year-old ballerina. Didn't know he had a home here. Didn't want to hide (did she?)... Hadn't come here hu... (Had. She had. She was. And the admission sent a tremble through her limbs.)
Nervous laughter bubbled up, just then, as she became aware of the iciness in the room, the shoddy, warped wood floor, the peeling olive paint on the walls, the scent of wet winter creeping in through the windowsills. The utter. Lack. Of. Light. "I'm sorry, sorry.... You Greeks and your ... what do you call it? Xenia? I'm afraid we Sumerians don't have anything quite like it, but Harmonia's taught me a lot about the sacredness of it, and I... I'm so sorry, I'm not doing a good job, ah --"
She waved her hands around her head in distraction. The old magic that belonged to Sumer filtered through the apartment then, as she reached for something more familiar than modern conveniences. The ceiling took on a light of its own, soft, diffuse, gentle, but certainly appropriate. And the air warmed itself better than the tiny iron stove could have.
"Pl... Come in... You are. Hello. Hello, Morpheus."
And with a breathless sigh, she rubbed her hand through her hair, then did her best to walk to the kitchen. "I think I have some wine left from when Harm was here.... if you'd like..."