Some people, Elpis thought sourly, just can't take a hint. And why does he have to be big? It was patently unfair that the bad leg did nothing to drag the god down to making them a little more equal, even counting Elpis' current, unexpected growth spurt.
But then they'd never had fair relations, the smith and her. His was the hand that made her prison--and the touch that made the woman who released her. Since most days Elpis herself was entirely confused about the nature of her own legend, it made pinning down her true feelings towards Hephaestus...tricky.
Legra had made it easier.
Legra wasn't here.
Elpis met Haphaestus' glare evenly and tilted her head in response. Tilted just so, just like another little-girl-lost had done that first time nearly eight years ago.
("Haphae-what? Look, sorry, but na-uh. I cannot have a great-grandfather named Hephaestus. I mean, not with the sort of thing we've got floating on Da's side of the tree. I'm already related to four Venetians and one of them named Archipelago, so, yeah. You're Pappy. Totally.")
Hope looked at the man, god, she had reasons to love and hate aplenty, and said nothing. (Though she could. For the first time in centuries, she actually felt she could.)